Samsara

by Lorraine Margaret

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Romantic Suspense; spiritual romance; fantasy romance; angel romance; dark romance

Synopsis

Rays of golden light shine from his ocean blue eyes but is he a gift from God or is she even crazier than she thought?

Ailith returns to the small town where she was viciously gang raped, intent on revenge. She is in the forest, stalking her first victim, when she meets Ryan, an angelically beautiful man. Everywhere he goes the sun appears to follow, creating an ethereal halo around his exquisite head. Ailith is captivated by his raw sensuality and disturbed by her intense attraction to him. His very existence threatens her mission as the conflict begins between good and evil, rebirth and revenge...

Ailith experiences hell as her tormented mind is torn between good and evil, healing and vengeance. As events spiral out of control and threaten to destroy her new found love, will she carry out her hideous mission of revenge or trust Ryan to help her heal herself instead?

If you enjoy dark, sensual romances with a touch of the paranormal, Ailith and Ryan's story is for you!

Release date: January 13, 2018

Publisher: Tenshi Books

Print pages: 331

Sample

Chapter One

Something was very wrong.

She was dreaming of lilies. It was all wrong, for beauty had been banished from her world. Yet she was walking through a field of her beloved white lilies and she was at peace with her life. It was all wrong. Lily petals were swirling around her, caressing her skin, floating over her arms, her legs and her face, wafting over her eyes and mouth, kissing them tenderly, bestowing sweet flowery love on them. It was stupidly idyllic. Even while she was dreaming, she was aware of how very ridiculous it was. She didn’t dream anymore, she only had nightmares... nightmares of the very worst kind, re-enactments of true events, of her night of living horror. As she began to stir, she tried desperately to cling to the beauty, to experience light for just a little longer after her torturous nine long months in total darkness. The last moments of the dream were paradise; she could even smell the petals’ scent. But it was all wrong. The petals contained a scent unknown to flowers, a delicious, seductively sweet smell which she recognised but could not name. She loved it but it did not belong here, in her dream of lilies... As she neared consciousness, she realised they were not petals at all. They were snow-white soft feathers...

Breathe, Ailith, breathe. You have returned to reality, returned to your darkness. It is where you belong.

She grasped desperately at the crucifix around her neck as if it could keep her sane, enable her to deal with her world as it really was, instead of losing herself in the glorious illusion her dream had created for her. The illusion of a life that still contained hope... that life was over. She blinked repeatedly to try to wake up to the terrible truth of what her life was now. She must focus on her one reason for existing, she must focus, focus... The hypnotic, soothing movement that had lulled her into her dream had ceased. The train wasn’t moving anymore. She must be here. Nine long months of planning and preparation and pain, nine months for the gestation of a new human being, for the creation of a new Ailith. She was unrecognisable, recreated with only one thing in mind. Her mission. It was her only reason to keep breathing... In. Out. In. Out... the only thing that had driven her through the searing pain – the physical pain, the spiritual pain... Keep breathing, Ailith, breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe now. She gasped as her head spun and her soul ached, driven mad by the most basic human action of all. Breathe, Ailith, breathe. It was almost impossible at times. She just didn’t want to be anymore. Her spirit had been destroyed... her mission was the only thing that kept her lungs moving... keep them working, focus, Ailith, focus on vengeance. Keep the breath moving in and out of your body.

Destiny awaits here.

What was that muttering?

Where was she?

“End of the line, darling.”

Yes, it was.

The railway worker looked down at her, smirking at her disorientation, and a salacious glint appeared in his eyes as she lifted her head. She scowled, avoiding those mockingly lustful eyes, avoiding any interaction with the enemy. She grabbed her holdall and barged past him, fleeing the train to meet her fate. His lust had reminded her how much she wanted this. No further hesitation. She was a fucking killing machine.

She was The Avenging Warrior.

The weight of her mission shackled her as surely as the weight of her holdall but she welcomed its burden. This was justice. This was what she had fantasised about during the long months of pain. This was dark but it was her darkness, it belonged to her, she had nothing else. Her primal need for revenge and her raw anger were all she had. The extremity of her suffering had taken her to this terrible place she had never imagined herself visiting.

She was a monster now.

She was broken, a ruin of a woman, and so she would break in return, she would smash and crush and annihilate. Kill, Ailith, kill!  And when it was over, she would turn upon herself, for all this bland and beautiful newness was a charade. She would tear out her new hair and prise great lumps of flesh from her new face. She would gouge out her coloured contacts along with her eyes, which had seen too much to want to carry on seeing. It was all a lie: a perfect, expressionless and exquisite mask hiding incomprehensible despair. When it was over, when her mission was complete, she would tear the mask asunder so everyone could see what lay beneath, what this hideous perversion of a world had done to one innocent woman...

