Blood of the Devil

Chapter 18 - Hangman

When Letha woke, her neck ached and she rolled her head around with a grunt. The armchair had been an uncomfortable place to sleep, but she had refused anywhere else. Clicking her jaw, Letha swung her legs off the armrest, and her hand flew to her forehead.

The wind is cold, soft, and the young girl hides a shiver. She’s curled up on a hill, her arms wrapped around her legs as she buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

“Letha?”

Jerking to her feet, Letha raked a curl out of her face, grinding her teeth. Her nightmare still haunted her, but Letha shoved the memories savagely to the back of her mind. Somebody coughed, and she spun to face the front door.

The voice is persistent. “Letha?”

Very slowly, the girl raises her head. Her cheeks are streaked with tears of blood, red tendrils trailing across her face. Two brown eyes are inches from hers, practically beaming.

“Hello darling.”

Swallowing quickly, Letha eyed the open door. No one was standing there, but as Letha edged to the side, she could make out a seated figure. It was still dark, and she had to squint to see. The person threw back their head with a sigh, drumming their fingers on the deck slats.

“I don’t understand.”

Flinching, Letha’s hand flew to her heart in surprise. Her mouth hung open, but she had nothing to say.

“What don’t you understand, boy?”

Quite positive she hadn’t spoken, Letha’s eyes darted to Archer’s splayed form. She could feel her heart charging, but as it calmed, Archer’s head rolled and his met her eyes.

“Letha.” She flinched again as Mickey spoke, but leaning around the corner, she saw he wasn’t talking to her. “I don’t understand Letha. At all.”

“Few do,” Archer muttered, smirking at Letha before rolling his head back to Mickey. “What would you like to know?”

“What?” he snapped, shock layering his tone.

“Ask me what you’d like to know. Perhaps I can help,” the vampire grated, grinding his teeth.

Letha grimaced at his prone form, rolling her eyes, but Mickey was already nodding. “Thank you.”

“Ask away.”

After a strained pause, the boy licked his lips. “Why is Letha the way she is?”

Archer let out a soft, dark chuckle, “Beat around the bush, why don’t you?”

When he didn’t get a response, the man let out a breath and continued, “Letha wasn’t always this way, not entirely.”

Letha’s eyes flew closed and she gripped her head.

The woman, strokes the little girl’s face, wiping aside the tears. “Now, now, Dearest, don’t cry. It’s a beautiful day, why be sad?”

The girl doesn’t reply, shaking her head, and buries her face again. The woman stands and takes a careful step away. As her weight settles on two feet, the girl screams in agony. She writhes on her back, her knuckles white as she claws the ground.

“When she was younger, Letha didn’t realise that her family was abnormal. She didn’t realise that most mothers didn’t cry themselves to sleep every night, or try to kill themselves when they got pregnant. She didn’t realise that most daughters weren’t afraid of their fathers and uncles, and didn’t know how to bandage cuts. She didn’t know…”