Another Little Piece by Quinn Kate Karyus

Author:Quinn, Kate Karyus [Quinn, Kate Karyus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Love & Romance, Horror & Ghost Stories, Fantasy & Magic
ISBN: 9780062135940
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2013-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

TOGETHER

I make two long slices through my skin. One for each arm. Starting at the edge of my elbow and tearing straight through the soft flesh until I reach the edge of my palm.

The razor falls into the dirt at my feet. My hands hang limp at my sides, and blood streams from my fingers, a slow drip that will quickly turn into a steady red waterfall.

Annaliese stares in horror. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

“Yes, I will pay” are the last words Annaliese will ever say.

“Now, pick up the razor, and cut out my heart,” I tell her. And because she took someone else’s free will, Annaliese has no choice. She does exactly as I ask.

The first bite she tries to chew. They all try to chew. Her jaw works, making little headway on the tough tissue. Then with a grimace and a gulp, she swallows. Bringing the heart to her mouth once more, she sinks her teeth in.

This time they are my teeth too. And together we gag on the blood. Together we lock our jaw, swallow, and bite again.

Now I can feel the heart still warm in her hand. And through Annaliese’s eyes, I watch Jaclyn—the girl I had been—stagger forward. I catch her in Annaliese’s arms, carefully cradling the heart in a loose fist behind her back. New me holds old me in a macabre embrace, sealed with blood. And tears. A good-bye of sorts.

With the next bite, Jaclyn will begin her disintegration, until by the last bite there will only be a razor on the ground to mark where she’d stood.

The next bite doesn’t happen.

Something sharp and silver shiny comes flashing out of the woods, a madwoman behind it. She chants a single word. A curse. No, an accusation.

“Sodomite!”

Amazing the things you can hear in that one word. Hate. Fear. Anger. And love.

This last is for her daughter. For Jaclyn. Too late though. Jaclyn’s heart has already been cut from her chest.

“Sorry.” I try to say the word, but it is too early. I can’t control Annaliese’s vocals yet.

The pickax in the hand of the woman I’d spent a year calling mother drives straight into my skull. Blood floods my eyes, and I wipe it away only to dodge the slicing silver coming at me once more.

Oh God, oh no, oh help, please, please, please . . .

The words run in my head, on a loop. But they aren’t mine. I gave up on God years ago. This is Annaliese, still stubbornly clinging to her body, and her life.

I have already decided it is over.

Finally.

Let the executioner swing. I am ready for the end.

But Annaliese is not.

The scream that has been bottled inside her comes roaring from our lips—the high-pitched whistle of a teapot boiling.

It shouldn’t be happening. Annaliese’s will should be suspended—just long enough for me to replace it with my own. But instead, what should have been a killing blow—the sharp metal tip of a pickax piercing her gray matter—has somehow set her free once more.

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