The Tears Devourer

XIX

     The '95 Civic was still fuming. It ran like never before this time, skipping a couple of stops, and avoiding several pedestrian crossings. The police in Dells always stay undercover, but they mostly care about the roads, as the traffic on the city streets is very light. That fact influenced the time of Michael's arrival at his home.

     He killed the engine and nearly jumped out of the seat, hitting his knee on the steering wheel trying to escape from the seat. He opened the front door and passed without studying his surroundings. He thought he had heard a "Good afternoon, son", but he ignored it and went about his business.

     He made it to his room, entered, and hurried to his old dresser, opened the bottom drawer, and began rummaging through the bobbins of stockings he kept there. Patton took out a silver key, somewhat rusty at the bottom, and tucked it into the jean pants he wore, left his home as quickly as possible, and started the Civic in the rush into the thick forest of Dells.

     The winding roads pass right through the dense agglomeration of flora in the place. The trees are huge, and when the sun goes down, they cover the ground at your feet. Those paths are worthy labyrinths, which lead you to lose yourself despite having a guide with you. There are many crossroads, many shortcuts.

     There are points where exits become entrances, and entrances get you nowhere. But Michael wasn't worried about that. That was a challenge for him. After Brooklyn, this place was his personal nirvana, as he couldn't make any more mistakes. The place was perfect to take revenge on his mother, to take revenge for all the damage he caused her in life, and all the damage that he wants to cause her in death.

     He directed his Honda Civic to the only place where God and the devil dance until dawn, the only place where the screams you hear become warnings, not signs for help. Deep in the woods, a not-so-small shed awaited him.

     That liquefied gas tank legally belongs to the local gas company (Fells), but they haven't used it for a long time. The company's land had been expanded three times in the last two years, so there were certain areas, certain blind spots where nothing was just being done. The workers had fought for years to turn over these lands and turn them into green areas protected by Greenpeace, but the legal fight had stalled, when a corrupt judge was filled with enough green peace to deny them the request.

     Consequently, the result was one hundred square meters of absolutely green. A piece of land available to the entrepreneurs to cut down when ordered, but obviously, they had to calm the fumes a bit before starting the plan. And Michael loved that.

     He had a whole year to model the place, a whole year to experience what he could and what he couldn't do. Where the screaming started and instantly drowned out. Where blood could pass through swampy land. Where the smell of s**t is confused with the pine trees of the forest. Where he was cordoned off enough that no deer or fox would disturb him while he performed his rites. And especially, where he had an easy way out in case everything went wrong.

     The padlock, somewhat rusted from constant use, rested on the heavy metal door. He unlocked it and used all his strength to be able to move such a gate, dragging its metal skirts causing a screeching noise with the friction, similar to that of a cat giving birth to young.

     He stepped inside, turning on the light and exposing the empty brass barrels, raising a foul scent of stale gasoline in the air. He left the door open, trusting that no one would enter (or leave), as he was already used to doing.

     He walked into the narrow space that large barrel warehouses offer him between themselves and the concrete wall. He opened a second door and entered a threadbare room, mostly dirty. Small greenish areas could be distinguished in the corners, and brown, turning to black, in the moldy edges of the walls.

     Chemical stains painted the body of the walls, as well as the small warehouses with glass doors, which although most had them broken, the hinges still worked, and they screamed worse than the main gate when it was opened. The shelves formed an L, starting to the left of the door and ending at the far end of the room. On the front wall, a surgery table rested on its cracked and broken wheels. And above, what he came to look for.

     "How are you feeling today?" He approached Ariana's bruised body and kissed her forehead affectionately. "I know that I have been absent for these days, but that's not gonna happen anymore... and you know why?" He smiled falsely, just to liven up the atmosphere. "'Cause, you won't even know if I will come again. And don't get me wrong. That doesn't mean that I'll stop visiting you... At least here. What I mean is that I no longer have a use for you, it's not even fun anymore. You fulfilled your purpose in life, and now you must move on. But I want to make it clear, Ariana, that it's not you, it's me. I am the one who has noticed someone else, because, yes... There is someone else. And with the pain in my heart, I must confess it to you. This is not working anymore. You must go. But not before, let me thank you for everything you have done for me. Thanks to you I chose this place. You were the source of all my trials, and you satisfied all my doubts, and desires. I've learned a lot from you, but it's time to say goodbye."

     Michael placed his hand on Ariana's face, and moved his mouth, in such a way as to simulate a sad grimace. He took the lashes of one eye, and delicately lifted her eyelid, revealing those beautiful brown eyes of the girl.

     "One last thing before you go," he said.

     He walked over to one of the cabinets hanging on the wall and pulled out a greasy, ill-kept scalpel. He placed it near Ariana's battered hair and returned to the same cabinet. He took off the backpack that he carried on his back, letting it fall to the ground; took them out of the cabinet, and put on two gloves; similar to the ones he used a couple of hours ago at Rachel's house; and a mask in his mouth. He unfolded a plastic apron and tied it around his neck and waist, approached the scalpel, took it with his right hand, and began his last will towards the cold, outraged, and innocent body of Ariana Torres.