House of Skin

DELIVERANCE

“Soames.”

He’d heard his name spoken, hadn’t he? He opened his eyes and looked around. There was someone standing in the doorway. A woman.

He felt he could barely breathe because this was the moment he’d been waiting for.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name isn’t important.”

“No, why would it be?” he found himself saying. This woman was his assassin and did he really need to know who she was? The other patients in the ward were sleeping, drugged and still. Nothing would wake them. Not even his screams, if and when they came. Whoever this person was, she was slick. Getting in here like this and choosing a time of night when no one could be woken.

But why did I wake?

Because, he knew, even full of drugs, he rarely slept. His mind was constantly on edge, waiting for this moment.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve come for you.”

“Who sent you? The doctor? Was it the doctor?”

She laughed. “I’m afraid not. Another.”

He wanted to laugh, too, and he didn’t know why. Maybe it was because his life was such a dark and dreary mistake, such a comedy of errors. Only laughter seemed appropriate in this final hour.

“Another, you say.” He laughed again. “Yeah, why not?”

“It’s only fair.”

“So get on with it.”

She stepped forward, no malice in her actions, only necessity. Light was spilling in from the doorway, illuminating her. She was a lovely girl, this one… or was she? He was staring at her and knowing something was dreadfully wrong, but not what. Then he saw. It was her face. The very appearance of it. The flesh was wrong, discolored a bit, and the way it lay over the bones beneath… uneven, pitted. Make-up, he decided. She was wearing latex and paint and putty to conceal her identity.

If nothing more, he’d see that face before she snuffed out his life.

“Let’s see who and what you are,” he said under his breath. She leaned over him, not hearing a word. His hands were free now. They’d taken the restraints off this morning. His fingers hooked into claws and went at her face.

The woman uttered a mild gasp as his fingertips found seams and pulled strips of latex and globs of wax free. Oh, now that was a mistake, wasn’t it? Her skin—what there was of it—was leathery and shredded, sliced and gouged. The mutilated musculature beneath was stretched taut and bloodless over a finely proportioned skull. A living anatomy print.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “There’s nothing to be gained.”

“Dead,” he moaned. “You’re dead. Make me as you are. It’s all I’ve wanted. For so long, it’s all I’ve dreamed about.”

“Yes. No more pain. I won’t allow it.”

Her cold hands were on his shoulders now, tightening with grave rictus. He felt bones snap but there was no true pain, only release. Tears were falling from his eyes now and whimpers from his lips.

“It would’ve been easier dying at the hands of a pretty girl,” the skull said, an odor of heavy perfumes and sweet powders masking something terrible beneath.

Soames gaped and never really understood.

“But you chose this,” she cooed in his face, her tattered lips inches from his own, her breath sour and sweet and sickening. “A kiss before dying.”

Her decayed mouth pressed against his own and a strip of flesh ripped free and stayed on his lips. He never screamed; he was way beyond that. She suctioned her mouth over his and sucked the breath from his lungs until his eyes rolled back and his face was blue-tinged. Then it was over.

It was less than an hour before they found his body. The nurse never thought anything at first. In the dim light, he was a man sleeping in peace. Upon closer examination, his face gave the game away.

The nurse looked him over quickly and sought out her superior to announce a death on the ward.

She did this all very calmly.

For death was nothing new here.

After Cassandra had fixed her face, she returned to Eddy.

“It’s done,” she said.

“After all this time, he’s at peace.”

Eddy looked content, truly content. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and allowed himself the self-indulgence of a satisfied smirk.

“Did he take it well?”

“He didn’t fight. There was no violence. Just an end. He was anxious for it, the poor thing.”

“He’ll rest now.”

Eddy kissed her and they sat together for some time, contemplating the future. That and what it might bring.

Life was rich.