Stealing Roses

Chapter 4

“You made me hurt her!” He screamed at Them. They weren’t listening this time, though. They were yelling at each other, screaming profanities. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” They stopped yelling at each other and started yelling at him. Kill her, kill her, kill her. Demon, demon, demon. Alex curled into a ball on his bed, rocking and beating himself, bruising his already scarred and mangled arms. Go away, go away, go away, he thought pleadingly. Why won’t They go away? He thought of Rose sitting in the crawlspace, waiting for him. She loves me so much and I hurt her. Because of Them. Alex pulled open his desk drawer, removing his trusty Stanley knife. He turned to the part of the wall that remained behind his bed, where no one could see except him. He started to carve into the wall, scratching Rose’s name next to the others. Her name lay next to Cheyenne’s and Eve’s, just underneath…Mother’s. Alex hated his Mother. He hated that evil torturous woman. That was the only time They had helped him. When Mother was gone, he was free. No longer would he scream when she held his head under the holy water, screaming, praying.

“Demon child.” She used to chant. “Lord, please have mercy.” Just as Alex would get a bit of air, she would push his head under again, chanting over and over and over and over and over and over…

“No more.” Alex whimpered. It was Mother’s fault Daddy left, one of them murmured. She had it coming. “Yes, I had to do it.” She would’ve come between us, Alex could hear Rose’s voice joining the rest of Theirs. She never loved you like I do. Alex peered out of his doorway at the dining table. If he looked closely, he could still see a tiny red blood stain running through the plastic. Whenever he saw this, he felt a little bit guilty for hurting her so much before actually…dealing with her. But then They reminded him about his shoulder. On his right shoulder there was an intricate tattoo of a cross. Alex hated that tattoo. He had done it to cover the burn. When Alex was six, Mother caught him trying on her favourite dress. That night, he screamed into his pillow as Mother pressed an iron poker she had heated until it was white-hot into his shoulder. The burn was a constant reminder of the foul hatred he felt towards her and how They had helped him. They would always help him. Especially Rose. Rose loved him. 

“Rosie?” Alex slowly pulled the door to the basement open, being careful not to let her run past him. Seeing that she wasn’t there, Alex pulled the door open wider, letting the basement bask in the light that poured in from behind him. Rose peered out from behind the old couch that sat in the centre of the room, her hands trembling and bottom lip quivering. “I know it’s scary down here, but you can stay with me in the master bedroom when I know you’re done with this game.” She nodded in response and pulled herself up to her full height, a mere five-feet-two-inch. 

“Can I have a light down here?” She asked him, her slender arms reaching around herself as she shivered in response to the cold draughts in the room. Alex nodded and went back into the kitchen to get her a torch. Don’t forget to lock the door, They called in a singsong voice. Alex sighed and bolted the door. I wouldn’t have to if she stopped playing this game. Why won’t she stop?