Killer

On the day Ravanah Blackwell was killed, the weather was perfect. The iridescent sky was slick with pale clouds. Sunlight snaked through them, stabbing the shadowy alleys of Sheol. The streets were blindingly bright- even the crevices in the ground were stung with a white light that clawed at their bottomlessness.

Ravanah lay unmoving, in the middle of the street, as if she were a prize to be brandished at the vacuous faces of the Sheolers. Her mangled arms were limp in her ashen hair, skin frayed as if it had been scorched away with acid. Her glassy eyes were now gaping and hollow, like twin tunnels that had no light at their ends. Her throat was ripped, flesh peeled from bone and skin. But her face- her face was pulled into a malicious grin. She grinned like Lucifer would have grinned before he fell from Heaven. 

***
“Ursula, honey, I’m home,” Elijah Blackwell slumped onto a stool in the threshold. Work had been tiring, as usual, evident from his swollen, drooping eyes. He bent over to untie his shoelaces, fingers fumbling with the thin material, and waited for a response. “Back home so early?” a dull voice floated into the threshold. Ursula Blackwell emerged with a damp towel over her head. Her eyes were sunken and her voice had thinned to nothing more than a whisper. 

The Blackwells were not okay. In fact, ever since their daughter’s body had been found on the street in broad daylight, they were absolutely miserable. Ursula crouched down beside her husband and reached out to comfort him. “There was no other way,” she wanted to say, but was that the truth? Aloud, she said, “It’s been thirteen years, El.” Elijah flinched away as if she’d spit out fire. Both of them sat still, in silence. There wasn’t anything left to say, was there? 

“Elijah…” Ursula whimpered. Tears welled up in her eyes and the lump that had stayed down for so long, bubbled up in her throat. “What happened to Ravanah- th-there was nothing else we could’ve done!” she cried. Immediately, her hand flew up to her mouth, struggling to push back her words and tears. Blind denial always floated back to her, whenever she spoke of Ravanah. She wanted to be distracted, wanted to forget, but that wasn’t remotely what either of them deserved. 

A moment passed, as silence rippled through the room. “Ursula,” Elijah started, his voice shuddering as he spoke, “what are we doing?”, he sighed. Ursula shook her head in dismay. “She was our daughter.” she choked. The light from her eyes was long gone.

“It’s on both of us. We killed her together.” 

Killed. The word rang in her ears, refusing to fade in intensity. Elijah saw his wife trembling. “Hon, it’s not-”
But Ursula never found out what it was not, as the doorbell shrieked into tune just then. Both husband and wife exchanged a nervous glance as Elijah got up to answer the door. That was the first time anyone had rung their doorbell in the last thirteen years.

The door creaked on its hinge as sunlight streamed through. And on the doorstep stood Ravanah Blackwell. She wore a malicious grin, like Lucifer would have before he fell. “Bu-but you’re dea-” Ursula faltered, all colour drained from her face. 

“I’ve never been more alive.”