Robotically she placed one foot ahead of the other as she stumbled blindly along the platform and out onto the dusty track leading to the high street. One foot in front of the other... again and again and again... She remembered the route only too well. She was oblivious to her surroundings, focusing only on the present moment, the simple act of walking. Just as she had for the last nine months, one torturous second at a time... focus on breathing and walking, breathe, Ailith, breathe.

She walked along the tiny high street, distracted from the movement of her feet by the decay surrounding her. This street was the hub of this God-forsaken place, with only a few dirty side roads branching from it leading into almost total nothingness. The little town was devoid of character and crumbling from neglect. It no longer craved to be loved and cherished, it had given up, accepted its fate, and an all-pervading air of hopelessness surrounded her. Paint was peeling from walls, letters were missing from shop signs and rubbish had been discarded with no concern for its impact on any remnant of beauty this poor place might still possess. She fought hard to maintain her focus on her carefully constructed world of moments when all that surrounded her reflected the ugliness and decay inside her soul. Breathe, Ailith, breathe, focus, focus... but then...

Her carefully constructed world collapsed as easily as a deck of cards.

The Ringleader.

The Ringleader, standing on the other side of the street.

Her stomach lurched, her head spun. The blood drained through her body and left her spinning head feeling light as air.

Her body shook as all control ebbed away from her, the delusion of power destroyed effortlessly by one glimpse of a disgusting excuse of a man.

This was all wrong.

It was not part of her plan to see him yet. Nothing must deviate from the plan. She was a total control freak thanks to him, this monster standing carefree just across the road from her, oblivious to her torment caused by him and his equally monstrous friends. How dare he have independent will and cause any deviation from her plan! The Ringleader did not deserve the gift of free will, of God’s experiment that had gone so hideously wrong. He had abused that gift as she would now, using her free will to inflict unimaginable horrors on him. The very sight of The Ringleader was pornography for her newly born would-be serial killer mind. So many fantasies of torture and pain, of humiliation... of revenge. She was able to stare unashamedly for he was oblivious to her presence; she was unrecognisable – complete facial reconstruction did that to a girl. But she was not really staring at him anyway. She was staring at what he held in his arms.

He was holding a baby.

He was looking at the baby as if it was the centre of the universe that all things orbited around and paid homage to. He was looking at it as if he were capable of a pure human emotion, capable of raw, profound, unconditional love.

That was a fucking joke.

She felt her world stop and all illusion of control disappear. I am at the centre of everything, everything is oscillating around my broken being, not the stereotypically beautiful, man-made construction of a woman, the vacuous male fantasy I am now, but the terrified, twisted and abased little mass of flesh I really am. If she were to paint a self-portrait it would be that, a little mass of flesh, like a slab of meat on the butcher’s shelf, bleeding and cut off from that which once gave it life; stripped of meaning, dignity and soul. Stripped of it by the creature opposite. She was a little mass of flesh lying sodden in the street, transfixed by The Ringleader cradling the purest being on God’s earth.

She watched the man and the baby and felt her head empty and fill up with pounding, sparkling water. Out of the corner of one eye she saw the sunlight hit the church tower in the distance. It refracted into what appeared to be a trillion rays of light, each one complementing and surpassing the others with its beauty.

A profoundly affecting thought broke through the confused churning in her head. The ugliness in the world is what makes the beauty truly beautiful. Without the ugliness there would be no terrible contrast to highlight the wonder of the beauty: for beauty to exist, ugliness had to exist too. God and the Devil; whoa, what a time to experience an epiphany, she could have really done without that! She shook her head to try to empty it again. She had to stay focused, clear head, clear head. One thought only: think ugly, Ailith, ugly. Think ugly.

She watched calmly as The Ringleader and the baby slowly got into their car and drove away. The dingy high street was Ringleaderless once more. All would move and change around her but her pure hatred would drive her on, make her immovable, focused only on one thing. Nothing would distract from her mission, her only reason to keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Nine months of planning and gestation; she was the new human being, she was the pure one.

She was pure hate.

She wandered across the dusty street. The sun highlighted the particles the breeze lifted high in the air and they swirled around her just like the lily petals from her dream. What a dramatic entrance she was making, she was the Woman With No Name... no soul... She should really be wearing a cape that floated theatrically in the breeze. She was the enigmatic stranger, the inscrutable avenger, the capeless piece of flesh. She shook her head violently; the constant scrambling of her thoughts was beginning to unnerve her. Focus, Ailith, focus! Her breath had left her and was floating above her head with the shimmering dust, but the garage was in front of her. She was here. She must go in, she must collect her car and cottage keys and she must drive to her cottage. That is all. Focus, Ailith, focus. But the sight of The Ringleader and his spawn had been so shocking she could hardly breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe, Ailith, breathe. His hideous male weapon had thrust violently inside her poor trembling body... and now its disgusting seed had produced a new and innocent life. How could that be possible? How? How? This must be hell. Focus, Ailith. You are at the garage, go in and collect your car.

