Cold Blood

It was July when Casey first understood what tragedy meant. She woke up, blood coating her arms and trickling down to the porcelain floor in staccato beats. Her lips were blue and trembling, her throat hoarse from the screams that reverberated on the walls for the entirety of last night. She didn't realize that she was still shaking.

She stumbled out of bed, disoriented and slightly confused. She braced herself against the walls momentarily, before continuing her stride; she was pursuing answers, Her one-track mind led her to an old, rickety, wooden door. A feeling of familiarity embraced her.

She opened the door hesitantly, forgoing the standard knock. A man dressed in a well-ironed suit – an ironic contrast to the poor state of the room – was sitting, back facing Casey. Peculiarity and an odd sense of deja vu filled her senses. She's been here before.

She knows this place intimately. Since childhood, she's been sent here as a 'time-out' place. She knows better now – none of those moments were time-outs at all. She also knows that if she spends a second longer here, she's cursed here to existence. She was running out of time.

"Excuse me, sir," she spoke up, clearing her throat simultaneously. The man cocked his head to the side as a reply but didn't bother giving Casey a proper response. He continued to face the wall, uncaring of the girl behind him. "I'm not supposed to be here," she continued. Anxiety started to rush her bones, but she disregarded it as per usual. "My– I. I'm innocent. You know I am, right?" The words fell from her lips in hurried beats.

The man broke out of character and laughed, slapping his arms against his knees. He wheezed out a couple of breaths before he began to calm himself down. He got out of his chair and turned to see Casey. Her eyes widened in shock, too caught off-guard to remain impassive.

The man was tall, although tall was something of an understatement. He towered over Casey with ease, bending his neck at unnatural angles. His eyes were crimson and radiated discomfort sealed with promised pain. His lips were stained with blood and his canines poked through subtly.

He bent down and whispered directly into Casey's ears. "Believe me, I know you're not." He traced Casey's jawline, tilting her head up and biting the side of her neck. Casey winced in pain; he reveled in it. "Little Casey. Innocent, you say?" He sucked on skin, leaving faint bruises.

He pulled apart abruptly in order to look at Casey. He looked delirious, biting his lip with crazed eyes. "I know what you did. To your own mother, no less!" He cackled. "I usually say, don't worry, you'll be back home in no time. I've missed you – you know. I almost thought you were going to make it down there. You always mess up though." His lips jutted out, pouting. "Funny thing is, my boss said there's no next time! Fun, isn't it?" His mouth fell apart slightly, eyes raking Casey's figure. He inhaled sharply and looked as if he were in complete bliss.

"Welcome to hell," he said. Fondness traced his features uncharacteristically and he softened at the mention of his domain. "Your hellscape is reliving today, over and over again. Of course, with me, so you can imagine how much fun that'll be!" He cheered, his smile stretching both cheeks.

"I did what I had to do to live!" Casey protested, eyes blinking rapidly to prevent the onslaught of tears. "She deserved it! You know she did," she pleaded. He rolled his eyes, unamused.

"The Devil himself – the Big Guy – ordered for you to stay here, honey. You are, in no way, innocent," he said. Casey shook her head violently, hands closing her ears. He groaned. "You are ridiculous," he deadpanned.

He snapped his fingers and the room transformed into flames. Casey's eyes widened as she felt the familiar heat seep into her bones. "Get me out!" She yelled, falling to the floor. Dizziness struck and black spots crept into her vision.

When she opened her eyes again, her mother's sneering face greeted her. "Disgrace," her mother said coldly. "Look at you. A mess, as always. After everything I've done for you?" her mother asked in disbelief. She started to twitch violently – the same way she's always reacted since she was 13.

Uncontrollably, anger rushed into her bones again. Acting on autopilot, she launched herself onto her mother's frame and strangled her. She felt her mother's dying breaths fade away, and only then did she toss her mother's body to the side.

He appeared once more. "You kill your mother in cold blood and demand a place in Heaven? You're delusional," he mocked. He looked at the room in distaste. "No blood on your hands, though. That's no fun. Again!" He whirled around and snapped his fingers. Casey barely choked out a protest.

"Casey," her mother said. "What's this I hear about you driving my boyfriend off with one of your lies again? He broke up with me, you know." Her mother pouted, looking downcast for a brief moment. Then, her mother stalked towards Casey, grabbing her wrist. "That's not very kind of you."

Casey tried to push her mother off of her. Her mother replied with a scoff and her presence was replaced with two men dressed in navy blue – her mother's personal guards. They inched closer to Casey, faces blank as usual. Casey cowered. "No. No," she screamed. "I don't deserve this!" she yelled in vain.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "When can I get it inside your head, brat? You do. You always do." Her mother's gaze flickered back to her guards. "Boys. Do as you will." The two men grunted in reply. As a cohesive unit, they worked in fluid motions to punish Casey as her mother saw fit. Casey's body was practically decorated with black and blue specks. There was the occasional streak of blood, courtesy of her mother's guards going trigger-happy at knife work on Casey's flesh.

Lying limp on the floor, Casey waited for the guard to drop his dagger. The two came to a deal: Casey would allow the guard to beat her up whenever and wherever he wished, so long as the guard would always – without fail – leave a dagger every time. Casey never thought she'd have to bargain for a deal like so, but her mother's always had an interesting way of pushing Casey's buttons.

Once the entourage left, Casey was alone with her mother. Her mother smiled at her mess of a daughter. Right then, her guard fell. Casey pounced at the opportunity and stabbed her mother's jugular vein. Blood spurted out jerkily and Casey's face unconsciously split into two. Casey basked in her mother's crestfallen expression and licked her lips.

The demon signaled his appearance with a clap. "That's the Casey I love," he cooed. He pulled out a mirror and forced Casey to look at her reflection. "You see that face? That bloodlust? Look at me again and tell me you belong in Heaven. Me and the Big Guy never thought you'd have the guts to actually kill her. Wow. Bravo," he said. Casey whimpered.

He crouched down to meet Casey eye-to-eye. "You don't get to lie anymore, baby. You're not innocent. Don't try to kid yourself," he warned. He kissed her lips roughly, ignoring how the action was unrequited. "Now, let's try this thing again, shall we?" He snapped his fingers.

Casey was plunged into a neverending cycle of death, pain, and blood. Screams echoed her hellscape on an hourly basis and the demon merely giggled in reply to it. Broken, battered, bruised, Casey felt exhausted. Yet, at the same time, she was exhilarated. The rush of taking away her mother's life again and again, the feeling of power – it gave her a rush she's never felt before – and it almost made the entire thing worth it.

It was July when Casey learned that she was a monster disguised in a human skin suit. It was July when Casey realized she was a murderer. It was July when Casey bought a one-way ticket to Hell. It was July when Casey first understood what tragedy meant.