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Authors: Justina Ireland
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echo in the still night. I want to resist, but Their lust for pain is stronger than my will. With a grimace I give in.
The jawbone breaks with an audible crunch, turning my stomach. Hank’s screams shatter the night, like an otherworldly choir. We sigh as we savor the sound. The bone crackles as it heals. They could do this all night, breaking and then fixing him, just to do it again. I remind myself that I’m the only thing keeping Them from indulging in Their fun.
I have to be stronger. It’s time to stop dragging this out.
Poor Hank begins to sob and call for help, but he knows as well as we do that there will be no rescue, no witnesses. He picked this spot for just that reason.
His whimpering is getting old, so I compel Hank to look into my eyes. He is powerless to resist my will. The Furies crowd close.
In Hank’s wild, bloodshot eyes Tisiphone reads the truth of his crimes, and I do as well through our shared vision. Revulsion turns my stomach, and part of me, the part that’s still a little bit human, shrinks away from the violence. But I have to know that he is guilty of the crimes They say he is. I will not kill an innocent, which is more than I can say for Hank Meacham. Megaera’s sight reveals how much he’s hurt people. It’s more than I can stomach.
“Guilty,” I say, my voice flat.
“Guilty,” the serpent whispers.
“Guilty,” Tisiphone announces in her husky voice, her verdict dissolving into a manic giggle. I release Hank, and he falls back onto the ground. He sobs loudly. His terror is almost palpable. My three-way vision melts into one, and I alone stand over Hank. I can still sense Them with me, but tonight this last part is my responsibility alone. They have had Their fill of fear this week, and are finally satisfied. I feel a sense of relief, despite the work I still have to do.
I look down at him, and he cries harder. “Please,” he moans, his hands covering his face. “Please, just let me go.”
“How many of your victims begged you for mercy?” I ask. My voice is hard, and realization slowly dawns in Hank’s eyes. He scrabbles backward across the parking lot. The sight fills me with a fierce joy, and I smile. “Justice has no room for mercy, Hank Meacham.”
I hold my palm out. Chains hang from my arms, links of metal that surge forward, swirling into my palm. A gleaming silver sword materializes. It shines with an inner light, and the unnatural flash makes Hank sit up. He tries to run away, scampers across the gravel parking lot on his hands and knees, but I plunge the sword through his back. I know the exact moment when it pierces his heart. A shudder passes through me, and my entire being tingles.
It’s better than anything else I’ve ever felt. Joy, love, elation, righteousness, and release all crash through me in a discordant symphony. It’s only a fraction of what They feel, but it’s enough. There wasn’t time to savor it last night, but tonight there is. For a second I let the finality of Hank’s death wash over me, and I revel in a job well done.
I can understand why They crave justice so much. There’s an addictive quality to the feeling of vengeance. It’s more than the pleasure of knowing that a monster like Meacham will never kill again. It’s the satisfaction of a job well done coupled with the adrenaline high of jumping off a cliff. I’m more alive when I hand down justice than at any other time in my life.
I would feel worse about handing down Their justice, but I know my way is more humane than Their method. If They could, They would burn away his soul, leaving nothing for the afterlife. I just stop the hearts of the guilty, ending their lives quickly and quietly. I’m not religious, but I like to think there is some kind of final judgment for the men we kill. The fate of their souls is left to the deity who cares. It’s not Their way, but we have an agreement. A clean death, and They get to choose the criminals and have my full
The jawbone breaks with an audible crunch, turning my stomach. Hank’s screams shatter the night, like an otherworldly choir. We sigh as we savor the sound. The bone crackles as it heals. They could do this all night, breaking and then fixing him, just to do it again. I remind myself that I’m the only thing keeping Them from indulging in Their fun.
I have to be stronger. It’s time to stop dragging this out.
Poor Hank begins to sob and call for help, but he knows as well as we do that there will be no rescue, no witnesses. He picked this spot for just that reason.
His whimpering is getting old, so I compel Hank to look into my eyes. He is powerless to resist my will. The Furies crowd close.
In Hank’s wild, bloodshot eyes Tisiphone reads the truth of his crimes, and I do as well through our shared vision. Revulsion turns my stomach, and part of me, the part that’s still a little bit human, shrinks away from the violence. But I have to know that he is guilty of the crimes They say he is. I will not kill an innocent, which is more than I can say for Hank Meacham. Megaera’s sight reveals how much he’s hurt people. It’s more than I can stomach.
“Guilty,” I say, my voice flat.
“Guilty,” the serpent whispers.
“Guilty,” Tisiphone announces in her husky voice, her verdict dissolving into a manic giggle. I release Hank, and he falls back onto the ground. He sobs loudly. His terror is almost palpable. My three-way vision melts into one, and I alone stand over Hank. I can still sense Them with me, but tonight this last part is my responsibility alone. They have had Their fill of fear this week, and are finally satisfied. I feel a sense of relief, despite the work I still have to do.
I look down at him, and he cries harder. “Please,” he moans, his hands covering his face. “Please, just let me go.”
“How many of your victims begged you for mercy?” I ask. My voice is hard, and realization slowly dawns in Hank’s eyes. He scrabbles backward across the parking lot. The sight fills me with a fierce joy, and I smile. “Justice has no room for mercy, Hank Meacham.”
I hold my palm out. Chains hang from my arms, links of metal that surge forward, swirling into my palm. A gleaming silver sword materializes. It shines with an inner light, and the unnatural flash makes Hank sit up. He tries to run away, scampers across the gravel parking lot on his hands and knees, but I plunge the sword through his back. I know the exact moment when it pierces his heart. A shudder passes through me, and my entire being tingles.
It’s better than anything else I’ve ever felt. Joy, love, elation, righteousness, and release all crash through me in a discordant symphony. It’s only a fraction of what They feel, but it’s enough. There wasn’t time to savor it last night, but tonight there is. For a second I let the finality of Hank’s death wash over me, and I revel in a job well done.
I can understand why They crave justice so much. There’s an addictive quality to the feeling of vengeance. It’s more than the pleasure of knowing that a monster like Meacham will never kill again. It’s the satisfaction of a job well done coupled with the adrenaline high of jumping off a cliff. I’m more alive when I hand down justice than at any other time in my life.
I would feel worse about handing down Their justice, but I know my way is more humane than Their method. If They could, They would burn away his soul, leaving nothing for the afterlife. I just stop the hearts of the guilty, ending their lives quickly and quietly. I’m not religious, but I like to think there is some kind of final judgment for the men we kill. The fate of their souls is left to the deity who cares. It’s not Their way, but we have an agreement. A clean death, and They get to choose the criminals and have my full
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