It was just too easy from there. The first slash didn't exactly nail her jugular, but it did release quite a bit of blood. Still, his attack had left her exposed, and the next few seconds were a flurry of maniacal if not slightly random slashes about her person.
By the time Damien caught up with himself, Kristey had fallen to the ground, bleeding out. And speaking of blood, the red stuff had appropriately created some really mean dye-stripes.
He listened to her babble her last before she fell silent. He smiled as he admired her bloodied and lifeless form, the fruit of his labor and years of cultivating a seed of justice that had been planted the day he entered the once-glorious institution that was P.J. Gilroy Academy, and took in every breath as he began to cool down from the rage that helped him slay her.
But the silence, it seemed, had a revelation that was deafening.
So deafening that Damien's smile dropped quickly. He leaned back against the tree where he had tried to take shelter from her. He put the shield and barbed wire to one side.
And then he started to cry.
Not because he'd become the monster she told him he was, because that was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he wished for. Not because her "brother" would be out for his blood, because Damien did not expect to get off the island alive, even after killing off everyone who tormented him. Not even because he'd gotten rid of the bitch at the top of his hit list, because despite the gratification there were still plenty more to go, or because she smiled at him like she really meant it, because he knew she didn't.
He cried like the child he was and buried his face in his blood-stained hands because he didn't know what he would have to live for, particularly in the time between eliminating all those on his list and his foreseeable death.
He didn't lose too much confidence that he could eliminate Peter, Franco, Reneé, Roland Kelly, and all the lackeys they hired, wiping the Valenti Syndicate out of existence. And he knew that by taking out those who oppressed him in the most painful ways possible, he'd send a message to himself, his mother, and all those oppressed kids to stand up for themselves.
But in the miraculous chance that he did
win his mother's game and get off the island...even if he killed Kristey's "brother" and gained the closure and solace from ending the torment of the Valenti Syndicate...what would it come to if his mother had him locked away in a padded for life? His message would be dismissed as the ramblings of a lunatic, drowned in the cries of people like his mother calling for the banning of violent media and other technological fixes. In time, even he too would be forgotten or condemned to damnatio memoriae
with a little help from the Syndicate's rich economic and political connections.
"God...what's going to happen to me..." he sobbed. All the pain from Kristey's blows to him also seemed to hurt harder...and harder...until he somehow felt that he broke.
Snap out of it, kid.
Damien looked up.
At once he was back in the same empty white expanse that he'd fallen into only once before. It wasn't really empty-empty though, Kristey's body was still there.
So was his friend.
Geez, only three down and you're already breaking down on me? Did you let that whore get to you?
Look. Damien. Why are you so worried all of a sudden? Did that bitch tell you something you didn't like?
"I'm just scared that..."
That you won't be remembered the way you like after this is all done?
"Yeah...pretty much..." Damien sniffled.
His friend sighed and sat down in front of him. Damien, Damien, Damien. That's life and death. Not everyone's going to remember you the way you want, that's for sure. Not everyone's going to remember you at all, either. You and I both know that never happens, even in the case of the most "good" and "evil" figures.
"But...how will I know?"
You won't. Maybe not immediately after or a year after. Maybe not even after you die. But mark my words, you'll inspire someone, somewhere. And sometimes it takes only one person to make a really big difference in people's lives. A lot like what you're doing here...just not in as close quarters as this island in the middle of nowhere. Maybe in some...college in...say...I don't know...Virginia or something. Or maybe even Canada. Who knows.
"I guess, but..."
But nothing. You're doing good, kid. Don't go soft. Remember that the people we remember most...are those that never gave up until the end.
"Wait! Don't go! I need you!" Damien begged. His friend replied by putting a comforting hand on Damien's shoulder.
Don't worry, kid. I'll be there when you need me.
The next thing Damien knew, he was back in the forest, in the exact same position he was when he entered. The sun was a little higher this time, and curtains and veils of light could be seen forming in parts of the forest. Small bugs had also started to gather on Kristey's corpse to begin their feast.
Damien shook his head just to make sure he was still in reality, and that nobody killed him while he was talking with his friend.
The one thing new about his shadowy "friend" that he did notice was that he appeared to have long hair. Damien's friend certainly helped to fix up his resolve to carry through with his less-than-holy mission of vengeance.
Without saying another word, he went back to Kristey's body.
He stroked her hair and sighed.
Then he picked up her baseball bat. It felt a lot heavier than it actually was, particularly because he was still pretty dazed.
Damien then proceeded to wrap the barbed wire around the bat, wincing every time he got caught on a barb. Since the baseball bat was aluminum, he figured he'd have to wrap it tight in order to keep the barbed wire from suddenly flinging off with a particularly powerful swing, regardless of whether Damien could muster the power.
Once that job was done he held the bat up against the sunlight like he just pulled Excalibur out of the stone. He could somehow see rays of light swirl out of a halo forming around it. But the best feeling he had was no longer having to grip the barbed wire and risk cutting himself, especially as soon he could get some fresh bandages over his left hand to replace those that were shredded by the wire before.
Before he left the area though, he quickly pulled out his notebook and pen, and with a childish smile, drew a single, neat, straight line through two words that deserved to have been struck out.
He didn't leave the area as quick as he liked, finding himself slowly hobbling off in a rather zigzagged path while humming a tune that swung in and out of pitch more than a William Hung musical. More and more he was running more on willpower than physical power...but that didn't seem to bother a person who clearly believed his time was limited, though he did need to find a secure place to rest and recover.
((Continued in Fruits of Thine Labor))