There was an elderly man sitting in the corner of the tiny office. He was almost submerged under crumpled paperwork that he was ignoring, reading a tabloid newspaper instead. His mouth was moving frantically, chewing gum as if his life depended upon it, as his wizened eyes scanned the page before him. His head rose very, very slowly as she entered the office and his complete lack of interest gave her renewed courage and strength. Any male attention terrified her now. His beady eyes brushed quickly over her and settled on her large holdall.

“Miss Rachet? You come for the jeep? Mr Branson’s left the cottage keys here for you too.”

She nodded, mute as always in the presence of a man, any man, even the aged specimen in front of her. The creatures had done this to her. She shook her head violently and reached into her bag to pull out her pristine new credit card. New Ailith, new identity, new everything. Beautiful face, bulging bank account... no soul. Everyone envied beauty and fortune; if only they knew the truth, knew what lay beneath... little broken mass of flesh... She whimpered as the old man snatched greedily at the card, impatiently slamming it into the card reader on his desk. Poor little card... so rough... they were all so rough... and so bad-mannered. God, how she hated bad manners! And most of them were bad-mannered, unless they targeted you for their pathetic attempts at seduction. Then they were all sycophantic charm, until either their empty mission of lust was accomplished or you rebuffed their advances – whatever happened, they reverted to their true natures then when there was nothing left to take. With no further need for their assumed humanity, they became the soulless monsters they truly were. She scowled ferociously but the old man’s eyes were cast downwards, intent upon the card machine. She quickly punched her identification numbers in, desperate to get away from the offensive old lout. He raised his head as he handed the card back to her and she shuddered as his coarse fingers brushed against hers.

“Miss Rachet, it’s only an old jeep, nothing fancy, you know? You want to see it first?”

Her voice was calm and cold. “There’s no need, fancy doesn’t interest me. I just need to get about, that’s all.”

He looked curious for the first time. “You’ve got friends around here, right?”

“Yes, in St Michael’s Valley. I thought I’d combine visiting them with seeing some of your beautiful countryside.”

He grunted as if this were the craziest thing he had ever heard. “You seen one tree, you seen ‘em all.” He finally looked at her properly, his eyes narrowing and then widening a little, some semblance of light appearing in the small, crinkled things. No!

“The car? And the cottage keys?”

Her voice was not so composed now, it was shaking a little. He didn’t appear to notice, or most probably didn’t care. He shrugged and gave her a look that said, you’re a rude bitch. Whatever, I don’t care what you think of me, just give me the keys, you idiot, give me the car, and let me get far away from your ugly, decrepit self and never have to see you again.

His eyes were hard, even hostile now; that was infinitely preferable to her than any faint erotic interest would ever be.

“The grey one on the far left.”

He slammed both sets of keys down on the desk and gestured vaguely with his thumb. She must have let her vulnerability into her eyes as for a fleeting moment he looked curious again. His eyes had actually softened. Shit! She mustn’t allow that, not ever. She must be strong. Focus, Ailith, focus. Do not allow them to feel sorry for you, not ever. That is a sign of weakness. Focus. Breathe, Ailith, breathe.

“You want me to show you the jeep? Do you even know how to get to the cottage?”

He looked irritated as he raised his eyebrows at her, clearly resenting the slight feeling of concern he was experiencing. Not as much as I do, you idiot. She grabbed the keys and swung away from him.

“I’m fine. I got directions from Mr Branson, thank you.”

She slid into the battered old jeep and looked at the dirty upholstery with disdain. How very much she hated them, all of them! They expected such acquiescence, such deference, the constant stroking of their pathetic little egos. In their feeble minds women existed only for their pleasure and the bolstering of their fragile self-esteem. She was expected to be thrilled by any attention she received from these deluded monstrosities. Well, no more, new Ailith will strike an axe through your heart before simpering at your flirtations, be afraid, men, be very afraid... Whatever their age, they feel such entitlement, we are all geishas to them, she thought, as she slammed her foot down hard on the pedal and sped towards her mission to rid womankind of the monsters. Breathe, Ailith, breathe. She sped back along the high street past a coffee shop, a tatty little cut-price supermarket, a ladies clothes shop with drab fashions in the window that would have been popular fifty years ago. And then there was the tiny post office, a tacky gift shop, a camping equipment store, a long row of unloved, drab little businesses with nothing to inspire a potential customer. They were indistinguishable from so many others in countless small towns that relied on summer visitors to their surrounding countryside but had no other redeeming attractions to recommend them. This town existed only to provide the necessities of life; it offered no colour or personality. Well, that suited her just fine. She was an empty vessel now, a characterless husk of a woman with no discernible life force, existing only to fulfil her one remaining desire – revenge. Her passion for life had been drained out of her here, nine long months ago. Now she would spend her final days amongst the poor locals with their similarly limited lives, unfulfilled and starved of beauty and hope.

