“It’s too gross,” I say, letting go of his throat.
Bayard stares at me with watery eyes.
“What else?” I ask.
“And I killed her baby…” the odious man mutters, then looks away.
I see Pepper frightened and tense, her warm hand on my shoulder, caring. She didn’t even know me.
When Bayard sees the look on my face, he shrieks, “I killed it for fun.” He flings his arms around. All I see is the dancing of ghostly reds.
Bayard is slobbering all over himself now, wailing. I’m repulsed beyond thought, and all I want is for this to stop. The sounds to stop. The stench to stop.
There’s nothing else anymore. Sounds of spit. Ghostly red streaks. Rushing rivers. Decay. Rot. Nausea.
“Please, stop,” I press out.
But his blubbering only gets louder.
“Stop,” I grind out between my teeth.
“I killed it for fun, all right…” His voice is too shrill; it feels like it’s cutting through my skull. “I liked it. Is that what you want me to say? Yes. I liked it.” Bayard continues to shout, “I threatened her fo…”
A knife glides into his cheek, as smooth as butter between slabs of wrinkles. I step back, startled. Pepper stands beside me, eyes wild, fist gripping the knife with pale knuckles. She pulls the blade out, and Bayard shrieks in pain. Blood drips down his cheek and gushes from his mouth. Pepper reaches back, this time aiming for his chest. But with the blood on the floor and the sandals on her feet, she slips.
Bayard gets a hold of the knife. He flails wildly and catches Pepper with the blade, leaving a red streak across her chest. Blood pools along it, painting her apron in new colours.
The scent is too thick. Too strong.
Bayard lets out a victorious sound, then his arm lifts high, aiming for Pepper again. The world slows. Her eyes go wide as the blade approaches. Food and hunger and reds and—the sound of a head smashing against rock. The clatter of metal upon stone.
My hand is on his head. I push it against the wall again and again. I hear the cracking of his skull. But I don’t stop. It’s still too loud. I only want silence.
Begging. Blubbering. Sounds of air escaping lungs. Bright red blood streaks down the wall. Food and—finally, the sounds stop.
I let go, revolted. Bayard’s body crumples to the floor in a wet broken heap of bodily fluids and over-starched clothes. I feel soiled. Dirty.
Pepper’s breath is fast and short; mine, too slow. Not human. I look at her. Red curls frame her blood-splattered face.
Her apron is cut, a gash showing the wound behind it. But when she turns to me, there’s something new in her face. Calm. Peace.
The fear is gone now, replaced by fire and strength.
“I don’t know what came over myself,” she says, breathless.
“It needed to be done,” Lazarus says.
“Thank you.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I owe you my life.”
“I just wanted him to stop,” I say.
Her fingers feel warm even through the silk of the banyan.
“I didn’t know. I suspected, but when he said those words, my Olivia, I just… Something overcame me and—” She stops herself, and her hand slips.
“I understand,” Lazarus says softly.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pointing to her chest.
