by Sadee Bee
EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the second installment of a serial story that will runs the first Friday of the month in October, November, & December 2022. You can read the first installment here. Please check back for the final installment on December 2.
After a fitful night of sleep on the couch, Namina woke to sunlight on her eyelids.
She ran her hand over her face, thankful to feel no pain or swelling on her eye or cheek. She flexed her hand, it was stiff, but the searing cut no longer rested on her palm. The Ker had accepted the soul she delivered.
Namina breathed a sigh of relief; she was allowed to live — another day, another victim. She could already hear the Ker’s whispers in the back of her mind, begging for another meal.
It had healed her body but not her fatigue. Being out night after night left little room for decent sleep. She could try to sleep through the day but would not be able to ignore the noise in her head. She had often contemplated ending her own life out of pure desperation, but the Ker would still own her soul. Namina did not know what that would mean in death, but at least she had some control in life.
Namina spent years trying to find a way to sever the bond between her and the Ker, one that did not end in her death — exorcisms, rituals, books, and drugs; Namina had tried them all. Some were painful and traumatizing, but none of them could cut the bond.
So, if she could not beat the Ker, she would feed it her way.
She wiped the sleep from her eyes, peeled herself from the couch, and got dressed. After kissing a sleeping Simone goodbye, she left for the city.
She would reach the city before nightfall, enough time to scope out her next target. The long drive gave her time to prepare for the awful thoughts and sordid histories she would see.
Tonight, Namina needed to find bigger prey. Someone able to stave off the Ker’s hunger for more than a day. Until then, she had taken awful men home and slaughtered them in the woods. They deserved that and more, but Namina knew there were even worse men. After all, she had barely survived one of them. Predators like those were able to hide better than the average. They used the shadows as well as she did, knew who prey was and who wasn’t, and hid their thoughts well. Namina had an advantage.
She could become the perfect victim for a serial killer.
On a dimly lit street, two blocks away from the city’s most popular bars, Namina waited amongst sex workers making their rounds for the night.
There were whispers among them that four newcomers had recently disappeared. A collective fear hung over the women that someone was hunting them. Despite the nature of their work, they reported the missing women to the police, who so far had done nothing to investigate. Namina was not surprised by this fact.
These women did not matter to anyone, especially not law enforcement. Whatever happened to them was their fault, a byproduct of their profession. It filled Namina with rage. These women did matter, and she would do her best to protect them.
She wore a tank top that exposed the scars on her arms, tight leggings, and black combat boots. Namina needed to appear like a regular, a professional; seasoned street sex workers did not wear heels and often had evidence of trauma on their bodies.
The sad truth was that being Black would give her a better chance of being picked up by this man. Leaning against a wall, just outside the streetlight, Namina watched women come and go. She studied every man that stopped by, the type of woman he beckoned to his car, and waited to see if the women they took returned. As she continued to survey, she heard the low rumble of an engine belonging to a sleek sports car. Namina sensed a shift in the atmosphere among the women, an air of discomfort. They all refused to look in the vehicle’s direction, pretending to be busy with other things. Namina stifled a smile; this was the man she was looking for. When the car stopped, she remained leaning against the wall but shifted more into the light.
Dark tinted windows lowered to reveal an unassuming-looking man: white, mid-thirties, with horn-rimmed glasses, dark hair, and even darker eyes. He scanned the scraggle of women still on the street, his eyes lingering on Namina before passing over her.
She did not make eye contact, only looked in his general direction. He looked back at her, stuck one hand out of his window, beckoning her with a finger. She feigned shyness, meandering slowly towards the car while looking at the ground.
Namina stopped at the curb, lifted her face, and met his lifeless eyes. The Ker’s power roared inside her, filling her mind with gruesome visions:
A crying woman, suspended from a ceiling beam by her arms. She was blindfolded and naked, her body covered in dozens of cuts and burns. Namina saw the man as he watched the woman writhe in pain while she begged to be released. She has been there for days, being slowly tortured to death. The man liked to play with his prey, and he wasn’t quite finished yet.
Namina held back her tears. There were at least a dozen women like the one she saw. Subjected to nothing but pure violence for days until they begged to die. She felt the Ker beg for his soul, and Namina would have no problem delivering it.
“Looking for a ride?” He brushed his hand along Namina’s arm.
She resisted the urge to yank her arm away, “Yes. I’ve been out for days and could use a meal.” Namina smiled sweetly as she tilted her head.
He patted the passenger seat with his hand and waited for Namina to get in. She sauntered to the door, slid into the leather seat, and closed herself into the car’s dark interior. There was no going back now; she would either deliver his soul or face her death.
At the first red light, she felt a sharp jab to her leg. She looked at the man smiling, then down to her leg where a hypodermic needle protruded. She yanked it from her leg to look at its contents. Only a tiny amount of clear liquid remained, and Namina’s vision began to twist and blur. Her hand went limp; the needle fell to the car’s floor.
“Don’t worry. It will only be a little nap.” He promised as he rubbed her leg.
She tried to fight the drugs as the car lurched away from the curb. Whatever the drug was, it was far more potent than any she had done.
The Ker’s hungry voice was slipping away from her; her head lolled to the side before everything went dark.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Sadee Bee is ever-evolving as living with mental illness is never a straight line and hopes to be a voice and advocate for those like her. She uses art as an outlet as well, creating whatever comes to mind, and is heavily drawn to speculative and out-of-this-world elements. She is inspired by strange dreams, magic, and creepy vibes.
