Beyond

He was at my door with blood covering his hands. He told me that he'd killed Devon and his receptionist. I didn't even flinch at the news. I knew it was coming, but I couldn't have stopped it if I tried. When John stepped inside, he buried his hands in my hair and pressed his mouth to mine.

The sickness inside me from what he had done grew as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He kissed me the way he had on that night, before he knocked me out and chained me in his basement. Memories flooded, and as my nails dug into his shoulder blades, he groaned.

This was it. He had me.

God, I really was fucked up.

John's fingers slipped away from my hair to cup the sides of my face. Heat spread along my body as he touched me, because this was a completely different feeling than fear. This was need, understanding, and connection.

It was also wrong.

He was a killer. My mind reminded me of that countless times, when I felt the pull. I was drawn to John, tangled in a fucking web of blood, screams, rotten corpses and ghosts.

As I kissed the man who plunged a knife into me only months ago, an image of Daniel fluttered behind my closed lids.

He asked me if I could kill John when the time came.

Now I knew my answer.