She sped past the ever-thickening forest. She was engulfed by it, surrounded on either side, its density casting a dark shadow over her progress as it shut out the sun. She was being swallowed by darkness. Focus, Ailith, focus only on driving; you must concentrate on staying alive in order to fulfil your terrible destiny. But how much further could it be? Just how deep within the forest did her cottage lie? This was all wrong. She was driving robotically, thinking only of finding her cottage, the photograph she had printed from her laptop lying on the seat beside her.  Breathe, Ailith, breathe. Focus. Finally she saw it and swung the jeep gratefully into the drive, letting out a long, slow breath before leaning forward to rest her aching head against the wheel. The lump in her throat made it almost impossible to swallow; it felt as if she had a golf ball lodged there.

She was unable to move, sitting captive in the dirty jeep, tears falling silently from her tired eyes as she slowly raised her head and stared blankly at the pretty, ramshackle cottage before her. It was exactly as described, perfect in its picture-postcard beauty. Ivy crept up the sandstone walls and roses curled around the front door. This should have been idyllic, a tranquil haven, a sanctuary from the harsh realities of the world. But all she could think?

It is too alone.

She had wanted something on the outskirts of town. Mr Branson had assured her that the cottage was only a ten-minute drive from town and a five-minute walk from a nearby cluster of similar dwellings. She had passed those cottages nearly ten minutes ago, ten minutes driving! The warrior in her appreciated that the cottage was isolated, away from prying eyes; this was good for her mission. But the part of her she was unable to indoctrinate and transform, that tiny, useless, abused piece of flesh, was screaming so hard that it tore at her fragile heart. How could she do this? How had she ever imagined it was possible? Her stomach churned and hot tears fell from her aching eyes as everything came rushing back into her mind, her heart, her soul. Her body felt the pain and fear, and her soul felt the helplessness and despair as if it were happening to her all over again. It was too much to bear; being back at the scene of her destruction was just a step too far. It had taken nine months to create new improved Ailith, a warrior, a woman transformed by hatred and vengeance... but she had been fooling herself. She was not a powerful, inspirational figure, she was that little mass of flesh lying sodden in the street, waiting, just waiting, for The Ringleader to saunter over and trample her into the ground all over again...

She was alone.

She was petrified.

Her heart hurt with the strength of its pounding. Her head throbbed so badly she could not think straight. But she was sure of one thing.

She could not stay here.

Alone.

She was clinging so tightly to her crucifix that it was cutting into her closed hand. Slowly she released it and gazed passively at the angry red imprint of Jesus in her palm. It was stark physical proof of the tiny idealistic Ailith that still lurked somewhere within the psychotic ruin she had become. Yet God had not saved her nine months ago, so why would he now?

She moved her hand to restart the jeep, to drive away and keep driving, driving to where she did not know. There was nowhere left for her to go. And then, just as quickly as the fear had come upon her, ice crept around her heart and her heart sent messengers to her body, her poor stomach, her shaking legs, to her scrambled, racing mind. Her heart sent the ice to her very soul and reminded it why it had come here, what the months of planning and pain had been for. She took in a long cleansing breath, full of feminine power and revenge. Her lungs moved again and her throat cleared as the golf ball disappeared.

She was The Avenging Warrior.

She was indestructible.

She was still breathing after the horrors of nine months ago.

She was capable of anything.  Anything at all.

Nothing could destroy her.

Nothing could halt her righteous mission.

She could do this. Not trusting her strength and clarity to last, she sprang from the jeep and grabbed her holdall from the back seat. One little moment at a time, Ailith, don’t push yourself, one little moment only, be kind to yourself. Breathe, Ailith, breathe, take life one moment at a time. And it was working; she was calm again.

She was a killing machine.

