Nascent Decay (The Goddess of Decay Book 1) (8 page)

“But I know that’s what you really want, sugar. I know. I know everything,” he said winking. It was creepy. It reminded her of one of her friend’s fathers that was always hitting on her when she was growing up.

“I can’t do this,” Rhylie said pushing away from the table and standing up. “This is too weird.” She felt dizzy and the room swam a little bit. She needed to lie down for a moment.

“We can do this,” he said, standing up and moving around the table. “I missed you so much,” he murmured, pulling her to him and burying his face in her hair. He was so tall and strong. So real. She struggled for a moment against his embrace until she felt his strength consume her. He wrapped his arms tighter around her and she leaned into him, letting herself go. He held her, supported her, as her knees gave out. He smelled nice, too.

“No,” she murmured into his chest. “We can’t.”

“I’m here for you now, Gota, and nothing else,” he whispered into the softness of her hair. “We can do whatever you wish, go wherever you desire. We can have the life you always wanted.” His words were mesmerizing, seducing her. She shook her head pitifully against his chest.

“No. This isn’t right. This is wrong, so wrong,” she protested weakly. “We can’t do this.” Ryan’s hand began to move up and down the small of her back, stroking her gently with his fingertips as he rocked her in his arms.

“We can. You can have anything you want, Gota. Anything at all,” he said in a hypnotic tone. Rhylie closed her eyes and wept softly, tears of happiness and joy this time. His scent was intoxicating; his embrace was a warm, safe cocoon that held her, steady and secure.

“Children sound wonderful,” she finally murmured into his chest as he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “A boy and a girl.”

She could already picture them in her mind.

Rhylie lay in bed in the upstairs bedroom, underneath the covers, trying to sleep. It came in spurts lately, a broken existence of dry, ineffective naps and fits of wasteful tossing. Eventually she gave up, and threw the covers off of herself. The shades were drawn in the room, and even though it was pitch dark, the light coming from beneath the door and through the gaps around the shades beamed like flashlights.

She couldn’t even masturbate anymore without Ryan knowing about it somehow, and trying to help her out with a session of his terribly emotionless and robotic lovemaking. She could do without it, as it always left her unsatisfied, but sore. The one time she had told him no, it had gotten weird fast. She had found it was better to just get it over with. She was tired of him, and she hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was tired of the children too. She felt trapped in her perfect life.

Rhylie hesitated at the bedroom door before opening it. She knew what awaited her downstairs. Nothing ever changed anymore. She had fallen into a rut, a downward spiral that was made all that much easier by Ryan and the children. They didn’t care what she did, or what she made them do. Being happy had never felt so mundane and depressing. She finally opened it and made her way past the children’s rooms, and down the stairs.

Ryan was in the kitchen fixing breakfast again, the and the children were kneeling on the living room floor quietly playing a board game. The boy looked like Ryan and the girl looked like Rhylie. Rhylie crossed the living room to lay down on the couch, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Vorcia had not come by since before the exams, and the doctors had not yet sent for her again. Her life had settled into an endless lull. She had everything she had ever wanted…and hated all of it. The children never fought. They also never laughed, played, or really even behaved like children. They were more like robots than people. Ryan made love like a machine, in a bad way. In a strange sense, his perfection was his flaw, and in some ways he failed terribly, such as showing emotion. He was as predictable as if he were reading from a script. They never argued with each other, and he never disagreed with her.

“Breakfast is ready!” he said in his always cheerful voice. Rhylie rolled her eyes. The children jumped up wordlessly and ran to the table to eat. Rhylie didn’t move. “Baby, are you coming to eat?”

“I’m not really hungry,” she said. Did they have to have breakfast every morning? It was probably eggs and bacon again.

“Is everything ok?” he asked. He almost managed to sound concerned.

“Yes, everything is fine, dear,” she responded. “I’m just not hungry.”

“But it’s good, mommy!” Timmy exclaimed, smacking his lips loudly for effect.

“I’m glad, son,” she said wearily.

“It’s gonna get cold, mommy!” the little girl exclaimed. They were always exclaiming. It was as if they only had one volume setting.

