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She believes my work is from the gods, that I am an avenger, and I’m quite sure she assisted in curating my horrendous nickname, The Slaying Sickle. Nevertheless she is my most trusted friend in this world. She grew up alongside me. Our mothers had the same “lady of the night” career, except her mother showed more compassion than my own. Delphi always loved the color yellow. From yellow ribbons in her shoes, tied round her wrists as bracelets and yellow bows hanging from her hair. She was a ray of sunlight for me. Delphi and her own mum tried to stick up for me when my mother burned cigarettes into my neck and arms, but it only led to mother being angry that they’d shown any remorse over my upbringing.
One day, Delphi discussed that she was going to free me from my life, because she overheard my mother discussing selling me to some people—people in a very evil segment of society.
I didn’t realize Delphi’s mum was going to force my mother to overdose and then take us to the Penas’ store for refuge. The memory causes a slow blanket of melancholy to fall upon my shoulders, but I swiftly snap back into reality when I gaze upon my dear Le Havre.
Today, it does not look comforting; in fact, it is swarming with bodies, frantic and sobbing. I sprint toward my dearest friend, Madame Elisa, after spotting her tall blonde figure from the front of the crowd. Her face is pulled up in fury, her cheeks stained with tears, which forces malice thrum through my veins.
Rushing toward her, I’m intercepted by one of several bobbies, this one holding a notepad.
“Just to get this straight, miss, so you had found her once you had heard some shoutings and screamings, and then the window was left open. You sure you wasn’t the last one in the room?” His drawl irritates my nerves, for he doesn’t sound like he is taking the matter seriously. Not many individuals in today’s society respect women or men in this line of work, but I do. It holds a purpose and it is self-sacrificing of their own bodies. To have an establishment that tries to uphold boundaries and standards to allow these people to practice their trade safely is commendable.
“You daft cunt! Of course I was the last to see her because the bastard jumped from her balcony! You can see the bloody sheets tied up, and he might still be within range if you’d like some dogs on the scent, instead of sitting here gawking at her torn-up body!” Her Scottish accent rips through the air with anger.
No.
Panic sets into the back of my mind as a haunting sight peeks from my periphery. I peer over to see the tied sheets swaying from the balcony of my dear Delphi’s room.
No. No. No. I cannot control my limbs as molten lava fills my muscles.
“No!” I shout repeatedly as I storm through the front doors to the second floor. I can hear Madame Elisa yelling for me in the background, but her voice is drowned out by my terror. The officers are trying to snatch my limbs to hold me back but I’m far too quick for them.
I need to make sure it isn’t her. It isn’t my Delphi—no.
After I turn down the velvet-covered hallway, I stop in my tracks as I stare into her room and see an explosion of blood. It looks diabolically inhuman. This is something far worse than anything I had ever done to a person. This creature did not even treat my Delphi as a human; they treated her like a calf for the slaughter. Dropping to my knees, I hear something pop within my body as I bring my hands up to my face in horror.
Her neck is open. Her abdomen sliced open like those in the mortuary. Delphi’s innards are displayed around her.
Everything else becomes a blur.
My mind refuses to understand what my eyes are seeing.
Bile rises to the back of my throat as the overwhelming, metallic smell of blood assaults my senses. I cannot cease the emesis that expels from my stomach and onto the floor. I glance up, trying to survey the room one last time, hoping this is a terrible nightmare as I hear the pounding of steps behind me.
My eye catches on the yellow ribbon she always wore. It’s around her wrist, soaked crimson. I stare at it. Not the blood. Not the wounds. The ribbon. My beautiful Delphi. My greatest friend. She was my little sister who protected me.
Now I must avenge her.
6. The Physics of Ruin - Alcott
Malice
My fingers twitch with excitement as I pry open the newest crate of dynamite. There is more than I remember ordering; they must have been given the incorrect order. The scent of sulfur greets me like an old friend. I lean down to inhale the residue.
Magnificent. Most men look upon explosives and see destruction. I see mathematics. Precision. Art. Carefully lifting one stick from the crate, I inspect the wrapping before placing it upon my workbench beside several copper pipes, wire, and a notebook littered with calculations. Edward enters without knocking. Naturally. The man has never respected doors. His gaze falls upon the dynamite. Then upon me. Then back to the dynamite.
“Do you plan to destroy a city?” He asks in a cynical tone.
I smile. “A disappointing lack of faith, brother. I am simply conducting scientific research.”
Edward stares, dressed in his all black attire.
I sigh. “Why don't you ever let me have a bit of fun?”
He dares to roll his eyes. Rude.
Turning back to my work, I begin measuring the fuse lengths. Medicine and explosives are not terribly different, truthfully. Both require precision. Both punish mistakes. Both involve fascinating quantities of blood when executed improperly. I attended university intending to become a physician.
Initially, Edward was very proud. At least for several minutes. Then he discovered I had also become fascinated with the methods by which the human body could be dismantled. Apparently, there is a distinction between anatomy and disassembly. Academia can be terribly narrow-minded, and I proved to my brother that my talents were far better served as an accomplice of death and debauchery.
