Drowning In the Milk of the Moon

I try to roll off the checkered blanket as Daddy desperately tries to wipe the sticky drips of mint-chocolate from my ice-cream coated face before it reaches the new white blouse left exposed to stains.

“I promised your mom I wouldn’t stain your shirt before dinner.” He said, leaning down to whisper the words in my ears.

I giggle, squirming in his arms. My eyes drift past the nearly empty playground to a pair of eyes in the bushes. The setting sun makes them glow.

“Daddy look! The bush has eyes.”

He glances at where I’m pointing, and the eyes disappear. I gape after them.

“Nothing there.” He says distractedly, going after my face with the wipes again. “Now stop squirming little worm.”

I giggle again, finally staying still for him to wipe half the mess off my face. The playgrounds are empty now.

Movement catches my eye. Feet on the cold, crunchy grass. They’re held by tearing sandals. 

“Daddy! Look!” I say, pointing at the owner of the feet. A girl stumbles towards us.

He turns his head, startling when he sees the girl. Immediately he turns to me. “Go play on the playground, Lily? And don’t get your shirt dirty.” He says strictly.

“Alright Daddy,” I say, planting my bare feet on the ground I hurl myself towards the empty slides. 

When I manage to climb the slide I look back out at Daddy. I can just make out his words to the girl. He’s asking her how old she is. She says she’s seventeen, gasping hysterically and glancing behind her frantically.

What’s wrong with her?

I look down the slide, my eyes widening. The slide stretches out to the sharp mulch. 

“Daddy! I can’t get down!”

A small whimper escapes me as I look up.

The girl is holding a knife. I’m not allowed to use those. Daddy raised his hands in the air. Speaking softer, she looks up at my cry.

Daddy tries to move in front of her. 

“Oh no.” She says with a laugh. “Is that your daughter?”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” He snarls.

She laughs, grabbing Daddy and dragging him towards the slide. They’re standing at the bottom when I speak.

“Who are you?” I ask

She smiles pure delight on every inch of her face. “Do you know what a serial killer is?” She asks.

I shake my head no.

“Well I go around, and when I see someone with pretty eyes…” She brings the knife to Daddy’s throat. I frown again. Knives are dangerous. She should be more careful. “I take them out of people, that way I can look at them forever.”

“Why do you have a knife? Knives are dangerous.” I say. “Can you help me down? I’m stuck up here.” I say.

“No!” Daddy bursts out. “Lily, go the other way. Run!” 

“No.” The girl says. “You won’t. Do you know what color your eyes are?” She asks.

I look at Daddy. He looks scared.

“They’re quarter colored,” I say, reluctantly looking back at the girl.

The girl laughs pure delight in every bit of the sound.

“You and your Daddy’s eyes are wonderful.” She looks at Daddy, throwing him a smile. “Lily. That's your name right?"

"Yes," I say.

She smiles, laughing again. "They're gray. Like the milk of the moon. An ink-black iris drowning in the milk of the moon.” She gives a soft groan of pleasure. “Oh that just sounds so beautiful doesn’t it Lily?”

My eyebrows creased in confusion. The moon doesn’t have milk.

She sighs. “Well, I think it's time to cut this meeting short.”

“Where are you going?”

She smiles. “Well, after I take your Daddy’s eyes I’ll go find a nice pretty pair of amber ones.”

“How will you take Daddy’s eyes?”

“I’ll cut them out.” She says. “Just like this.”

She presses the tip of the knife to the skin just below his fuzzy eyebrows. 

He tells me to cover my eyes just before he starts screaming.

---------------

16 years, 43 days, 19 hours, and 37 minutes later

---------------

“Hey Lily, how are you doing?”

I startle, looking up to see Mary on the other side of the receptionist's desk. “Hey, Mary. I’m alright. Why?”

She slides a newspaper article onto my desk, dragging her eyes from mine.

IRIS STRIKES AGAIN

The famous Boston serial killer, nicknamed Iris for her obsession with her victim's eyes strikes again. This time taking the life of a 43-year-old businessman, Trevor Clint, was found with his eyes carved out of his face and left dead. This victim sported violet eyes. A very rare eye color brought on by albinism. He was a family man, survived by his two daughters and wife. The police force wants to reassure the public they are doing everything they can to stop Iris. Anyone with any information on Iris is asked to come forward to police or call the following number:

I slide the newspaper away before I can read anymore.

Bullshit. They haven’t done crap to find her. She’s been roaming around, killing man after man. Half the world is too stuck up to believe that it's a her. The other half is so busy being offended by the misogynistic asses who refuse to accept it could be a woman. The police force is too worried about drunk teenagers and day-late taxes that nobody bothers to look for her until they don’t have the eyes to look.

“I’m taking the day off,” I say sharply.

Mary opens her mouth for a moment, then shuts it. 

I clench my teeth, grabbing the newspaper, and quickly slip it into my bag. I navigate the room full of sympathetic eyes.

I hate eyes. Hate them more than anything else on the human body. Hate the way they move. Hate the way they follow every movement. More than anything I hate the way they look when they’re carved out of someone’s head.

I rap on the door to my boss's office. His muffled voice gives me permission to enter. I walk into his office, head downcast. He looks up from a call, sympathy immediately crossing his face.