“I don’t care, Polly. I’m not going to eat it,” she said.

“Why not mommy?” the two children asked in unison. She
really
hated it when they did that.

“Because I’m sick of scrambled eggs and bacon,” she said irritably. The room grew quiet for a moment.

“I always used to fix you scrambled eggs and bacon when you stayed the night with me,” Ryan said sadly. Rhylie frowned.

“That wasn’t really you,” she said.

“Of course it was!” Ryan exclaimed, laughing. “Do you think I’ve been replaced by an alien or android or something?” The children laughed together as well, perfectly timed.

“You’re so funny, daddy!” they exclaimed together with simultaneous delight. It was creepy. Rhylie closed her eyes again. Her headache was starting to get worse.

“Mommy used to think I was funny,” Ryan said.

“No, Ryan was funny,” she said angrily. “I’ve never thought you were funny.”

“I see,” he said. “That’s too bad.”

“What’s mommy talking about, daddy?” the children again asked as one.

“I don’t know kids. I don’t think she’s feeling well today,” Ryan said.

“Oh,” the children said, sounding sad.

“Yes, mommy is very dangerous when she is not feeling well, so you should both go to your rooms after you finish eating your breakfast,” Ryan said in a serious tone of voice. Rhylie hoped this wasn’t about to get weird.

Ryan had a subtle way of pushing her buttons mentally. It wasn’t quite abuse…it was just invasive and creepy sometimes. It had broken the illusion of a normal family life more than once, and seemed to be getting worse.

“Yes, daddy,” they both said. They jumped up from the kitchen table and ran up the stairs. Ryan came over to the couch and lifted her legs up. He sat down and placed her legs over his lap.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked after a moment.

“No.”

“I see. I’m doing the best I can,” he said. She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever that is supposed to mean,” she said.

“I…I can’t explain. I wish I could,” he said. “I just want to make you happy.”

“I just want to go home,” she said.

“You are home.”

“My real home,” she said. “Back to my real life.”

“You cannot do that, Gota,” Ryan’s voice suddenly became soft, and serious. “You may as well give up all hope of that.”

“Ryan would have never called me that. Never,” she said, pulling her legs away from him and sitting up on the couch.

“Why wouldn’t I call you by your name?” he asked, and then stressed hurriedly, “Your real name, do not forget.”

“That’s not my name, and you know it,” she said angrily. Ryan stood up suddenly, towering over her.

“It
is
your name. It has always been your name. It will always be your name,” he said coldly. “You will die with that name.” Rhylie looked up, shocked. She began to slide down the couch, away from him. He stepped forward, continuing to hover over her like a drunken lecher. She had never seen him behave like this, and she did not like it at all. She stood up hurriedly, gathering her emotions as best she could. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be bullied by a fabrication.

“Fuck you,” she said to his face before turning to walk away from him.

“Where are you going, bitch?” he asked as he grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched it. Her hands went to his wrist as she tried to wrest herself free. It was like struggling against titanium bonds. She dug her nails into his flesh as best she could, but he wouldn’t relinquish his grip on her hair. Her ankles buckled and she almost went to her knees, but he held her there, firmly. “You don’t fucking talk to me like that, cunt.” His voice was cold and menacing, without a trace of emotion.

He had suddenly changed to something dark and sinister. Violent. The Ryan she had known was nothing like this. He slung her backwards over the arm of the couch and she landed on her back, staring up at him. He moved to stand over her.

“Don’t you fucking touch me! Don’t touch me!” she screamed as she kicked, lashing out at him. Ryan tilted his head and stared down at her with an intense gaze, warding off her kicks with his hands. He worked his jaw slowly. He reached out and grasped one of her ankles, holding it firmly in his grip.

“You know what your problem is, Gota?” he asked. “You don’t appreciate anything. I have given you everything, the perfect life, perfect children. All you’ve ever dreamed of is right here at your fingertips. But you don’t appreciate any of it. You’re just a spoiled fucking child.”