 

 

Chapter Two

It truly was idyllic. If she was a normal human being, she would have a fabulous time here. She stood in the sitting room, staring at the moss green sofa and the matching green velvet curtains that hung from the long windows at both ends of the room. There was a large open fireplace and the room was dotted with pretty little brass lamps. It was comfortable and welcoming, and the natural hues were designed to have a calming effect on the mood. Not on hers. Nothing could do that for her, not anymore... She switched the huge television on and turned the volume to maximum. She instantly felt safer surrounded by blessed inane noise yet she still couldn’t relax enough to collapse on the soft cream rug in front of the fire and indulge herself with some mildly diverting, brainless television. She was ruined, destroyed by The Ringleader and his cronies... Once upon a time she would have loved it here. She had been such a girl; she would have relished running around the cottage and shrieked with joy at the spectacular views. Yet now, as she looked out of the long windows, she did not see the beauty of the fathomless forest for beauty no longer existed in her world. Now only ugliness, only darkness, existed for her. She saw danger everywhere; dark entities lurking under every branch, in every spot the light didn’t quite reach. She had always had a vivid imagination, but now all her fears were founded on hideous, indisputable truths. There were no mysterious, mythical monsters from fairy tales in her world; the reality was far, far worse. Evil lurked unseen, it permeated the world and all its inhabitants, biding its time until it was your turn to suffer its unspeakable horrors... She quickly pulled the curtains closed, desperate to block out the menacing beauty, shut all beauty out of her world, for it would destroy her if she allowed it to, if she lowered her defences and lost focus for even a second... Beauty was insidious and devious, it would seduce and beguile... and destroy. What horrors could lay hidden within its midst? Her new face was beautiful, cleverly masking the filth of her soul, masking her mission of vengeance and torture. Beauty could not be trusted.

Praying for some respite from her crazy little mind, she ran upstairs and found the master bedroom. It was painted primrose yellow, with floor-skimming yellow curtains decorated with daisies and a showpiece huge wrought-iron bed. At both head and foot of the bed there were impressive Gothic arches, consisting of beautifully wrought roses, stems and leaves. It was exquisite, a feast for eyes that had once appreciated beauty and art... but no more. Instead of bounding on the cushion-covered bed and luxuriating in its sensual pleasures, she felt compelled to walk to the windows and look out on the back of the property. She wished she hadn’t bothered. The glorious lake was shimmering in the late afternoon sun but only made the surrounding woodland look more menacing than ever. What horrors could those looming trees conceal behind their thick branches? And what monsters might lurk within those restful-looking waters, waiting until the time was right to spring out and attack when she least suspected it? She must focus, not lose focus for even a second... breathe, Ailith, breathe, focus, save yourself from the monsters... stay strong for your mission.

She sighed heavily. Just one tiny year ago, she would have been content to be alone somewhere as beautiful and isolated as this. But now her head was no longer filled with cherubs and flowers, she had cast aside all girlish, frivolous things. Now her mind was crammed to overflowing with the kind of monsters only a disturbed child could comprehend, monsters which manifested easily within their imaginative little minds.

Her monsters were real.

The Ringleader.

His demanding, disgusting, swollen male weapon thrusting...

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and prayed no other woman would ever have to experience what she had; that for them, these things would remain the stuff of nightmares, their very worst irrational fears, and never come to pass as they had for her. How many times had she done that over the last nine months, pray this would never happen to anyone else? Yet she knew her prayers were futile, for the world was dark and abandoned; the cherubs had left the building and they were never coming back.

It was heartbreaking to deliberate on what would once have been so natural and joyous to her. After excitedly running from room to room, eager for each new discovery, she would have gone outside to explore the beautiful countryside. But now she just wandered slowly back downstairs to double-check she had secured both locks on the front door. When she took the bottle of wine from her holdall it was not in the old celebratory way, a ritual to mark the beginning of a holiday. It was a necessity, a comfort; she may even drink half a bottle, where before a glass had always been enough for her. She had always been such a lightweight where alcohol was concerned. She checked the television was at full volume and felt fear rise within her when the sound would increase no more. There could never be enough noise in her world now, empty, vacuous, incessant sound to try to override the constant chattering in her head... mad chattering... deranged chattering... The game show was the loudest, so she settled on that. She had always hated game shows. Hated the noise, the false overexcitement... but content didn’t matter. All that mattered was the noise, blessed, comforting noise, the louder the better. She checked that her mobile was fully charged for the umpteenth time and then ran upstairs to switch on the small television in the bedroom as well. Two televisions at full volume. Much better. She ate then, bland, tasteless food, she didn’t know what it was. She was only eating to keep strong; strong in body however fragile in spirit. She did some push-ups and some squats; not outside, as she would once have done, with the soft breeze caressing her body as she enjoyed its graceful, sensual exertions, but inside, in the sitting room, with the doors double-locked and all the televisions on as loud as possible. This was her life now, this relentless fear and anxiety, this barely suppressed panic, this obsession. The creatures had given this to her. The thought made her blood course faster through her body, the ice sharpening around her heart. She could kill with her bare hands, rip their heads from their disgusting bodies. This was her life now. And they would pay.