I hate sympathy as well. Hate it more than the whispers. The news articles. The interviews.

Sympathy and eyes. My two worst enemies.

I bite back a bitter, deranged laugh at that.

I grit my teeth, putting on my best ‘the daughter of that dead guy’ voice. One I quickly realized got me farther than a bristly angry snap.

“I’d like the rest of the day off.” I lower my voice to a whisper for extra effect.

“Of course Lily.” He says quickly. “We’re all here if you need us.”

I don’t put the effort into faking a smile. Just nod softly, mutter a thank you, and leave the office.

In the lobby, I glance in a mirror. Stare at my eyes. The same eyes that got carved out of my father's head. 

“An ink-black iris drowning in the milk of the moon.”

I turn away before I break something.

I walk out of the office and glance at the clock. I have two hours to get there, and two and a half before dark.

---------------

2 hours, 23 minutes, and 49 seconds later

---------------

A figure clad in black slips next to me.

I’ve been sitting on this bench for an hour. The water’s soaked through my jeans to my flesh. Shivers run through my body.

“Glad to see you again Lily.” She says.

There’s something about her voice. Always moments away from bursting into a cruel, mocking laugh. It feels like a knife dragged across teeth. I shudder, glad the shivering covers it.

I grip the knife in my pocket. Looking at the last children leaving the playground.

The same one I sat at ten years ago, mint-chip still sticky on my lips as this woman murdered my father.

I’ve seen her four times since then. None of them had been by my own will. 

This time’s different. 

I watch the children, trotting after their mother. Giggling and tripping over each other with the promise of sweets and safety back in their home.

“Not going to talk to me?” She asks, leaning back boredly.

I ignore her, watching until the children slip into their car before I speak.

“What do you want?”

Iris smiles. “Ah, there it is. That voice. Almost as nice as your eyes.”

I tense, clenching my teeth until they hurt. 

“What.” I hiss. “Do you want?”

“Oh come on darling.” She says with a laugh. “We both know these meetings have been about you since I killed your Daddy, what was his name?” She searches the air. “Ahh… Carl?”

My hand slips on the blade in my pocket. It cuts my hand open as I lurch, throwing myself off the bench. My voice turned to a furious, animal-like snarl.

“You keep his name out of your damned mouth.” I snarl, my hand comes out of my pocket, dripping blood.

She looks at it, then laughs. Standing up she walks up to me, leaning in so I can feel her breath on my nose. I can smell it.

I’d always imagined her breath smelling like rotting flesh. Like death. Like power. 

Instead, it smells like mint. Almost like she’s just eaten a piece of gum.

“Aw, what are you going to do? Kill me?” She coos, taking my bleeding hand in hers. She inspects it in the quick-fading light. “Sad Lily. Pathetic really, but I’m not one to toy with my meal, that includes name calling.”

I snap. My unoccupied fist curls in on itself and slams into her head. She reels from the hit, staying on her feet and launching back to retaliate. I bring the knife out of my pocket and start swinging at her.

I’ve gotten her in the head, the arm, the leg. 

Thump. 

Thump

Thump.

Every single kick I land brings complete, utter euphoria. It’s a high I’ve never experienced.

She stumbles hitting the ground. 

I drop to my knees and punch her in the jaw.

Over. And. Over.

She still struggles as I take the duct tape I bought out of my bag and press the adhesive over her mouth. Tying her hands behind her and wrapping her ankles to stop her kicking.

Then I yank her hood down, looking into her eyes. They’re not afraid. Just angry.

I stiffen. This was the moment I dreamed of. I wanted to see the fear in her eyes. 

They’re perfectly, utterly, plain.

Not rare. Not beautiful. Just there. Muddy, plain eyes.

Unbridled, burning rage makes it hard to focus. I feel dizzy. Dizzy is such a good way. All the pain gone, my only focus on how to hurt this monster.

"How's it feel?" I whisper, a laugh escaping my throat as I lean down to speak in her ear. "Let me tell you, Iris, you are not getting away today. You are dying, whether I drown you in the milk of your damn moon." I take a moment to take out a lighter, watching its glint in the slow glint against the moonlight. "Or I might burn you. I haven't decided how yet, but it will happen."

She doesn't waver, her eyes never moving.

The nerve she has does something to me. Clouds my judgement.

Then, peace. I know exactly what to do.

I take the knife, and watching her face I do the one thing I know will work.

I press it into the flesh under her eyebrows, just like she did to my father 16 years ago, and I listen to her scream.

---------------

1 year, 231 days, and 12 hours later.

---------------

SERIAL KILLER IRIS MURDERED BY THE FAMILY OF HER VICTIM

Lily Reit was officially charged with the murder of the infamous serial killer Iris. Her real name was Ellie Yolen. Lily killed Ellie the day after she killed her very last victim. Based on the autopsy it is inferred that Lily carved Ellie’s eyes out, setting them aside in a small bag, and burnt Ellie while she was still alive using a newspaper containing one of Ellie's attacks as fuel for the fire. After testing the DNA in the eyes it was confirmed that notorious serial killer Iris was indeed Ellie Yolen. Lily Reit’s trial is occurring today. The results of the jury's decision will be provided as soon as possible.