Lost Souls - 12. Victoria-Ann Cantrell- Christopher

“You've got a choice to make, love,” Christopher whispered in Victoria's ear. Her eyes widened. As Victoria returned to reality, she noticed Christopher standing behind the sofa chair where she collapsed when Rufus badgered her. He was dressed in black. She looked down... her hands were glowing and nails sparking; she was literally electric as her short, brown hair stood on end. Victoria looked up at Rufus who had taken a couple steps back. She stood up.

“W-what the fuck?” Rufus muttered, his eyes were as wide as watermelons.

“What's happening to me?” Victoria asked. “I feel...different.”

“I don't know!” Rufus yelled clutching his chest. “But you better get the FUCK out of my house!!”

“You feel it don't you,” Christopher said. “You have the power.”

At that moment a soft calm blanketed Victoria; it warmed her. “I...I could do it,” she paused. “I could kill him.”

Christopher stared at Rufus who backed himself against the wall; he gasped for breaths making a sickening, wheezing sound. “Yes, you could.”

“I really could do it right now and it'll all be over,” Victoria smiled.

Christopher put his hand over her shoulder. “ Would it?”

Her smile of pure delight melted. “What do you mean? Of course it would!”

“You've been given a gift,” Christopher began. “If you use it on him...” Christopher tilted his head, pointing at the petrified old man. “You'll lose it forever.”

Victoria covered her mouth with both hands.

“It's your choice love.”

“But he should die!” she insisted.

“Its murder....”

“He deserves to be murdered!” Victoria argued, her face twisted with disgust.

“Then you're just like him...a true Cantrell eh?” The room was thick with silence as Victoria stared a hole through Christopher's skull. Rufus remained hunched in the corner near the window, grabbing his chest as he trembled. “Remember your dream? Remember that poem you wrote?”

“Yes....”

“Others need your gift but you need to make that choice. Are you like the rest of man? Are you a taker of everything and giver of none? Does your heart breed contempt in a pool of anguish....”

“But him... how do I...?” tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Forgiveness.”

Victoria held her hands to her mouth once more. Suddenly, a knavish smile came to her face and she burst into laughter. “Forgiveness?” she blurted. “You've got to be bloody kidding me! Where did you pick up that Jesus crap from anyways?”

Christopher's face was placid.

“Surely....surely you're not serious!” Victoria continued to laugh hysterically.

“Why don't you do it now and get it over with!” Rufus begged.

“Is that what you want?” she asked.

“If it means never having to see the face of the woman who killed my son ever again...then yes!”

“Victoria....” Christopher said.

“No.”

“What?!” Rufus gasped.

“Fuck no!” Victoria exclaimed. “You'll live.” Victoria stomped over to Rufus' corner, towering over the hunched, old man. “I lived in fear for most of my life because of you! Men like you don't deserve to live but you don't deserve death either. You'll live every day and breathe every breath in fear for the rest of your life like I did.”

Christopher smiled, “Wise choice.”

“I'm nothing...nothing like you Rufus Cantrell! I don't think I could ever forgive what you did to me but I can forgive myself for harboring such hate against myself.” Her hands and nails stopped glowing. “I hated myself for being touched by you...carrying your child.” Victoria's eyes were slits in her face as she grimaced.

“Let's go Victoria,” Christopher interrupted. “ We have a lot to talk about.”

Rufus and Victoria exchanged one last glare before she and Christopher left the old house. Rufus remained crouched in the corner by the window.

The room was silent again. The steady howl of the wind as it ran past the swaying, yellow curtain of the open window was the only noise to be heard. Rufus stood up. He walked over to his trophy mantle, picking up one of his scratched and faded rugby trophies. He fumbled with it in his right hand, holding it as if its mere touch sickened him. He squeezed it, he squeezed it so hard his hand shook and the ubiquitous veins in his forearm surfaced, tattooing his hand. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he threw the trophy across the room with all his elderly might! It made a muffled thump as it ricocheted off the white, wooden wall. Rufus fell into his old, sofa chair, staring helplessly through the window. His eyes spelled defeat as they sagged like yellow egg yolks, melted on his face.

“That bi....” Rufus was interrupted. He heard the squeaking sound of the floor-boards behind him as footsteps neared him. “Who's there?” he asked turning around.

“Oh...just a friend.” Approaching Rufus was a tall, neatly dressed Caucasian man. He looked to be in his fifties; bald with a black goatee and wore a white suit. It was tailored to perfection against his lean frame. His eyes were also dark, black pools reflecting the dim light entering the window.

“I-I don't know you!” Rufus fumbled. H-how....how did you get in here?” he gasped. As he tried to stand up, the visitor pushed him back into his seat with his hand.

“Let's just say,” the man said, staring at the roof. “We have some enemies in common.”

Rufus sat silently. His mouth now agape with shock, confusion and whatever other cocktails of emotion stirred within him. Rufus examined the man from head to toe...taking note of his ghostly, pale skin. “Jesus Christ!” Rufus yelled. “You ain't from around here, are you?”

The visitor smiled, it was like a serpent's grin. His smile was akin to the cat that swallowed the canary... too wide and too many teeth to be sincere. Too many teeth for comfort...it was an unnerving gape of teeth. “No. No I'm not Mister Cantrell.”

“Where....” Rufus managed to mouth.

“That isn't important right now,” the visitor said while walking a few steps closer to Rufus. He leaned on the window sill, hunching over to near eye-level of Rufus like a parent discussing serious matters with a child. “What is important is that we can help each other,” he paused. The visitor took acknowledged the tension falling away from Rufus' face with a grin. “Yes, we can help each other greatly....”

“How....”

The visitor smiled, “Believe it or not your niece is a key element. Literally.”

“I don't bloody understand what the hell you're talking about!” Rufus snapped.

The visitor released a long, tired sigh. “Guess I'll have to start from the beginning.”

“Look. You...'people' show up here, unannounced at my door, and then start doing all kinds of crazy things. For fuck's sake, tell me what's going on god-dammit!”

“Glad to know the fowl mouth is genetic,” he jeered. “Anyway, I should start by introducing myself. I'm Tridan.”

“What kind of name is that?” Rufus asked.

“Not an earthly one,” Tridan replied.

“And how are you going to help me get revenge on that wretch for killing my son?”

“Ah yes! Revenge...revenge is what fuels you humans the most. More than love, on par with hate...nothing lights a fire under the belly of the beast more than vengeance. I must admit, I admire your innate desire to seek justice on those who've wronged you.”

Rufus stood up, bracing against the chair's arm. With a desperate, wheezing gasps he expelled the question, “How....”

“We will ruin her.”

“With what?”

“Her own past.”

“Good....” Rufus sat down.

“But it is clear you will need some help. Help that my people can and will give to you with your permission and of course, co-operation.” Tridan stood tall, gazing through the open window. “But maybe you'd like to hear more?”

“No.” Rufus replied sharply.

Tridan smiled. “Are you sure, Mister Cantrell?”

“I've... heard... enough....” Rufus said gasping for air. “Do it.”

Guys, i'm so sorry for taking... a month to update this ... things be happening lol ... don't be shy to tell e how you feel about it,  and thank you ever so much for reading