My excuse for not getting the popcorn and coming back was that I started driving toward the store, then thought about my apartment and some things I needed done, and by the time I realized I had passed the store, I was nearly home. I could hear the disappointment in my mom’s voice, but I promised her I’d watch the next new movie as soon as it’s released.
I tuck my hands behind my head and stretch out on the couch. When I close my eyes, all I can see is the man on fire at the gas station and Mastyx taking on his face. I thought for sure I would hear the man screaming, suffering the way he made his poor wife, but besides the roaring of the flames and the crackling and crunching of the fire and twisted metal nearby, it was quiet—quiet and hot. I didn’t realize how hot it was until I came home and saw my hair. And the smell, God-awful. I had to trim off thesinged pieces, which meant essentially giving myself a full-on hair trim to make it look less noticeable.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part is how much I loved the way it made me feel. The sheer power and control of someone else’s life, their death, being in my hands, gives me a perceived sense of invincibility. Being able to beckon Mastyx at will is my new superpower.
In that moment, I felt no fear of the flames. It felt more like a flood of endorphins surging through me—pleasant and euphoric.
I imagine it’s the same feeling skydivers and base jumpers get when they first leap from their planes and cliffs. No matter how dangerous the act is, the desire to do it again pulls you, nags you, and consumes you. It becomes an obsession.
My heart thumps in my chest, and my face suddenly prickles. My fingertips tingle, and my thumb flicks a match that isn’t there.
That piece of shit deserved to die, that’s what I keep telling myself anyway. After watching the news report about the incident at the gas station and its brief mention of his rap sheet, no one could ever convince me otherwise.
The one thing I didn’t understand about the whole thing was the woman. She appeared on the news, crying and not understanding what had happened. She made a passing mention of someone yelling at her to run, but the sequence of events wasn’t right. She thought she saw the flamesbeforea young woman told her to run. Perhaps she’s just a good liar, spinning a tale that makes sense to protect us both.
Watching her interview, I couldn’t help but notice a light in her eyes that wasn’t there when I saw her in the gas station.
I set her free. She can live her life without fear and pain. I did that. I saved her. A broad smile spreads across my face.
He was the bad guy, the villain, and I’m the hero.
Her hero. And now all I can think about is how happy I feel about that—about causing the man’s death forher.
About his dying in general. I mean, is it even wrong when the person is bad and deserves it?
I don’t think so.
A small part of me has concerns about Mastyx. Will he punish me for calling him to do my dirty work when I summon him?
I push the idea out of my mind and allow other moments between us to filter in. A flash of his segmented flesh face pops in my head, and I cringe. The mask definitely made a difference with our last encounter, but there has to be more I can do to make his presence less intimidating and more alluring. Having feet instead of hooves and a smooth, hairless body would make things easier, but how do I get those parts of him to change?
I have noticed that the more people die, the more human-like he seems. It makes me wonder if that’s the key.
My eyes widen as something I read suddenly comes back to me, popping into my head like a pleasant memory. It seemed so insignificant at the time, I didn’t give it a second thought. I roll sideways off the couch, spring to a stand, and hustle to my computer, searching through my browsing history. A few clicks of the mouse later, and I lower myself slowly into my seat, a sense of hope and promise making it impossible to stand.
Ritual sacrifice.
It’s been staring me in the face this whole time. My lips move as I read the background on the topic, its risks, and its benefits. I only skimmed this topic before deciding it was too rash.
Ritual sacrifice has been used for centuries for a myriad of reasons. Two of them stand out to me and have me nodding at my computer screen—punishment for a taboo violation and offering a victim to appease a deity.
In some religions, deities were reinterpreted as demons, meaning Mastyx. So, if I combine the violations, sacrificing themen who are sinning and committing crimes, with the need to appease my deity, Mastyx, I will gain power.
And I need more power—a bargaining chip to have some resemblance of control.
I cover my mouth before swiping my face. This has to be the answer. It makes sense, given what I’ve seen recently—Mastyx’s partial humanization appears to correlate with the deaths that precede it. Even though the crimes these men have committed weren’t necessarily taboo, they were still punishable violations, right?
My head whips to the calendar. I need to talk to Mastyx. Get him to tell me if I’m on the right track.
It’s Saturday night, so there ought to be lots of dirtbags and scum lingering around the local bars.
Local…maybe I should drive to the next town over, where no one knows me.
After taking a quick shower, I pull a red dress over my head and shimmy it over my hips, smoothing it down. It lands just above the knee and barely holds in my breasts. I slide my feet in a pair of black flats, just in case I need to run, and iron my hair straight before putting on makeup.
The lipstick on my lips glimmers back at me as I gaze at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look sexy as all hell. It’s too bad I don’t have a real boyfriend to appreciate it.
When I peer out the window, a thin layer of snow covers the top of the Nova. I grab a cropped cardigan sweater and stuff my arms into it before stepping outside. A chilly breeze penetrates my attire, sending goosebumps in every direction and hardening my nipples to stone.
