To stay human is to break a limitation

One month afterwards, enter: Amy’s Father


When Amy and I first returned from the hospital it was hard. We were always slinking around each other, living on the edge. The tension in the house was so thick that I was constantly on edge, which didn’t help things in the slightest. I had long, vivid, nightmares of the tortures Id suffered at the hands of those evil men, and the pleasures Christopher had briefly allowed me.
Sometimes I dreamt of what they had done to my daughter. On rare occasions I dreamt of what I had done to her and woke up sweating with a raging hard on. I hated myself on those nights, not that I didn’t hate myself on all the other ones, it was just magnified, made more profound by the reliving of the deed which had made me despicable to both myself and my daughter.
She had insisted that she wasn’t mad at me. Her defense being that if not for me shed be dead right now, which was true, but I couldn’t help getting the feeling that shed prefer death to this sham of a life we were living. I blamed Amy’s mother. I really did. It was a shield I selfishly used in arguments when they arose. Eventually I stopped seeing her at all. One day when she was out somewhere I found myself in her room. I was drawn to it. To this reminder of the little girl I had sheltered and loved for all these years. She hadn’t been using it and it felt abandoned and lifeless.

Her friends were more of a comfort than I could ever be. A week later I got a call from one of Amy’s friends saying that she had found Amy dead in her bathroom, that morning, with both wrists sliced clean to the bone. I mourned for both of my lost children, Amy, and the one not yet, not ever born. Yet she had found her release. She would suffer no longer.
I felt a compulsion to go seek out my own release. Hands shaking I retrieved the Glock from the box under my bed. The metal felt cool on my fevered palms. I held the balm for all my ills right here in my hand if I only had the courage to use it. I tucked it into a jacket pocket and headed for the origin of all my earthly misery.

It was a sunny day and the cool air that rushed at me once Id opened the door was welcome. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind me that the madness of what I was doing occurred to me, but it was already too late. I walked toward the main room and readied myself, my finger on the guns trigger, but it was empty. I remembered it all. That first time Christopher and I were left alone together. Just having been scolded like a child he was fuming and wanted to pick a fight with me, but I dodged his jabs and parried his insults and soon we discovered that there was no longer a noticeable discomfort between us. He’d stopped talking to me after that.
When night fell he shook me gently awake. He said Id been writhing and crying out in my sleep, was I having a nightmare? Id told him all about it and he’d kindly untied me from the chair and allowed me to sprawl out on the ground to sleep. Eventually he’d joined me; to keep warm he’d claimed. It was the first night Id slept beside a warm body in years and though we tried the temptation was just too strong. He’d ushered us into a small room in the back where he’d said the others wouldn’t hear. Still he neglected to tell me of the young woman being held there and his plans for the two of us. The day after every second I had alone with him I pressed him on why he had not just taken me himself. He was reluctant to discuss it. He said he’d found the idea unprofessional, which I didn’t buy.

One night I told him I understood why he couldn’t have lain with me and that I didn’t hold it against him. That Id never had romantic feelings for another male before and how ridiculous it was that it had arisen under these awful circumstances. Maybe in another time, another place he’d mused, smiling. By now he’d gotten less careful with me and I knew it. I cared for Christopher but my own life was more important. I asked him to allow me to sleep, only sleep, beside him on the floor and he’d consented. Later on when I felt his gentle breathing I almost bolted, when I remembered the girl. I wanted to just leave safely instead of taking an extra risk but I found I couldn’t just leave her there after Id fucked her. I took the gun from Christopher as he slept and stealthily murdered the others. Ill never forget the hurt look Christopher gave me once he’d realized what had happened to his friends. There was only one of them left and if I could subdue him I would end my killing spree on a good note.
I grabbed Christopher, pushed him ahead of me and using him as a decoy entered the back room. The leader of the thugs was in there inflicting the most despicable torture on the girl, on Amy. I ended up having to kill the bastard and left my poor betrayed Christopher alone with the body, but now I was back. I took the gun from my pockets and cradled its slim body in my hands. I brought the chamber to my nose and inhaled. I could taste the coming victory. I clicked off the safety and stepped inside. I made my way toward the backroom, gun tucked inside my jacket, inconspicuous.

Finally I saw a figure seated in one of the few chairs, its back toward me. Perfect. I knew it was Christopher. I tread soundlessly towards the chair. The poor fool never stood a chance. Before he knew anything was amiss I was upon him, the handgun pressing sharply into his temple. I leaned towards his ear and whispered, "Hello again Chris, and goodbye." His eyes were wild with fright and desperation. He jerked in the chair. I believe he meant to fight back, however in my madness his sudden movement prompted me to pull the trigger, twice. The close range firing had caused quite a mess. I was covered in his blood and a grayish substance I supposed to be his brain matter. It felt good. Really good, I was practically euphoric. It wasn’t that I blamed Christopher for what had happened, not really. Truthfully I felt it was all my fault but I’ve always considered suicide a futile practice. This was much nicer than having to blow my own brains out. During this train of thought I recall is when I felt the hands close around my throat.
I spun around to find myself face to face with the leader of the group. I had been certain my shot to the chest had killed him but apparently he was tougher than Id thought. As I struggled he increased the pressure on my throat, crushing my windpipe. My breath whistled out of my mouth in a labored wheeze. I choked out a weak, "Bastard" before he was able to completely subdue me. My ears popped and my lungs began to burn but he did not let go. In my final death throes I gazed up into his hungry eyes. Would I be wrong to assume that perhaps it was me whom he wanted all along? I never did find out. Before long I was dead, dead as all the others and I suppose that’s just as well.