Whispers of the Wicked: Echoes of Torment

Echoes of Torment 

"Can I help you, darling?" 

"How long it has been?" he muttered.

She remained silent.

"Now, you won't even answer me?" 

"I didn't get your question."

"Wasn't that simple enough? I asked how long it’s been?" 

"You’ve known me for ten years, darling."

"Did I ask that?” he screamed at her. “Don’t act all innocent!-- just tell me!!"

"It has been three years." Her voice was as calm as pouring yoghurt. 

"Go away." 

So she went away.

She wasn’t really necessary. He just enjoyed torturing her. 

Who even was she? He didn’t remember, truth be told– or he just didn’t care to remember. What difference did it make, and who?

But he recalled what it had been like.

Chopping off her fingers. 

Three years ago– just sitting there, minding her own business. He’d just pulled out a sharp knife, asked for her hands, and cut her fingers one by one– like that. Like he’d been prepping vegetables for a stew. Her screams made his day. 

He took up her fingers off the table and showed them to her with a devious laugh– "Honey, you love me, don't you?"

Screams, louder and louder. Crying in pain. And he’d gotten this strange sense of some sort of achievement. He’d looked at her and her fingers and he’d laughed and he’d laughed and he’d laughed.

And her?-- she’d wished just to die. The pain had been unbearable. She’d screamed until her voice was gone, and she could no longer say a thing. In a panic, she picked up the bed sheet and tried to stop the blood. He’d been kind enough after that to give her an injection so that she could fall asleep. 

Of course, he had. He loved her. 

Later that night, he’d taken her fingers and buried them in the garden. Even she didn’t know about that.

How he had lured her? Had she been deceived by his charm? He couldn’t seem to remember.

Was she even real? He did not know. 

She completed him. He knew that, at least. If not for her, he would have been a nice guy; or maybe not. He loved to frighten people, right? He loved control. He loved to be admired for his terror. His cold gaze could make anyone lose their wits. And she was just a victim. His first ever victim. 

He loved her in his way. He never touched her except when it was time to torture her. 

Who even was she?

He had met her when he was at the beach. He could remember that. 

In the darkness, when he’d barely been able to see anyone or anything, any of the waves, he’d seen her. 

She had been dressed in white. She had been the one who had taken the initiative. They had talked and talked, and soon she had confessed her feelings to him. Plans had taken shape; he would invite her to his house; and she would live with him. 

When he’d told her about his first kill of a mockingbird, she had laughed. She could not comprehend that he would do that. 

But he would never let her come nearer to him. He would never let her touch him. 

And then…

After a week, when things had gotten better, she’d finally asked him. "Why did you cut my fingers?" 

"I don't need a reason, do I? You had such long and slender fingers… anyone would love to chop them off." 

"I love you."-- who even was she?

He never said it back to her. 

More than once, he had tried to plunge the knife into her heart, but he had never been able to. He had never really even wanted to, despite trying. He would never kill her, he was sure. 

And his hands were always perfectly steady. 

But, a storm was coming. And this time, escape was impossible. 

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Author's note: Hello, this is the second episode of "Whispers of the Wicked". Let me know in the comments, whether he should be loved or hated. 

To read first episode, click here.