***********

She turned over for the thousandth time. Would she ever know the respite of sleep again? The nightmare she had just had was proof that even sleep did not guarantee relief from her pain and confusion, but she still yearned for it, just in case it might give her a few precious moments of emptiness. She had clung desperately to those moments over the last nine months, those fleeting seconds on awakening when she did not remember what had happened to her. Those moments of purity were worth everything, a few sacred moments when she was idealistic Ailith again, unencumbered by her memories and returned to Arcadia, to her previous life of hope and love. But then the pain would storm into her head and her heart as the truth rose up before her in all its unbelievable horror, striking dread and emptiness anew into her soul. It was hard to believe those things had actually happened to her; the reality was too nightmarish to be true. But it was true and her nightmares were a constant reminder of that. And tonight’s had been the most horrific yet. No doubt stimulated by her return to the scene of the crime, every last horrific detail had been replayed in her mind as if in slow motion. Her brain had dwelled on every terrible word, every syllable that had fallen from their twisted lips, every cruel, merciless touch of their destructive, controlling hands, every thrust of their...

She shook her head violently, trying to empty it of the nightmare encroaching on her waking hours as well. The images were graphic and unrelenting; she was watching the most extreme pornography and the star was her. Part of her, the intelligent, rational, analytical Ailith, knew if she could bear to keep watching it might help her. She could gain some sort of profound catharsis if she forced herself to confront everything that had happened to her that terrible night. The Avenging Warrior was urging her on, daring her to stare unblinkingly at the horror so that, fuelled by fury and revulsion, she could turn upon her attackers and commit unspeakable atrocities, unhindered by any remaining vestige of humanity... unhindered by any remaining vestige of Ailith... Ailith... where was Ailith? Was she still here? Or had she been completely destroyed? Feminism pushed The Avenging Warrior aside, its voice loud and strident, determined to be heard above all others who lived in the shell of Ailith. It urged Ailith to confront her fears and go forth and exact a terrible revenge. It is all they deserve, Ailith, they are less than human, less than animals, you must destroy them! You must rid the earth of them for the sake of womankind. But all of them – the rational Ailith, The Avenging Warrior, Feminism – were fighting with the little piece of abused and sodden flesh. It was strong enough to defy them all. It was powerful in its weakness, shrinking from its terrible reality and refusing to confront it, focusing only on breathing, on the moment, one tiny moment at a time... breathe, Ailith, breathe... one moment at a time towards the accomplishment of your mission.

She turned over again. Moonlight was streaming into the bedroom through the thin curtains, illuminating her little world. The ghostly, otherworldly glow made her feel safe. Light, any light, was good, anything that blocked out her darkness, anything that helped her see outside the deep, dark well she had fallen into. She indulged herself by letting her mind wander back to her mission. It was her only source of pleasure now... dark thoughts of torture, death and destruction... Breathe, Ailith, breathe.  Deep within her large blue holdall, wrapped inside her clothes, were her instruments of torture. The innocuous-looking bag contained her mission, her life’s work... her vengeance...

It was her bag of pure bliss.

She let her mind deliberate on the individual components of her delicious bag of pleasure. There were chains and rope, pliers, shears, a tiny power drill... such joys. Such a lovely bag of torture. Her heart thudded with excitement as she indulged herself further by thinking of the small cloth bag that held her collection of syringes and sedative drugs. Her safety net, her guarantee she was capable of accosting creatures so much larger and more physically powerful than herself. They would be helpless pieces of meat in her merciless hands... And there was the extra reassurance of the handgun tucked inside her jacket pocket for back-up if necessary, anything to keep herself safe... safe from the monsters... Disgusting pieces of hardened flesh thrusting violently inside of her... No!

She shook her head frantically. Her palm hurt, her crucifix was crushed within her fisted hand again. Slowly she released it and stretched out her hand; it felt so sore. She focused on her breathing again, in, out, in, out, and told herself she was fine; safe and secure in her idyllic prison, deep within the fairy tale forest.

She rolled over yet again as her heartbeat slowed and her breathing became easier. She was unable to obliterate the little spiritual flame that had once been a roaring fire burning through her life, blazing with hope and the possibility of love. It was still there; a tiny living vein within the useless piece of dead flesh. It pulsed lightly, scarcely moving, but it was still alive. And it knew something beautiful had been corrupted and mutated beyond recognition when those hard little male weapons had thrust violently inside of her. She didn’t have a penis but that living part of her knew they were created to be perfect expressions of love and desire, so powerful, so beautiful, and yet casually given to all men as if they could be trusted to use them wisely. Penises needed to be used with great wisdom and responsibility. She knew the truth! Even if every man in this tainted world was ignorant, Ailith knew! She knew that any man who possessed such a sacred and powerful thing and used it so hideously did not deserve to possess it at all. If they couldn’t use their male weapons with warmth and tenderness, then they should be taken away from them.

And she would be the one to do it.