“It’s not fucking real!” she screamed back at him, pushing herself down the couch away from him, but his grip kept her ankle locked in place. “You’re not fucking real!”

“I bleed,” he said. “I breathe. We make love. I eat, I sleep, I shit. I am as real as you.” He gave her a sickly smile. “In many ways, I am more real than you.” His fingers began digging into her ankle and she howled in pain. He released his grip on her.

“That doesn’t make you real,” she said as she pulled herself to the far end of the couch and stood up. She maneuvered her way around until she was standing behind the couch. “You’ll never be real.” Her ankle really hurt, and she could barely put her weight on it. He was stronger than he should have been.

“You’re a stupid little bitch,” Ryan said, coming after her. She turned and took off for the kitchen, limping as best she could. There were knives in the kitchen. Ryan had left one lying on the counter. She snatched it up and turned, holding it up between them. He stopped and threw his hands up, his expression changing.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he said as he took a step back. “I was just playing around. We were just having a little fun, right?”

“Fuck you,” she said as she flipped the knife around in her hand. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”

“C’mon baby, don’t say things like that. You know I love you,” he said. “I’ve always loved you.” She narrowed her eyes.

“You are incapable of love. You fuck like a robot that has the motions programmed, but has no idea why it’s doing what it’s doing. You are just a fucking fabrication,” she said. She gripped the knife tighter. She focused on it, and it grew slender and darkened until it looked like the shiv the assassin had carried. The lighter heft felt good in her hand.

“Don’t do this, Gota, please,” he said, backing away, his hands raised between them. She took a step towards him, the knife heavy in her hand. She focused, and one of Polly’s skates appeared out of the floor, behind him. She took another step towards him. He took another step back.

“And what would happen if I put this knife down?” she asked. “Would everything go back to normal?”

“Yes, Gota, please, I promise,” he said. “I promise.”

“You lie,” she said, taking another step towards him. He took another step back. She focused and the skate slid across the floor, ending up beneath his foot as it came down. His legs shot out from underneath him and he landed hard on his back. She was on him as soon as he hit the ground, thrusting the knife into his stomach repeatedly, churning the flesh and blood and organs into a thick stew.

He reached up with his hands and wrapped them around her neck, squeezing, strangling her, all the while staring at her with crazed, demented eyes. She raised the knife and plunged it into one of them as she began to turn red and choke, spittle flying from her lips as she struggled to breathe.

His eye burst open with a gout of clear fluid as she shoved the knife downward as hard as she could, driving it into his brain. His hands twitched one final time, almost crushing her windpipe, before his grip relaxed. She rolled off of him, gasping and choking for breath as his body lay wracked with spasms beside her.

“What have you done, you stupid bitch?” the children asked in unison. They were standing at the bottom of the stairs staring at her with looks of vacant disgust on their faces. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and wrenched the knife from Ryan’s skull.

“I’m not finished yet,” she croaked as she swayed unsteadily to her feet and stumbled across the room towards the children, gripping the knife in her bloody hand.

Rhylie knelt in silence, still covered in dried, flaking blood, surrounded by the bodies of her family. She held the slender darkened blade in her hand, turning it over and over, staring at it. It would be so easy to flip it around and fall on it.

“I would just save your life if you did, Gota,” the Chamber said. “I am not to allow harm to come to you, in any fashion.”

“Bring them back,” she begged. “Please.” She lifted her head to look around the compartment, the congealed grime on her face streaked by old tears.

“I already told you that I cannot do that,” the Chamber responded. “They made you too unstable.” Rhylie began to cry again, but there were no more tears to come. Her mouth was dry and her body ached. She lay down on her side, between the two children on the bloody floor.

“Please release me,” she begged, her voice thick with sorrow. “Please let me go home.”

“You are home, Gota,” the Chamber said without emotion.

“No no no no no please let me go home,” she sobbed, choking on her words.

“This is your home, Gota.,” the Chamber reiterated. “Now please stand and place your hands behind your back so that I may restrain you.”

“No,” she responded.

“Do not make me do this, Gota. You have been through enough,” the Chamber said.