Constantia’s Cataclysm - a story in parallel

Peter ran through the hallway. He slammed into the wall at the T-junction, and bit down a scream, he had to be quiet. He reminded himself that she could hear him.

Which way, he thought. Where did she take you?

He rubbed his head frantically to check for blood. He’d have a lump, but blessedly there was no blood. She loved blood, loved to make living things bleed.

He turned right and rushed down the hallway, towards the kitchen. She had to know it’s the first place he’d look. But… that didn’t mean he shouldn’t look there.

He swung into the room, stabilising himself on the doorway. His eyes swept over the room, across the chaos of a fight. The cutlery drawer had been yanked open, of course, and no one was inside. The rest of the room was littered with broken glass and scattered flowers. Torn papers lay about. Water dripped slowly from the faucet.

He fixated on the cutlery drawer, mouth dry.

Where are you?

He snapped back to, and rushed outward. Down, to the lavatory.

“Peez, puleez, peeze be afe”, he muttered through ragged breaths.

He rounded another corner and saw it – the wooden door with the crescent moon cut out. Swaying slightly from an earlier hand. He crept closer, mesmerised. He was terrified of what he’d find. He raised a trembling hand to the door, and forced himself to open it.

A gasp escaped him, and his legs gave out. All of his fears were coming true.

The journal was on the floor, next to the toilet, some pages ripped out.

You should have never opened it. It wasn’t yours to read. Didn’t I tell you what would happen?

Her voice. Directly into his mind.

She was in the lavatory with him.

“Wha you, oo, wid him?” Peter asked.

I killed him, like I promised. And now it’s your turn.

Finally he saw her, glinting behind the toilet. Her cruel blade caught the moonlight. Next to her lay his friend. Or the body that had been his friend.

“Spoooon!” Peter wailed, collapsing his face between his arms.

He sobbed there, ugly uncontrolled jerks.

Oh be quiet. You never remember do you? You stomp around on the floorboards. You belch, you slurp your soup, and you fart as though the rest of us are deaf too. It was only a matter of time before it came to this anyway.

“Spoon,” Peter whimpered. He looked up to the body of his friend, and saw that knife was in his hand now. She turned in his hand as she spoke to him.

Forget him. Didn’t you write all those nasty things about him too? About how he’d changed? You said he’d become bitter, resentful, rusty.

He broke my earmuffs, Peter sniffed as he thought back. He made me go deaf.

So you did want him dead!

“No!”

Knife laughed. Her serrated edges danced in the glinting moonlight. She came closer, in his hand, until she was right in front of his face.

Maybe, if you didn’t keep your own notebook of their secrets, this wouldn’t be happening.

She sniffed. Suddenly business like.

Jugular, or brain?

“Peeze no!” Peter yelled.

Well then I’ll let him choose.

Knife dipped to point over his shoulder.

He followed his point, and saw it. The homunculus sat on all fours, grooming its hand. Its tail whipped behind it. When it saw he was looking at it, it cocked its head to the side and waited.

So my time has really come, thought Peter. He sagged his shoulders, and turned back to look at knife.

“Jug-” he began and was cut off as knife plunged into his eye, boring into his brain, laughing maniacally. The last thing he saw before he died, was the impish creature hovering over him, watching the life drain from him.

Peter died for the umpteenth time. The homunculus took his notebook, and scampered away, stopping to raid the pantry before it left.