what else to do, and feeling panic building inside me, I search the entire apartment again. This time I notice something in the bedroom I didn’t before. Liana’s journal is lying open on the bed. I sit down, pick it up, and read the entry it’s open to. The last entry.
Richard:
I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’re the first person who ever truly saw me, and I’ll treasure that gift forever. I’ve come to care for you so much since we met, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But I’ve brought many difficult things into your life, and now your safety is in jeopardy. Because of this, I must leave you, if for no other reason than to protect you. I’m going to try to believe it’s for the best, and I urge you to do the same. Your life can get back to normal now, and as for me…Perhaps it’s better that I remain with my own kind.
Thank you for our time together, Richard. They were the best days of my life. I love you.
Liana.
I understand then what the Spindlekin have done. They used Liana’s feelings for me against her, told her they’d kill me if she didn’t return to them. And in order to save me, she gave herself over to their filthy hands. I’m overwhelmed with sorrow and rage, but mixed in with those emotions are a sense of awe and disbelief. No one has ever loved me this much, sacrificed for me like this. Tears start running down my cheeks, and I wish the cop hadn’t stopped me, wish I’d gotten here in time to stop Liana from leaving. We could’ve run, could’ve—
I hear sounds from the bedroom upstairs. Moans, groans, grunts, punctuated by bursts of dark laughter.
I know where Liana is. I know what’s happening to her. I feel shock, rage, jealously. Part of me—a small, petty part—thinks I should forget about Liana, leave her with her own kind. A larger part of me feels overwhelming guilt, because I know Liana has done this to protect me, to keep me safe from the Spindlekin. But most of all, I feel love for Liana, and I know I can’t allow her to go on suffering. Not for me.
I race out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen, once again wishing I owned a gun. I grab a butcher knife from the utensil drawer, a hammer from the junk drawer. Neither is much in the way of weaponry, but they’ll have to do. As I run to the front door, I repeat a mantra under my breath. “Just flesh and blood, just flesh and blood.” I pray that it’s true.
The front door is still open, and I go through and run up the stairs to the second floor. I’m barely thinking now, running mostly on adrenaline and emotion, and I nearly stumble as I ascend. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I manage to trip and fall on my own knife, saving the Spindlekin the trouble of having to interrupt their fuck-fest to kill me?
I reach their door and I slam the hammer against the wood three times, wham-wham-wham!
“Let me in, you sons of bitches!” I shout so loud my throat is instantly raw.
I wait a few seconds, and when the door doesn’t open, I hit it again. Still nothing. I’m holding the hammer in my right hand, and I shift it to my left for a moment and hold it together with the knife. I try the knob. I don’t expect to find it unlocked, and it isn’t. I take the hammer in my right hand again, and I slam it against the door a half dozen times, putting all my strength into each blow. When I stop, I’m breathing heavily and the surface of the door is splintered where I hit it, but it remains closed. The Spindlekin are too caught up in their reunion with their Desiderata to hear me. Or maybe they do hear me, they just don’t care. Why should they? They’ve gotten what they wanted, and I’m no threat to them. Or so they believe.
I go back downstairs and run through my apartment to the patio door. I throw it open and race outside. The rain’s coming down harder now, but I barely notice it as I pound up the wooden stairs to the Spindlekin’s deck. The blinds are closed,
Richard:
I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’re the first person who ever truly saw me, and I’ll treasure that gift forever. I’ve come to care for you so much since we met, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But I’ve brought many difficult things into your life, and now your safety is in jeopardy. Because of this, I must leave you, if for no other reason than to protect you. I’m going to try to believe it’s for the best, and I urge you to do the same. Your life can get back to normal now, and as for me…Perhaps it’s better that I remain with my own kind.
Thank you for our time together, Richard. They were the best days of my life. I love you.
Liana.
I understand then what the Spindlekin have done. They used Liana’s feelings for me against her, told her they’d kill me if she didn’t return to them. And in order to save me, she gave herself over to their filthy hands. I’m overwhelmed with sorrow and rage, but mixed in with those emotions are a sense of awe and disbelief. No one has ever loved me this much, sacrificed for me like this. Tears start running down my cheeks, and I wish the cop hadn’t stopped me, wish I’d gotten here in time to stop Liana from leaving. We could’ve run, could’ve—
I hear sounds from the bedroom upstairs. Moans, groans, grunts, punctuated by bursts of dark laughter.
I know where Liana is. I know what’s happening to her. I feel shock, rage, jealously. Part of me—a small, petty part—thinks I should forget about Liana, leave her with her own kind. A larger part of me feels overwhelming guilt, because I know Liana has done this to protect me, to keep me safe from the Spindlekin. But most of all, I feel love for Liana, and I know I can’t allow her to go on suffering. Not for me.
I race out of the bedroom and head for the kitchen, once again wishing I owned a gun. I grab a butcher knife from the utensil drawer, a hammer from the junk drawer. Neither is much in the way of weaponry, but they’ll have to do. As I run to the front door, I repeat a mantra under my breath. “Just flesh and blood, just flesh and blood.” I pray that it’s true.
The front door is still open, and I go through and run up the stairs to the second floor. I’m barely thinking now, running mostly on adrenaline and emotion, and I nearly stumble as I ascend. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I manage to trip and fall on my own knife, saving the Spindlekin the trouble of having to interrupt their fuck-fest to kill me?
I reach their door and I slam the hammer against the wood three times, wham-wham-wham!
“Let me in, you sons of bitches!” I shout so loud my throat is instantly raw.
I wait a few seconds, and when the door doesn’t open, I hit it again. Still nothing. I’m holding the hammer in my right hand, and I shift it to my left for a moment and hold it together with the knife. I try the knob. I don’t expect to find it unlocked, and it isn’t. I take the hammer in my right hand again, and I slam it against the door a half dozen times, putting all my strength into each blow. When I stop, I’m breathing heavily and the surface of the door is splintered where I hit it, but it remains closed. The Spindlekin are too caught up in their reunion with their Desiderata to hear me. Or maybe they do hear me, they just don’t care. Why should they? They’ve gotten what they wanted, and I’m no threat to them. Or so they believe.
I go back downstairs and run through my apartment to the patio door. I throw it open and race outside. The rain’s coming down harder now, but I barely notice it as I pound up the wooden stairs to the Spindlekin’s deck. The blinds are closed,
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