Vengeance

Darkness flooded his mind, breaths laboured, blood rushing in his ears. His thumb grazed over the initials engraved into the wooden handle gripped in his fist, knuckles wound tight around the hard surface, thumb never ceasing its circular movements. Troi yanked on the hood of his jacket, winding it tighter around him. If only he could disintegrate in its depth.

Rain gushed from the dark heavens, pelting his body as he proceeded forth, not at all fazed by the droplets momentarily blurring his vision. Troi had one purpose, and until he succeeded, he would proceed forth. He was convinced that if, miraculously, the angel of death were to appear at this exact moment demanding to suck the life out of his soul, he would request an hour’s extension. Yes, he had thought that far ahead.

Headlights flashed, tyres screeched, windshields squeaked as each vehicle had its wipers at work. Although the streetlights were of no assistance when it came to walking at this hour, he seemed to know exactly where he was going. His footsteps were steady, shoes soggy from splashing in the puddles without realising, yet his heart thrummed with each passing moment.

The hotel entrance peeked between the branches of the weepy willow tree, excitement coursing through his veins as he gingerly approached his destination. Not yet, a voice caressed his mind, enveloping him in its warmth. Soon.

The lift doors pinged as his forefinger persistently stabbed at the glowing button protruding from the wall. The wordless countdown began, his eyes rolling to the metal ceiling.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One

Silence. Such was the lifeless floor he stood upon that even his shoes squelched loudly against the pink carpet. He paused mid-stride, deep in thought, studying a barely-there muddy footprint. A moment passed and it seemed he had made his decision. Trembling slightly, he undid his shoes and picked them up in his hands. Fair enough, there was no one around, but that did not mean the rooms were empty.

His nose wrinkled at the bright pink, paint-peeling walls. The very choice of colour in the hotel sickened him. His special weapon slid along the floor, the sound somewhat soothing his racing heart. Sweat beaded from the front of his thick black hair and trailed down into his lashes. His shoulders were held down by stones as he lumbered onward, eyes bouncing from door to door.

Halting at a particular corner cutting into the edge of the corridor, here was his stop, and what lay beyond those doors was either his beginning or eternal demise. Right now, in this moment, he could not care less what the next hour would hold.

Releasing air from his nose, warming the area above his upper lip, he dragged his thumb across his brow. He shuffled his shoes into his other hand, wiping the moisture that had clung to his thick lashes. With the same hand, he gently scraped below his right eye, wincing slightly at the burning sensation.

A small dent dipped into his flesh, still fresh from the blade of the axe he now held firmly by the handle in his right fist. Using his index finger, he pushed a little harder against the deep gash, enticing a tiny growl from the pit of his stomach, shivers dancing along his spine.

This was his mark, his reminder, his mistake. Only he could make it right, no matter what or who thought otherwise. It was his time to shine.

Raising his hand, knuckles blushing, he tapped firmly against the door, eyes tracing over the silver metal numbers. Though his heart raced, his expression remained plain as the cloudless sky. When the silence became unbearable enough for him to hear the clock’s hands tick behind him, he pressed his palm flat against the door in an attempt to peep through the tiny hole, only to find that it slid open easily beneath his weight.

Strange. It seemed the inhabitant was practically inviting him inside.

Heavy breaths emanated from within. No doubt he had fallen asleep after a long day. Poor fool. He seemed so content with his day that he had not an inkling to check that his front door was locked. Surely he must fear that his enemies would come for him.

Troi thought of this as he carefully lifted the axe he held with such love, in both hands now, careful not to rouse his host. A chilling breeze slithered into the room. What a smart man. Door unlocked, window wide open. All that remained was a handwritten sign reading slaughter me and they were set.

Troi swallowed a giggle. This was too easy. There had to be some sort of catch.

A moment passed before he allowed himself the luxury of stepping fully into the bedroom, separated just by a tiny box from the bathroom, which had nothing but a shower curtain hanging from a rail.

Impatient as the man was to recline, Troi would rather have the man look him dead in the eye before watching the blood pour out of his throat. Yet he was aware of his racing imagination and the impossibility of it becoming reality the moment he heard rustling along the corridor.

Holding his breath, he was not so much afraid of the man in the room as he was of being found out before getting the job done.

Deciding that enough time had been wasted, he proceeded towards the bedroom window, which was almost fully open. Droplets of rain pressed against the ground as though they too wanted front-row seats for what was about to unfold.

The man let out a deep snore, followed by rough scratching as he rolled over to his side, causing Troi to stumble a little in surprise. He was now face to face with the man in whom he held such loathing, its venom stronger than that of a snake.

Warm air blew out from the man’s nose, sliding against Troi’s skin. At this, Troi’s face twisted with disgust. The man who had held so much respect and height in his life was nothing but filth to him.

Without a single tremor, all in one fluid movement, he landed a swift, clean cut across the man’s neck — so perfected and precise that the man did not feel a single thing until the blood gushed from his throat, spilling onto the pristine white sheets. His eyes flew open, panic seizing him by the balls. His lips parted yet no sound fell. Wordless, his eyes rolled to the side, not missing Troi’s bent head staring straight into the eyes so identical to his own as they widened in shock before remaining that way.

A moment passed, then another, until his breaths had become the only sound in the room. Perhaps he was waiting for him to jump up and scream, “Hah! Try harder, boy!”

But he did not move a muscle.

Drops of blood began to fall from the crimson-stained blade, followed by a trail beginning from the throat of the body that had once been immersed in his dreams just minutes before — bright little painted cherries falling to the floor.

Brief panic settled in his chest as a car’s headlights reflected on the ceiling, and he lurched forward, halting immediately as he glanced down at his trembling hands. Fingerprints. He must not leave a single piece of evidence. Catch him they may, but not just yet.

He frantically scanned the room, not daring to turn on the light for fear of being discovered. Squinting in the musky glow provided by the streetlights down below, he finally settled on gripping the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling them over his fingers, then clumsily grasping at the paper-thin curtains and tugging them shut.

He released air through his nose, gasping slightly, not realising that he had held his breath the whole time. Chest aching, he stood swaying on his feet as his heart began to knock steadily against his ribcage.

From the bedside table, he retrieved his axe, caressing it lovingly while glancing at the body bent between the sheets.

“Farewell, Father” he muttered.

Raising his hand in mock salute, he turned on his heel, exiting the room and closing the front door with the softest of clicks, tiptoeing down the stairs and out through the back door.