I know at least one person in this world, except myself of course, has been eagerly awaiting this moment. If you haven’t finished the other chapters yet, I strongly recommend you do so. If you have, what are you waiting for?
In the closet, Collins had plenty of room to stand without touching anything around her. Closing the door behind her, her surroundings disappeared completely behind complete darkness. She held one arm out to her left to touch the wall for balance. A sliver of light peeked in under the door at her feet as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The sound from the old man’s television was muted by the heavy closet door. Her mind began to wander.
Collins wondered how much time was to pass before S.W.A.T teams broke down the old man’s front door, tore apart the house he built with his own hands, and murdered him and the woman with knotted red hair.
How much time is passing? Are they going to take the Geissler and the woman in for questioning if I don’t show myself? I never said Goodbye to her. Poor thing. Maybe I should go say Goodbye to her.
This wasn’t suppose to happen this way. I was suppose to grow old doing research. This is not how I envisioned changing the world. Books published, great journal articles, molding young minds, that’s what I was suppose to do. Not murdering people. Not running around with these poor people who never signed up for this.
Then again, maybe Geissler was right. Maybe they all did choose to come with me. No Wretch really is as dumb as we were made out to be. And that damn fat man and the young man with the rebroken face certainly didn’t seem to mind the shelter I provided or the job I sent them on.
I wonder what happened to that Wretch couple from behind my apartment. I hope they are okay.
Was I suppose to end up here? And, if so, what for? I’m just one person. Sure, every Normal thinks I’m to blame for the uprising, but I’m not. I’ve never spoken to those Wretches. They don’t know me, and I certainly don’t know them.
But none of that matters now. This was all for nothing. We killed in hopes of something different, something better. What we ended up with was more of the same. Instead of helping, I got all of us killed.
Collins jumped, hitting her head on a shelf above her. Were it not for the shuffling of feet and splintering door, she would have been heard by anyone in the house. Rubbing her head, she opened her eyes to see shadows zip passed the closet door. She heard two voices yell ‘Clear’. Then it happened.
One loud pop, followed by more than a dozen of the same crackles of sound. Collins had never heard the sound of a gun in real life, but somewhere deep inside her, she knew what those sounds were, and what they meant. Geissler and the woman with knotted red hair, two of the people she spent the last few months with, were lying in pools of their own blood. The images of their limp bodies danced around her mind, taunting her.
Collins’ fingers and toes begged to rush out of the closet and tear into whatever flesh they came in contact with. For the first time since she could not remember when, her heart raced with enough fury to place throbbing pressure on her chest. She wondered how much longer she could contain her body. Suddenly the closet felt smaller than a shoebox. Breathing became impossible. She was drowning in the closet. The temperature soared.
The shuffling and its corresponding shadows that danced at her feet stopped. Voices mumbled. The sound of the old man’s television grew louder, as if the armed team inside the house had already forgotten about the people they shot and killed and were now interested in whatever was on the news.
Collins took one last deep breath, cracked her anxious knuckles, and opened the door.
The door swung open and toppled someone. As her eyes readjusted to the light of the living room, Collins saw a man in black with his back to her. Pouncing on him, she bit his neck with more force than she had ever bitten anything in her life. She felt something warm, something sweeter than candy on her tongue. With just as much force as her clamped jaw created, she pulled away peeling much of the uniformed man’s neck with her.
The flavor of the warm flesh and sweet fresh blood weakened her knees. She chewed her mouthful once when the sight of the old man caught her eye.
He was leaning back in his kitchen chair with bullet holes everywhere. Collins turned to the couch to see the woman with knotted red hair still sitting where she left her, except for the fact that the woman’s head with its knotted red hair was in small pieces on the old man’s living room wall. At this sight, Collins snapped.
She reached for another uniformed man and bit his nose clear off. Turning around to spit his nose away before finishing him off, she spotted the reporter. A bright light from his camera crew was pointed directly at her. She pounced on the reporter. If anyone in this room deserved to die, it was him.
Collins grabbed the reporter with both hands, digging her thumbs into the reporters eye sockets. She felt them pop like water balloons. Biting down on his cheek, she pulled back feeling the skin tear away. It felt so good. The gnawing urges she felt behind her navel softened.
Then, everything went dark.