Page 24 of Oblivion
“Did you know I killed my own brother?” I asked him as I lifted the dagger with the red handle, a dragon wrapped around the hilt. “Didn’t even blink, really. But then again,” I turned toward him, smiling at the blade in my hand, “he was a shitty brother.”
He gulped and asked, “Are you going to kill me too?”
Some people knew how to hide their fear, others not so much. Vincent Brown had such a shitty poker face that even a newbie soldier could see right through it.
“Are you scared, Vince?” I asked, approaching him slowly.
“N-No,” he stammered, but we both knew the truth.
After being sequestered to this basement for the last two days, he was quite literally shitting his pants. Cillian brought him here after our little rendezvous in Malibu. While I didn’t care who fed Vincent or who brought him up to the bathroom, I was curious to know whether it was Kieran or if Cillian had somebody else on the side.
“You know what I hate the most, Vince?” I pressed the tip of the blade to his crotch and leaned down all the way to his ear. “Liars.”
He thrashed against the chair, but the restraints around his arms and his legs weren’t allowing him to move too far away.
“You’re going to burn in hell,” he spat out, his eyes wild as he looked at me.
I chuckled. “It’s a good thing I don’t believe in your God, then.”
Pale and with no one to come and save him, he looked so small, so insignificant, it was hard to believe that such a man could’ve been someone my father worked so closely with.
“What was he like?” I asked and stepped backward.
“Who?”
“My father.” I walked toward the other side of the basement and picked up an old chair and brought it right in front of him. I sat down and looked at him, holding the dagger in my right hand. “I am actually curious to hear which version of himself he gave you.”
“You’re sick,” he murmured, trembling in his seat. “I am not telling you anything.”
“Come on, now. I’m not asking for much. I just want to know how my daddy dearest was with you. Did he tell you he loved you? How proud he was of you?”
“Go to hell, Ophelia!”
“Been there, done that and not really interested in going back.” I stood up and pushed the chair backward. “Did he tell you how much he liked whipping me, while I was on my knees, begging for mercy in Siberian Gulag’s?” His eyes widened, shock and disbelief evident in them. “No? He was a very good storyteller. I bet that he told you I needed to be saved, that he just wanted what was best for his darling daughter.”
“I-I,” he stammered. “No, you’re lying.”
“He also told you how proud he was of everything you did, and you pushed and pushed and pushed, trying to prove yourself to him. And that disappointed look on his face he would have, every time you wouldn’t be able to do something he wanted? Yeah, we all saw it.”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “I’m not listening to you.”
“That’s okay.” I smiled and kneeled in front of him. “You don’t have to listen to me. Your knees will.”
His eyes shot open just as I tossed the dagger up, took it by the handle and stabbed it right into his knee.
“What the fuck?” he screamed. “Oh my God!”
Blood pooled out around the hilt of the knife, spilling over his beige pants, coloring them crimson. I pressed the knife deeper, turning it left then right, while he screamed, his voice echoing around us.
“You fucking psycho!”
“Who was my father working with?” I asked calmly, ignoring his words. “And don’t play coy because there’s a whole set of knives over there.” I pointed at the table on the other side of the room. “Just waiting to be used.”
“I don’t know!”
“Eek, wrong answer.” I stood up and walked away from him, going straight for the table.
“No, no, please!” he begged when he saw me taking another knife. “I swear I don’t know!”
