Legacy (Anathema #2)

by Nick Roberts

Beth realized what the woman now adorned: a black butcher’s apron.

She might as well have been buried neck-deep in sand.

Everyone in the group was either shouting, or crying, or vomiting, or a combination of all three.

Beth’s eyes widened in abject terror. The spinning saw hovered an inch above the top of Shannon’s head. The woman turned her head slightly to meet Beth’s gaze. More of her face poked through her drapes of matted hair, and Beth knew she was grinning now. Her smile inched upward, as the corners of her mangled mouth disappeared behind the strands. Beth shook her head, sobbing, pleading telepathically for this psychopath to stop. She wasn’t positive, but it looked like the woman winked just before lowering the

saw into Shannon’s skull, parting her head straight down the middle.

A geyser of maroon slop covered everyone within proximity to the mutilation. The woman’s pale face now dripped red. Shannon’s body spasmed as the woman continued to guide the saw down. Beth’s mind refused to process the sight. The end of the saw protruding through Shannon’s back made a grinding sound as the teeth hit her metal chair. A blend of sparks and blood filled the air, and the woman retracted the blade enough to remove it from the chair. She leaned into the saw until Shannon’s torso completely split in two, with her right half flopping onto Lisa’s lap. Come on, baby Baby, take my hand. Lisa released a primal wail that only amplified when the woman turned off the chainsaw. Beth still watched but did s...

The floor vibrated again as the remaining captives stomped and shook before the spreading flames could consume them.

“Please, God, be with me…be with my children,” she said. The woman stopped what she was doing and opened the toolbox

she had already closed. She grabbed a hammer and approached Beth quicker than the flames were.

As her consciousness slid into eternal darkness, Maren said, “And I will be with your children.”

“Your name was written at the crime scene again.”

Seeing the normally no-nonsense ‘Big Book thumper’ get so emotional reminded him that he hadn’t allowed himself a chance to grieve. He hadn’t shed a single tear over the deaths of his friends, but he didn’t expect to, either. His emotions had calloused over the years. The only force powerful enough to penetrate his protective numbness was the memory of his mother.

Was this all because of him? Nothing else had happened since the night the church burned down. The police who stood watch at his house were either putting up enough of a deterrent or the person responsible had moved on. Or just lying low like a snake waiting to strike when you least expect it… But why?

Mitchell laughed again. “Because I’m an old crackhead with a sense of humor that’s darker than your past, and I don’t sugarcoat shit.”

“Kid, I think the world of you. And just like I said when we did your fifth step, you have nothing to fear if you ever become a father. I mean, you’d have to deal with all the shit parents have to put up with, but we’re all flawed. No one is perfect. But don’t think that just because you went through what you went through, and you’re going through this crazy shit now, that you’re any worse than anyone else. There are no qualifications to being

a parent. And I’d even argue that you would be a great dad or stepdad or whatever because of what you’ve been through. Page 124 of the Big Book says, ‘Cling to the thought that, in God’s hands, the dark past is the greatest possession you have—the key to life and happiness for others.’ You’ve seen the value of having great parents and the heartbreak of losing them. All of that will shape how you raise a child. You know the cycle of addiction, and you’re going to be the one to break it.”

“Yeah. They’re going to kill me no matter where I smoke them. Now quit being a pussy and help me straighten this place up. Christine will be here around seven.”

“We identified the problem, but knowledge without action only leads to self-pity. What do you plan on doing about it?” “I guess I’m going to get a therapist.” “Sounds good. I know a couple in the rooms if you want me to reach out.”

Focusing on a task in front of him and using his hands, specifically, got him out of his head. Physical work kept him in the present moment. Not to mention the fact that he was helping his sponsor. Any time he did something for someone else, he knew that his brain rewarded him with dopamine and serotonin like he was designed to be of service to others.

“Every generation says that. ‘Kids today…blah, blah, blah.’ They’re no worse, just different.” “Different. You got that right,” Mitchell said.

And just when he thought he was going to move on, he hit middle school. Or middle school hit him, rather. The bullying, teasing, change of routine, and then add puberty to the mix for a depressing three years. He’d endured enough by ninth grade to process his past trauma to the best of his ability, and finally accumulated a small circle of friends. A few teachers helped him along the way his freshman year, though. He often wondered if they knew about his life in West Virginia and went out of their way to see him succeed.

The fact that it buzzed and didn’t ring meant that it wasn’t work. If the station needed her, even though she wasn’t on call that night, her phone was set to ring at maximum volume for only that line.

The shrouded intruder hit her like a linebacker, and she lost her balance and hit the floor hard. It felt like someone whacked the back of her head with a shovel. Little speckles of light filled her dizzied vision. This is what it’s like to see stars… Even in her concussed state, she maintained a grip on the pistol in her right hand. Just when she tried to lift her arm and fire, the intruder’s hand gripped her wrist and slammed it on the floor until she lost control of the gun. The curtains

covered her face, but she felt her attacker maneuver on top of her, pinning her down with the skill of a trained wrestler. “Get the fuck⁠—”

A hand pressed through the curtain and smothered her. She opened her mouth to scream, to breathe, and immediately regretted it. The fabric filled her mouth as two fingers pushed it to the back of her throat and kept going until her jaw stretched wide open, and she started to gag. She coughed as she struggled to get free, but it was no use. The person was now sitting on her chest and had both of Wrenley’s arms pinned down under her knees. She had no way to defend herself. All she could see was the blackness. The curtains that served her so well and provided her with many days of rest were still essentially doing their job. Wrenley was nothing more than a ray of sunshine trapped in the fa...

desperate fight for oxygen. Her heartbeat sped up as the panic set in, which only ...

You’re going to die. You’re dying right now. This is w...

