Mama Knows Best – Chapter 11
Mama Knows Best
In my teenage years, I became obsessed with vampires. Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” with his unique talent of devouring the lives of others, resonated in my thoughts and dreams. Later on, my mannerisms began to resemble his. When I killed my father, I realized the energizing powers of draining a human’s vital fluids. Dracula used his fangs. I had my knife.
The lectures my dad gave on delayed gratification were met with such piercing looks I felt my brain was about to be seen. They were pointless, given my mother’s and my daily struggles.
The blood of Jeremiah on my skin and clothes revealed a hidden wisdom in the violent man.
With his death, it proved he was right. If you wait long enough, your promised prize is worth it. The pleasure release had no rivals. Yes, he taught me well.
As Rick skirmished on the floor, I was ready for my reward after playing the long game. Father would be proud. From the moment I first saw Steele, I knew his usefulness was limited. I alone could see how little time he had left. Mr. Thompson’s death was already a work of art. Rick’s death plan should be groundbreaking, not just incremental.
The chance of being closer to Josh, my son, for an entire year was too good, so I chose not to miss it. I used him to approach Mia by having a plausible alibi. Nobody would suspect a couple’s routine, let alone some fortunate events that led to a deep bond between two women.
Mrs. Jones invited me inside her home, unaware of the dangers it would bring. Nightly beings, thirsty for blood like myself, intertwined their victims in intricate schemes, stickier than spider webs. Now that she had fallen for it, escape proved impossible, and she would soon play a significant role in what I needed to do.
Setting the stage, I had to reveal my injuries to my audience to evoke empathy, while I remained silent about what happened. His public assault on me at school marked the peak of his escalating anger.
Once we broke up, I kept the tracking app Rick had installed on my phone for selfish reasons. It was bait to lure him into a situation of my choosing. Now, trapped by my actions, his wounded pride fueled his desire for revenge.
“You freak. What have you done to my foot? I’m going to fuckin’ kill ya!”
I chuckled. He sounded like my old man. The guy who called me “a spawn of evil.” A flashback of my mother’s image, beaten to death by someone who swore he’d love her till death tore them apart. In the end, her love for me kept me alive.
“Don’t you dare try putting your disgusting hands on me again, did ya hear?”
His words snapped me out of my reverie. Richard’s whimper gave me an adrenaline and dopamine rush.
“Boo-hoo. Poor brain rot Richard. Is the crybaby scared now that he’s not the person in charge?”
He grunted. I circled him, eyeing his withering figure.
“It disgusted me watching you creep into my school. You’re a mediocre, loudmouth loser with nothing to offer but your pathetic peacock act,” I said through clenched teeth.
From a pile of bottles, Rick selected one and threw it at me. I giggled and dodged as he snarled, crouching back to hold the wound on his foot.
“I see you still have the energy to play some games; great! Let’s make this fun, shall we?”
As I rushed toward him, Richard lunged at me and grabbed my ankles, and pulled me to the ground. He bit my leg with the strength he had left. I moaned, but immediately delivered him another blow to the face.
Steele flinched and shrieked, “My eye!” The hit had been significant as the blood oozed from his hands. I sat on him to prevent him from crawling away. A shiver went up my spine and a smile crossed my lips.
“Hope you remember all the disgusting things you did to me and other women, Richard.”
The one advantage of living with Rick was the training. The excessive workouts, the strict diet of eggs and boiled chicken, strengthened me to administer the torment he had made me endure. My balled up fist met his face again. Like his punches used to greet mine, I had allowed him to humiliate me for the sake of my beliefs in a greater reward. I struck him again, and I watched as his skull swung like a heavy ball attached to a pole. I wanted him to pass out.
His body slumped forward. The struggle to put his dead weight into the one chair in the room took a few minutes. I reached for my backpack and moved my ropes around his ankles and wrists. Duct tape over his mouth made it easier for me to focus on finishing the preparations I needed.
My eyes scanned the room. On the fireplace mantel, the framed pictures he had described to me were still in place. One, when he was ten, pushing his mother away. He had told me their relationship was nonexistent. Another picture, a black and white register of him getting an award for taking second place in a bodybuilding competition. Although he was looking straight at the camera, his eyes were squinted in anger. He swore he should’ve been the winner.
Last, at a bachelor’s party. Steele, in black jeans with his fly open, no shirt, and a horned helmet. His arms were open wide, and he was shouting to another guy in the far-right corner of the frame. The inscription on his torso written in red lipstick — “Bros B4 hoes”.
This picture told me all I needed to know about you. Filthy scumbag.
When Richard came to, he grunted and squirmed, eyes watery with the realization he wasn’t going anywhere. My leg, where he had bitten me, stung, but I paid it no mind. I stood in front of him and leaned to whisper in his ear.
“Remember when you said nobody would miss me, Rick? Hmm, your parents are dead, the only sister you have hates you, not to mention the neighbors prayed you’d move because they feared the erratic behavior?”
“With the money in your bank account, the landlord won’t realize no one has seen you for six months. Maybe the smell will alert the neighbors. But I doubt it since they can’t stand you. Who knows when your rotten corpse will be discovered?” Tears rolled down his cheek.
“Goodbye, Steele. Say ‘hi’ to my father when you meet him in hell.”
My hatred for him boiled over as I started with the tip of his index finger. The knife grabbed the skin as I ripped it down; a cut similar to how I prepare a chicken thigh. His muffled cries could be heard from beneath the duct tape. The more intense they became, the more I perfected the next one, until they looked even. Blood ran down his arms and formed a puddle on the floor.
Those fingers will never hurt another woman ever again.
In a fit of passion, I slid my cold iron knife inside his flesh. I jabbed his stomach, back, neck, legs, and arms as if I were tenderizing a piece of meat. In my mind, my blade acted as vampire fangs. It made way for his vital fluid to flow, warm and thick, to quench my thirst.
Not only did I drown in blood, but also in my emotions. The ecstasy lasted a few hours; I took my time. The sight of Richard’s lifeless body in a state of peacefulness I had never witnessed while he was alive.
My mother used to say beautiful things made Jesus happy, and I wondered if she was joyful and proud of me for it.
This is the perfect gift for His birthday, after all.
The deed was done. With that behind me, I felt a new energy surge within my bones. Time to freshen up and head out. I had been a good girl this year. Now I had to collect the Christmas present I’d been dreaming of all year long.
Editor: Lucy Cafiero
