La Mort et ses Merveilles ✔

7. The Lion and the Lamb II

La Mort et ses Merveilles

Chapter 7: The Lion and the Lamb II

It was just the three of us out there in the forest in the middle of nowhere. Leslie, me, and the rifle. There was nothing standing between the gun and the young man. My finger tightening on the trigger, I was getting ready to pull it.

The silence of the moment was deafening. The birds were chirping, the branches were rustling, yet to me the only thing that I heard was the beating of my heart.

The young man began to sob in between hiccups. It was funny how standoffish he was earlier when Josephine threatened to shoot him, yet here he was, a grown man reduced to tears. Maybe because he knew Josephine would never shoot him. I couldn't say the same about me, and judging by the tears streaming down his face and quivering hands, I'm sure the same could be said for Leslie.

"You don't have any reason to not pull the trigger," he said, finally speaking after his tears cleared up, his eyes bloodshot. "I-I just wanted you to know that I know what I've done. And I know you can't ever forgive me, but for what it's worth just know that I never felt more guilty in my life."

"That's cheap coming from you," I retorted, the gun still aimed directly at him. "I just didn't know why'd you do that? You shot him thrice Leslie, it's like you really wanted him to die."

The young man fell silent, looking down on the dead leaves on the floor.

"The other guys would've killed you if they saw you," he muttered. "I-I didn't kill you at least. When I saw your little sister I couldn't do it."

This guy, I thought to myself. Unbelievable.

"Yeah that was your mistake I guess," I said.

I couldn't help but let out a tense, chuckle. It was partly out of me being nervous, but it was also because it felt good to be able to say that. I could feel some sort of rush in my veins. I suppose that was what it felt like to be in control, to finally be able to take revenge. To avenge someone you've lost. It's quite poetic wasn't it, that the hunter became the hunted. Standing in front of the deer carcass, he was about to join it as well. Quite fitting, since I'd call him a wild animal. There wasn't a difference. He wasn't capable of sympathy, feeling. Not after what he did. I refused to believe that he did.

But as I looked into his reddened, puffy eyes, a cold dread crept up to me, the violent anger and sadistic satisfaction suddenly dissipating into thin air. Gone. I let out a deep sigh, but I still held the rifle tight.

I couldn't be like him. I didn't want to become an animal. To be a cold blooded killer? It's not something dad would've wanted. It's not something Isabella would want. Most importantly, it wasn't something that I want. I didn't want to stoop down to his level.

Like a wild animal, he seemed to have sniffed out the uncertainty running amok in my head. His hands still held up in front of him, he took a step forward. The dried leaves crunched underneath his sole, the sound crisp and clear.

"You can kill me if you want," he muttered. "You can do it right here and now. Leave my body by the creek and nobody's going to find me."

"Get away from me," I said in a firm tone, trying to hide the fear in my voice. "Get away or I'll shoot."

The young man looked at me with his deep blue eyes. His hands were still trembling, but not as violently as they used to.

"Then go ahead," he said. "God knows I deserve it. You probably heard Clara behind the shed the other say. We all need to make up for our sins somehow. I guess this is mine."