Cursed Angels

“You don’t remember what you did, do you?” His lips twist into an evil smirk. “You soon will though. Everything will come back, and you’ll realize just what you did to save Samara. What sort of man you became.” He gasps his last breath and falls to the floor. Behind him is another man. He wears a crisp suit that looks strange with the mohawk on his head. This man is not injured in the chest but has a hole through the center of his forehead.

“There will be more,” he says, and I look at him in confusion.

“More?”

“Always more.” He looks behind him, and I see a line of people. Hundreds, thousands. I don’t know how many. A small boy steps forward; he can be no older than sixteen. His body is covered with the marks of a cane.

“You’ve done this to all of us. Our blood is on your hands.”

I look down at my hands again, and the blood now drips from them in a waterfall. It’s covering the floor. I can feel it in between my bare toes. It’s warm. To me, it should be cold, but it isn’t. It’s almost boiling. The shadows start to retreat.

“Wait,” I call, needing more answers to the endless questions that are jumbled up in my head.

“We’ll come again.” They all laugh at once; the sound is deafening. I place my hands over my ears, but that only further covers me in blood.

I feel dirty. I’m evil.

“Archer.” The soft feminine voice forces me to listen again. “Archer, save me.”

My head twists and turns, trying to find the owner of the voice, but I can’t see anything other than darkness as black as midnight.

“Samara?” I call. It has to be her. I can feel the rapid beat of my heart, and she is the only one who can elicit that emotion from me. She’s the only one who has ever been able to draw any feelings or affection from me. I’m all about business; emotions get you beaten. They’re no good, and you should never have them.

“She’s safe.” Dr. Hickson appears out of nowhere.

“Where is she?” I demand with increasing menace.

“Out of harm’s reach for now.” The blackness of his eyes tells me that Samara is far from safe and is probably actually in the middle of danger. “You did well.”

“What?”

He looks down at my feet, and I move my head in the same direction as though it’s not entirely attached to my body but that of a puppet on a string. There’s a body there.

“Who is she?” I ask in confusion.

“Your first kill, of course. Has there been so many that you don’t remember? I thought everyone always remembered their first time. I know Samara will.” He laughs. It’s a chilling sound that rattles through my body. He doesn’t mean murder. I know that for certain when he places his hand over his groin and rearranges himself. “You’ve saved her for now. Shame. But it won’t last. Not until you give yourself to Miss Ward forever.”

“What do you mean?” I bend down and look at the face of my first kill. It’s a young girl. I pull back her long red hair and scream when Samara’s lifeless face looks back at me.

“Archer?” A warm touch places itself at my temple while the angelic feminine voice speaks. Its words are laced with trembling concern. “Archer?”

I groan loud and long. I don’t think there is a part of my body that doesn’t ache, but it’s my head that is the worst. I feel dizzy, nauseated, and weak. I try to open my heavy eyelids, but that seems to need more strength than I possess.

“Do you think he’s all right?” the voice asks, and I want to answer that I’m not feeling the best, but I can’t.

“His body has been through a lot. I’m not a doctor, but I’m guessing the fact that he’s still alive means something,” a masculine tone answers, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick. I don’t like this voice as much as the female one.

“We should have gotten a proper doctor out to him.”

“And say what? He’s a trained killer who had a chip in his brain, so we had to dig it out? We both know that he’d be back in Rebekah Ward’s hands, and we’d be rotting in jail if we even tried it. She owns the cops and medical facilities in these parts.”

“What if there is an infection? What if we damaged something? Maybe this is how he will be for the rest of his life?” The female voice sounds genuinely concerned for me. I like her; I wish my eyes would open so I could see her. She’s familiar and comforting. The motherfucking headache I have is explained by the man’s comments though. They dug a chip out of my brain. What the fuck?