Blood Avenged For

"Would killing him avenge my trauma?"

The world seemed to have sucked me into a wide hula-hoop, and for a second, all I saw in front of me was smoke. Dense, thickening smoke with a flavor that made my throat burn in agony. Yet, there was no taste.

I flung my hands around, trying to make out my surroundings as my eyes lay there, a façade behind a curtain of smog. It was then that I touched it, the texture of a wooden surface on the floor; and all of a sudden, the entire universe seemed to call out to my question.

I looked up at the freshly painted ceiling as if my eyes could see through it. They could see the willowy canvas of the night maiden, glittering in sophistication- with clouds of a rich scarlet red color. The sky was a scandalous woman, glorified in her glamour, hiding her scars of terror from the world.

That was when it struck me.

The green-painted walls had seemed quite familiar, but now, as the reddish tinge spread across the entire purple night sky, the faint thread of memory that I have been trying to bury deep inside, seemed to have floated to the surface.

I did not know how I ended up here. Maybe, it was him again. Maybe, tarnishing me once did not give him the utmost pleasure he wished to have had. So now he was back, to take whatever I had regained in these last three months. To take, the subtle amount of joy that our child had given me. No, he was back, just to seep all that away again.

But, when my hands reached down to touch my torso and felt nothing but thick air between my fingers, I had a feeling that perhaps, all was not as it seemed.

Was I not here...or was I? Was I still stuck in the haystack where he had left me that day, burning into my skin like rods of fire? Was I still in there…or was I here, like a glimpse of the past? Only my soul…the body, unturned.

My body crouched down beside a stool- a small infringement of wood, my hands trembling as the smell of a brand-new whiskey hit my nasal system. The man lay on the small bed, one hand hanging down from the quilt as another enamored his face.

Slowly, an uneasiness grabbed me and I felt like running away. The very look of satisfaction on his face seemed to be tightening the knot of terror that he had created, not many days ago. No one believed me then. Yet, I did not know why the astral forces had this sadistic plan to let me burn in agony while he slept in peace. What if he woke up? What if he saw me? Would he run to my body if he saw me? Would he run to my limp figure and destroy what was left of its glory? Would he-?

I had not given any attention to the shiny embossed window at the extreme right of the room. The metal knobs had been shining under the glow of the moonlight streaming from the windowpanes left wide open, but now, they moved, exposing the wooden texture to the colors of the moon.

The darkness filled the room like liquid to the brim, as the window panes flung open, slow music creaking out of its system, echoing through the length of the small room. Someone was holding onto the railings. I could see him. Or it…

The sound of leather, padding against the wooden floor inched closer but drove by my obvious existence as if it could not see me at all.

Was I...invisible to them?

True, I had to read something on the Astral projections for my exams last year but, I never paid much attention to it. The idea of an out-of-body experience seemed dumb. Illogical. Something which went against my morals, and the thorough research I had been conducting to glorify Science over superstitions all my life. No. The Astral Projections were a bogus idea, something that could never happen. Something, among the many things which I thought, could never happen. But one of them had already been crushed a while ago.

I squeezed myself against the furniture, trying my best to take a good look at the form which had come around the corner when I felt something stick to my sides. The spot burned as the fresh paint spilled into the already wounded territory. When I looked at it though, it was gone. Spotless, as if nothing had ever thrust its way inside.

I sat back with a jerk as my body rose in thin air, sprawling my hands to regain my lost balance.

It was a woman.

I could not make out her features as the darkness covered her, but even then, I could feel her lips stretched out into a maniacal smile. She was walking down to the bed where he lay, straight- with no distractions. Through the corner of my eyes, I saw him twist and turn around as her bloodshot eyes remained latched on him, not even blinking for a second. And that was when I caught it.

My eyes quivered as the shine of the broken glass in her hand brightened under the moonlight, covered in a reddish gleam. As if, the cloud of red had gathered at the tip of her weapon, taking in the blood of God knew how many other innocent souls. Her lips had sniveled into a sneer as her eyes shifted close, almost like a snake attacking its prey in the dead of the night.

I was torn into two halves. One half wanted to sit right there, floating in mid-air, and watch the spectacle that would occur in front of me in a second. I would feel myself squawk in joy, in relief, only to be intervened by the muffled sobs of the other side as the picture of the child flashed in front of my eyes.

The child, with his big blue eyes- aquamarine, as he used to call it, now filled to the brim with tears. He did not know the sins his father had committed. He was too small to, and the others would never believe me. They'd already cast me aside when I first reported on him. What if they cast him aside as well? He was only three. He would not be able to survive the pain of abandonment. He did not deserve this. He thought too highly of his dad. But if the man died before the image did, it would only attain utmost immortality.

I could not let him die like this.

It felt as if I was under a trance, as I launched onto the woman, wrenching the weapon from her hand and let it across the room- the echoes of broken glass shuddering from a mile away. Looking into her eyes, I could not help but howl with laughter as a hoarse scream escaped her throat, her bloodshot eyes looking at nothingness in confusion. The man was sitting up on the bed, wide-eyed, his dark hair ruffled and messy. With a look at the woman, he started screaming, but alas, the woman's voice had reached the ceiling by then. With a click of a finger, I stripped her cloth, making it look like it had been ripped apart by a strong man.

It was ten minutes till the police arrived. Ten minutes, and yet it seemed like an hour.

The constables had put the metal over his wrists, dragging him over as she was pulled and comforted as if she was the victim. A small piece of the broken glass had remained, but it was his hand that held it when the police came in. It was his rough, patchy wrist, that had once groped my neck, and tarnished my skin; that was now inside two handsome metal-rimmed handcuffs.

The woman was shaking on the floor, and for once, it was not an act. Before the police arrived, she had felt an unearthly intrusion of air in her auditory passage.

"Do, as told."

I woke up to the sound of a fire alarm but knew it had to be a drill. The apartment which I'd rented with Ben kept doing these drills from time to time, but no one really cared to join nowadays.

My hand wiped off a patch of sweat from my forehead as small bits and pieces from my dream recoiled back to me.

"Mama?"

My lips stretched into a smile as the small figure came bobbing up to my form. I ruffled his dark satin hair, much like his father's, as he tried to engulf me in a hug, holding only my legs as tightly as he could.

"What is it, sweetheart?" I said softly, but he only drove his face deeper into my stomach.

And that was when my eyes fell on the light of the television. Someone had turned on the news channel, and on it, flashing in bold letters were the words:

'Serial killer psychopath arrested. Caught in an attempt to rape and murder a woman. Woman safe, and in therapy.'

I could not resist staring at his face- at his submissive eyes, looking straight into the camera, for something he knew he had not done, but something even he knew, he deserved.

"Da-dad..." came the words from the small lips attached to my body. I held his hands in mine, rubbing them - as if rubbing them would reduce the pain that oscillated inside his tiny heart.

My eyes strayed to the door. In an hour or so, the police would be here. I will have to give a thousand interviews, perhaps millions. I would be labeled as the wife of a murderer.

I would be believed as a victim.

As the light of the cameras bore into my skin, my mind drifted away to that night. It was not a dream. Most certainly, the killer laughed behind walls but right now, that was not my responsibility. Ben had dozed off in the living room, his cheeks soaked with tears. Calls, upon calls, had come and been received. When they released their astonishment at him going on a killing spree right before he was going to get his promotion, I smirked. I could not help it. If they looked through the case, they would see it. But they could…never catch me.

The Astral Projections had seen to that.

I laughed as I placed the full stop to my entry, then set it on fire.

They would never know.