 

 

Chapter Three

The next morning she sat on the chocolate-coloured carpet in the sitting room and watched breakfast news as she ate her porridge. Mr Branson had left her basic provisions as requested, but she really had to get herself to town to buy something appetising to eat. Chocolate and cake were the only things that stimulated her interest now; everything else was merely fuel for the killing machine. Funny how her love of those two inessential and unhealthy foodstuffs had survived her ordeal when next to nothing else had.

As she let the rolling news wash over her, just noise without sense or meaning, clarity flooded her mind, making her ever more resolute and strong. She had wrestled at first with the profound change her trauma had caused in her psyche but had accepted it now. She had been a child blessed with money, education and a kind, loving father. Every face she had seen in the first few crucial years of her life had smiled down at her, warm, welcoming and accepting. How could there ever be any ill in her world? The one tragedy that blighted her charmed existence, the death of her mother when she was two, only increased the amount of love and compassion she received from others. As she grew and encountered those outside of her family and friendship circle, she had developed deep empathy for those with less positive life experiences than her own. One seemingly insignificant incident entered her mind as she let her thoughts wash over her. While at college, various trinkets she owned had gone missing: a treasured hair grip lost from her bag, a scarf wrapped over the arm of a chair, a bracelet left momentarily on the sink of a communal bathroom. She had questioned her sanity; had she really mislaid them all? When the thief was caught, Ailith had quietly refused to press charges and asked for the girl to be given another chance. But Ailith had not been her only victim, so the culprit had been expelled. Ailith’s sadness had been genuine; a future tarnished by such an inconsequential thing, it was truly a tragedy.

Forgiveness had been easy. It had involved a platinum bracelet, a tiny turquoise hairgrip in the shape of a butterfly, things that were mild diversions to her; forgiveness and compassion were easy in those instances. How could they ever compare? A tiny turquoise hairgrip and her soul?  A baby pink silk scarf and her vagina? She hadn’t been misguided in her forgiveness then, but now she had endured a horror that was impossible to forgive. She had been forced to confront the depths to which humankind could plummet and the barbarity of her attack had brought out a corresponding extreme in her psyche. Forgiveness and compassion could no longer exist when the soft-focus veils were stripped away and you saw the depravity and evil that existed in the world. She had journeyed from idealistic innocence to devastated experience in one hell-filled night and there was no way back to empathy and love for her shattered mind.

There was only one thing left for her to do.

Only one reason to keep breathing...

She must go into the garden and prepare the little outhouse for her first victim...

***********

It smelt so damp, as if it had been locked up forever. She wrinkled up her nose in disgust as she surveyed the setting for her revenge. It was perfect. She dumped her bulging bag of torture on top of the large worktable and sighed happily. There were cupboards running along the wall to her right and she quickly scanned them for any interesting additions to her bag of torture. She found some large and menacingly sharp-looking shears, much more delicious than her own. The hammer would come in useful too... Her vivid imagination had sprung to life and she searched until she found the large metal tin full of long nails she had been hoping would be there. She knew exactly what she would do with these...

She moved back to her bag and began to examine her little beauties; splendid instruments of vengeance laid out before her in all their harsh, unrelenting glory. How she truly loved and cherished each and every one of them! They were her babies. She was going to nurture them and use them so creatively; they were going to fulfil uses they had never dreamed of.

She stroked the pliers with a tender fingertip; so exquisite that their lovely little handles were sculpted in the palest of blues! It added an extra dimension of pleasure to the satisfaction she would get from mutilating and maiming the monsters. Her favourite colour, calming and spiritual, so profoundly pleasing to the eye... Her eyes glazed as her mind dreamily roamed over the possibilities... anything pluckable, twistable... fingernails... nipples... mmm. Who knew what inspiration would strike when the creatures were lying defenceless before her? The ice surging through her body would strip her of any vestige of humanity, the ice that had been created by the inhumanity she had experienced nine months ago.

She had spoken the truth to the old man at the garage. She did have friends in St Michael’s Valley and on her previous visit she had hired a cottage so she could spend some time in the country after seeing them. A few days alone in beautiful countryside, communing only with nature, away from the constant noise and distraction of the city, were exactly what she had needed in order to calmly and clearheadedly formulate a plan of action for her future life. A plan of action... It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so very tragic. She had come here to construct a plan to change her life – and fuck, had that happened! She no longer had a life to change; the creatures had torn all hope away from her. After her mission was completed, she would be an empty shell. After she had destroyed them she would destroy herself, for she would never be capable of joy and love again. The place in her soul which cherished those things had been destroyed forever.

She had stayed much further out of town last time, a full thirty-minute drive away. She had relished the solitude, the peace for her thoughts. After two days, she had felt her brain slow to the extent that she could sit in the garden and her mind would naturally, organically, drift into a deep meditative state.  She would lose hold on where she was, even who she was, for hours at a time; she had been in a blissful state of easy, undemanding contentment.

