“We stopped looking for monsters under our bed
when we realized that they were inside us.”
—Charles Darwin
Astring quartet. Two violins, two cellos. A smooth and constant build up before they’re competing for the climax.
No, no, that’s not right.
A solo. A single cello, slow and haunting. A lazy, rhythmic tap against a drum echoing in the far-off distance.
Yes, that’s it.
Mysolo.
Sometimes it feels like painting. Other times it’s poetry. And then there are days like today—it’s music, old world and mystic. I have no preference, really. Art is art.
Isn’t that right, Katerina?
“How many?” I ask, inhaling his screams and pocketing them in my lungs as I dig the knife a little deeper against his cheekbone then slide it downward. “I’m aware of how many died and had their parts sold. What I want you to tell me”—the slab of skin falls to the ground, my fingers almost as red as his neck. His eyes roll back—“is how many you, personally, sold. How many transactions did you see through?”
I take a step back, angling my head and honing my gaze on his unmarred cheek. It’s harder than it looks, making both sides of the face match evenly. But I like to take my time and get it just right.
Katerina took her work seriously in the studio. Fortunately for the victims, she had already killed them by the time she started removing the flesh from their bones. Unfortunately for Hugo, Katerina isn’t the only one who can take their work seriously.
Call me a perfectionist.
At least I learned something.
I grip Hugo’s neck and squeeze until his eyes roll forward to meet mine. His skin is ghastly from the blood he’s already lost, but he likely won’t need another adrenaline injection until the next two or three removals.
“I asked you a question,” I say calmly. I have to close my eyes to refrain from making the next cut too soon. “How many of their bones did you personally sell for Katerina? Whether it was a hand, forearm, hip, or skull, whether originating from the same body or different ones—what’s the total number?”
A wheeze escapes the man in front of me before he manages a faint, “F-fuck you.”
My eyes snap open, lips twitch. “Someone is about to be fucked. And it isn’t me.” I flick my gaze to an electric drill on the stool beside him, and his own gaze follows. It takes him a second to make the connection, but once he does, his mouth falls open and puke hits my shoes.
Really, Hugo?
I set down my knife, opting for the drill. Rotating it slowly in my hand, I inspect it with appreciation. It’s not every day I pull this out, but Hugo Perez is one-third of Katerina’s infamous underground pseudonym,Misha. Only the best for Katerina’s business partners.
My index finger presses the trigger. A lowrizzz,rizzzfills my ears, and it’s in perfect harmony with the violin and cello masterpiece suddenly playing so beautifully in my mind.
Huh.
Maybe today is a string quartet kinda day after all.
“Hundreds! Fuck.Fuck,” Hugo spits out, his chest heaving. “I lost count. I must have run hundreds of transactions for her.”
I half-nod, my fingers tempted to wave left and right as I silently direct my own personal orchestra. Therizzzcontinues, and I saunter beside him, pull on the blood-soaked waistband of his pants. I’ll have to unchain him for this next part.
“W-wait. Wait! Where’s your leniency? Where’s my chance? I answered your fucking question, goddammit!”
My movements still. The music halts, and silence rings in my ears. A muscle in my jaw ticks, but of course my voice remains controlled. I taught myself the value of control years ago—it was either that or lose myself completely to the chaos of my mind.
“Were youlenient, Hugo, when you listened to Katerina’s victims cry in their crates? Or when you knew they were seconds away from death but did nothing?” I tilt my head, rub the bottom of my chin with the drill’s handle. “When I was locked up in the studio, listening to them scream, beg to be spared ... did yougive them a chance?”
Every muscle in my body tenses. I’m well aware I’ve lost the emotional capacity I once had. But I remember. I remember exactly what it was like to sit beside them, all of them, as tears streamed down their cheeks and they begged for their lives.
