Butcher of the Bayou

18

"Would you stop going so fast! I grumble to Mark. He drops the body and throws his hands up in the air. "Don't snap at me, little girl. You're the one that killed him. "

I wanted to throttle him! as if I didn't know that.
"I didn't have a choice he knew to much. I did it for both of us."

A extremely large gator hiss at me not liking us disturbing his nap.
" just drop him here that gator will take care of him " I said as I sit down to rest. My back was wet with sweat, and my mouth parched.
"Cause that work out so well with Eloi." Mark spat.

Mark's words cut through me like a knife, each syllable dripping with venomous contempt. I clenched my fists, struggling to contain the rising anger that threatened to consume me.

"Don't you dare bring up Eloi," I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. "That was different, and you know it."

"Was it, though? You keep telling yourself that, Fleur. But deep down, you know the truth."

I wanted to scream at him, to lash out and make him understand. But, I knew he was right.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to push aside the gnawing doubt that threatened to consume me. "Just drop him here," I repeated, my voice devoid of emotion. "The gator will take care of him."

Without another word, Mark obeyed, dumping the lifeless body onto the muddy ground with a sickening thud. The gator's hungry eyes watched us from the water, its jaws snapping eagerly in anticipation of its next meal. 

As I trudged through the thick mud of the bayou, my mind was consumed by the previous night's events—the ritual, the blood, the darkness that had enveloped us like a suffocating shroud.

The memory came unbidden, haunting me with its vividness and intensity. I could still feel the weight of the robe against my skin, the heat of the candles casting eerie shadows on the cabin walls.

Mark's voice echoed in my mind, taunting me with cruel laughter as he led me deeper into the darkness. The symbols etched into the walls seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, casting a sinister glow.

And then there was the blood—the sickening metallic scent that filled the air, the coppery taste that lingered on my tongue. I could still see the look of terror in the girl's eyes as she struggled against my grip, her futile attempts to escape only serving to fuel my rage. My first sacrifices in the name of my father's cult.

Would she be missed? Would her loved ones continue to search? Mark said she was just a runaway living on the street in the city. He snatched her up and brought her gagged and bound to the cabin. He wasn't expecting to find me there with my questions about the cult and my father. 

I could have left, I could have saved the girl. But I didn't; the darkness had too strong a pull, and I went willingly into its embrace.

I knew what Mark and I had done was unforgivable, that we had crossed a line from which there could be no return. But in that moment, as the darkness consumed us both, I couldn't bring myself to care.

Standing amidst the wreckage of my once-ordinary life, I knew nothing would ever be the same again. The darkness had consumed me, body and soul, leaving behind only a hollow shell of the person I once was.