Right before completely losing consciousness, she smelled the foul odor of decay like she’d just driven by a long-dead animal on

side of the road. And that’s when she heard the intruder’s voice. “Don’t worry,” a raspy, female voice whispered from what seemed like miles away as Wrenley's consciousness faded. “You have a greater purpose.”

Don’t ask why, because I don’t know. I tried to figure out the “whys” with Dr. Strobel, and she told me something that I’ll never forget: absolute evil has no motive. Maren has started a plan, and she’s going to see it through. I don’t think any of us are safe at this point; we’re all targets. So, I agree that staying together is the smart move. I want to take it a step farther and tell the state police. Wrenley is in West Virginia, but she told me the cops here are most likely still doing drive-bys. I’d feel more comfortable with a constant police presence, but I’m not sure how long they’d keep that up with nothing happening.”

He couldn’t believe he had been that young, that tiny and innocent, when he was coerced into shooting his father. His mind flashed to him looking at his dad and seeing the anger and fear in his eyes. He remembered how heavy the gun felt and how hard it was to squeeze the trigger. But what scared him the most in that moment was the sound. The boom of the gunfire inside the flooding house. His ears rang as he watched his dad fall to the floor.

And he saw all that through eyes just like hers.

There was someone behind the curtain. And just like that, the memory of the entire attack came back to her. She started breathing faster even though she was trained to not panic. Each breath was harder than the one before it because whatever was wrapped around her head was being sucked into her mouth, shielding most of the air from her lungs.

Slow down. Steady your heart. Be present. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. After a micro-session of focused breathing, she felt her panic subside. She switched her brain to detective mode. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back. She was lying on her side, and her legs were bound by something strong that wasn’t rope. Probably duct tape. And that’s probably what’s wrapped around your neck right now, holding this mask over your face.

That’s it! You’re in the trunk of a moving car. You’ve been abducted by someone—most likely by the killer you’re investigating—and you need to think. You don’t know how much time you have until that trunk hatch

opens and the perp pulls you out into whatever he or she has got planned for you.

There was a science to it, but also an art in the way you had to pull and press your thumb until it popped out of socket and folded limply into your palm. If you didn’t do it hard and fast enough, it hurt more. Just like tearing a Band-Aid, it was best to just grit your teeth and give it your all with one swift, forceful motion. The first time she actually did it successfully, and she heard that pop of bone leaving the socket, it was borderline orgasmic. She slid her hand out of the cuff and showed the rest of her drunken classmates, passing their test and acquiring a little bit of their respect, but not much.

and she could only assume that she was on her way to Ohio. This had to do with Derrick, and for whatever reason, this person considered Wrenley to be central to their grand scheme. The thought made her saw faster, even though her arms and legs were dead, and she was sore all over from the car ride and the fight in her house that preceded

Captain Hook would be proud.

😂

He expected to find her still bound and gagged and harmless. But she was a warrior and lunged out of the trunk like a tiger attacking its prey and plunged the cuff into the side of his throat. His shocked expression delighted her. This was for all the people he’d harmed. She gripped his shirt and pulled herself all the way out of the trunk but had severely underestimated how numb her legs remained. She fell straight to the pavement. The cuff hook, still firmly embedded in his neck, jerked straight down with her, emptying his gullet like a spilled paint bucket. He dropped to his knees with both hands on his throat like that would do anything. For a moment, Wrenley and him were face-to-face. He was a middle-aged man, bald on top and had a thick mustache. His cheap suit and tie made him look like a banker or a car salesman. But the one thing that bothered Wrenley

the most was the abject terror in his eyes.

It was at that point that another figure stepped out from beside the car, apparently having just watched the bloody show go down. Wrenley, on the ground and drenched in blood, looked at the approaching woman. She wore tight black clothes and kept her hair hanging over a face that was a pale oval with dark eyes and a grin. Instantly, she thought of ...

skinny frame and face distorted by the hair th...

Wrenley wasted no more time being scared. She tried to push herself off the ground but the dying man in front of her fell straight forward, pinning her to the bumper of the car, sti...

“This is what you wanted?” the woman said. Something was off about her voice, the way it fluctuated between octaves, ages, and even accents. Wrenley s...

For the first time, the woman brushed the hair from her face, revealing that it was indeed a mask she wore.

It looked like a plain, oval-shaped face, made from porcelain, but she had made some modifications. The eyes were painted solid black with just a tiny hole no bigger than a BB in the middle of each one. The small bump of a nose looked like it had ash smeared across it. But the most startling feature was the mouth. She’d drawn or painted this elongated grin that ran from ear to ear. Black leather straps wrapped around her head to keep the disguise in place. “You wanted to kill me. Embrace the vengeance…the wrath, Eleanor Wrenley.” Hearing her name come from this woman’s distorted voice made her dry mouth gulp. “Who are you?” Wrenley finally managed to say. “More will be revealed.”

The woman grabbed her by the right leg and dragged her across the concrete with the ease of a child pulling a pillow. Every time she thought of a threat or something else to say, the pain of the road rubbing her flesh shut her up. She was happy to be back in front of the car. The woman tucked the gun in the back of her pants and lifted Wrenley by the armpits, heaving her torso back inside

trunk while her arms dangled out. The pressure of the car against her bladder caused her to piss herself. The woman grabbed her ankles and flung the rest of her body inside. “What are you going to do with me?” Wrenley asked, in a matter-of-fact way, doing her best to maintain her professional demeanor. The masked woman leaned in close. “I’m going to put those bodies in his car and blow up this entire gas station. Then we’re going to get our affairs with Derrick in order.” “Are you…Daisy?”

“You can call me Maren.” It’s all real. Derrick⁠— The butt of the gun pummeled her temple before she could finish her thought, and sh...