The Life of Rue O'Day

Chapter 3

The Life of Rue O'Day

The car stopped at a huge house surrounded by forests. My mother, Violence, and I got out of the car, and followed the thin path up to the house. On the door was a big knocker, which was carved in the shape of a weeping angel. The door itself was intricate and beautiful, with intertwining swirls and patterns. In truth, it reminded me of a church or cathedral. Everything seemed to be judging me, its peering eyes peeking into my soul. I didn't want anyone to see into there. I grabbed onto the back of my mother's dress. She brushed off my hands, and ushered me away.

“Go explore, Rue. I have someone to talk to,” She said.

I swung Violence as I walked away from her to explore.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” I heard a weepy voice from the back of the house.

We followed the voice, Violence on my hip, to the back of the house. There was a man with golden locks and pretty blue eyes crying under a weeping willow. Tears were streaming from his eyes, and there was blood on his hands. The scene was horrifying, bodies laid around him, and his tears burned his cheeks, making lines of marred flesh to mar his face. I walk up to him, cradling Violence in my arms and patted his shoulder.

“Sir, why are you crying?” I asked politely.

He looked up at me with his sad, sad eyes and dropped the phone in his hand. He put his hands on his head and shook as he wept. He stroked the hair of the cold, cold people and put bandages on them as if trying to heal them. He gave up after a while and dropped his head to his hands.

“I didn't mean to… I didn't mean it… I didn't mean to kill those girls… I need to be stopped… I don't wanna kill you… please stop me… I don't wanna hurt anyone…” he sobbed out.

His tears converting into blood pouring out from his eyes. I sat down beside him and placed my hand upon his leg.

“Then why did you?” I asked, confused.

He kept trying to put them together again as if in a daze. He looked at me and tilted his head and I watched as his bloody tears ran a different course. I tilted my head as well copying his movements. Violence tilted her head as well, bright red eyes gazing at the man as if her was familiar.

“I had no choice… I didn't mean to… They told me to… No they didn't… I did it… please stop me… I can't help myself…” he cried.

I was crying too, but I didn't notice when I had started.

“Rue who are you talking to?” Mother was behind me.

I looked back at her confused.

“What do you mean, Mother? I’m talking to the weeping man,” I told her.

Her brows furrowed as she looked around. She then shook her head.

“There is no man, child. Stop playing games and come inside.”

She then left me there in confusion. I looked back to the sad man who had begun trying to stitch up his victims again.

“Do you wanna come with me?” I asked him.

He looked at me dazed, then nodded his head and got up. He was very tall. His clothes were dirty from the blood and the dirt. I grabbed his hand then walked with him into the house.

The house was blinding. It was made of gold tapestries of weeping angels, and white carvings of deprived cravings. The statues stared down at me and the weeping man. I didn't like it.

“What is your name weeping man?” I asked him.

He looked forward, thinking, his tears still falling upon his cheeks, making him look like a ruined masterpiece. We wandered through the halls, hesitantly over expensive rugs and delicately touching gold door handles.

“Oh God… I don't remember my name… or my family… when was I born… did I die… was I stopped?” He asked in his sobbing voice.

I shrugged, not knowing the answers to any of his questions.

“We should give you a name then. Weeping man is quite partial don't you think? You don't always weep. Do you?” I asked him.

His hair was dull in this light. He looked like the angel statues. The only difference between him and the cold angels were his tears and regretful eyes. He was mortal, because he regretted his action. Or did angels have regrets as well?

“I always weep because I know that I’m always wrong. If someone could have stopped me… I could have been stopped… I didn't mean it… They need help…” he sobbed, but that was to be expected.

I thought of names for the weeping angel. Maybe if I named him he would weep less.

“Acheros is your name then. You can follow me around if you want.” I offered him.

He stayed silent and followed me and Violence through the house of cold angels. For a moment I thought they were weeping. Weeping angels were much more comforting than stone ones. You knew they were alive that way, you knew they lived. We finally found Mother with a man I think was Thgil.

“Thgil, this is Rue,” Mother introduced me to him.

Thgil walked forward. I was terrified of him for some reason. He was beautiful, that was not to be argued but the way he was beautiful… It was just so unsettling and manipulating his beauty. His confidence made it worse—he knew his power, and had used it many times. His beauty had no allure to me. It was so scary. He kneeled before me, and I thought to myself that he was more likely to stab a knife through my back than bow. His brown eyes held false kindness, and his smile was more of a sneer. He grabbed my hand, and shook it mockingly. I pulled it away, not caring if the action was rude. His fake smile dropped and all of a sudden he gasped. Out of his mouth came a fountain of crimson blood spraying on my face in bright red droplets. I looked up to see Acheros weeping his tears of blood with a shard of glass coming out of Thgil’s back. Then he peeled out of his dead skin to reveal an ugly grey creature with sagging grey skin that had wholesome black eyes filled with hatred. It threw Thgil’s body like a discarded piece of clothing and tilted its head to the side, smirking and showing off displaced teeth. It looked weak and sickly, but I had no doubt that it would kill me in that moment. It carefully looked over Thgil’s body and ripped off both arms making them its own. The grey skin hid under the blue muscle. It then tore off Thgil’s handsome face, and put it on itself like you would a Halloween costume. I found why Thgil had looked so dead inside. It was because on the outside, he was.

Rue and Violence meet a friend while exploring the cathedral of a house that belongs to Mother's friend, Thgil. They find that Thgil might be the helper they wanted in this mess but something much worst...

supernatural
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