They came out of the night into this bliss, vampires draining her of all life, monsters from a fairy tale whose only wish was to control, intimidate and satisfy their warped lust. Their desire for power and humiliation had known no boundaries, no constraints of humanity. She had recognised The Ringleader, the one they called Charlie, from an encounter in town on the day of her arrival. He had salaciously looked her up and down as she collected her cottage keys from the post office. She was used to that after life in the city – just another man objectifying women, what's new? It was everyday stuff for a woman, you had to accept it and get on with your life. But she had never thought any man would be capable of targeting her and coldly planning a vicious assault; she had been a true innocent in so many ways. And then the creatures had burst into her cottage, into her meditative state of bliss, and shattered her illusions about life and love in one hellish night. Reduced to less than an animal, no longer a sentient being, just an object, a blow-up doll, to be stripped and pawed and prodded, hit, bit and kicked, to be used as a receptacle for their disgusting, power-crazed male weapons. These pathetic excuses for men had reserved what little imaginations they had for devising and inflicting the most hideous of acts; not one orifice was left inviolate, every intimate part of Ailith tainted for evermore...

The hammer thrust the nail into the underside of the worktable, forcing it to penetrate the wood and emerge on the other side. She was painstakingly embedding six-inch nails to greet the creatures’ disgusting bodies and this detailed preparation for torture enabled her to remember her ordeal calmly for once, rather than feel the swooping, sudden onslaught of physical sickness and emotional devastation that was so familiar to her now. Her catharsis was beginning, she could feel it. It was visceral, the ice-cold blood coursing through her body turning her into a heartless, unbreakable killing machine. The adrenaline made her feel like a living woman rather than the masquerading husk she had become.

She could still feel excitement... about torture and death.

This afternoon she would have the first creature impaled on this table, awaiting her macabre ministrations. She felt feverish and euphoric just thinking about it. This would be the most fulfilling moment of her life. This was her life’s work.

Vengeance.

She inserted the last nail, hammering it with such violence the table shook. Thrilled with her work, she stood back and admired her torture table. This afternoon, by the river, her first victim would be fishing. Her private investigators had done their jobs well; every last detail of the creatures’ stunted little lives was within her grasp...

Carefully she double-locked her torture chamber, the cloth bag full of sedatives clasped tightly in one hand. This afternoon it would begin; there would be no turning back. She would begin her journey back into hell, but this time it would be a hell of her choosing. The Avenging Warrior was cold and hard and ready for action, an unstoppable machine of pain. Hello, boys, guess who's in control now?

 

 

Chapter Four

She looked warily around her as she parked just off the road on the very edge of the forest. She could hear the river gurgling contentedly nearby, calling her to her destiny. There were no other cars to be seen, no sign of human life at all, the beauty of it being a Monday and off-season. As she got out of the jeep, she fingered her silk scarf nervously; stupid, frivolous girl for feeling the need to wear one of her favourite things. She had pulled on practical black leggings and boots but had been unable to resist her favourite turquoise scarf. She had washed her mahogany-coloured hair and dried it carefully so it fell past her shoulders in a sleek, shiny curtain, and had even applied a little mascara. A girl needed to be dressed to impress for abduction and murder after all. What had she been thinking? Anyone would think she was going on a date. And now she had forgotten her bag due to her preoccupation with the lovely scarf and she had left the jeep window open. Focus, Ailith, focus! Get your bag of tricks and take this silly scarf off; you are The Avenging Warrior, not a fashion model. She reached inside the jeep for her bag, ice coating her every organ and slotting firmly into her brain. She was a warrior once more.

“Hi there.”

The voice was a caress from a higher being, scarcely mortal in its beauty and gentleness, flowing mellifluously over her soul. It did not upset or unnerve her and yet it had intruded into her military campaign, threatened to jeopardise her only reason for breathing. But the strangest thing of all was her complete lack of fear.

For the voice belonged to the enemy.

The beautiful voice belonged to a man, but she was calmness personified as she turned towards it.

And the sight took her breath away...

She reached for her crucifix as her head swam...

She was giddy.

Every cliché regarding beauty stood up, danced before her and seduced her in that split second. His eyes were incredible, ocean blue, liquid as the seas they resembled, with waves of kindness spilling over the shores of the long thick eyelashes surrounding them. His eyes were beautiful, but it was the waves of kindness that made them truly exquisite, waves of kindness relentlessly washing over the high cheekbones down to the gentle perfect curve of the lips that were speaking again.

“Are you ok?”

This apparition probably thought it had run into the village idiot. Speak! You will arouse suspicion by behaving so oddly, your mission will be in tatters. Speak!

“Yeah, I’m good.”

She couldn’t stop staring at the kindness, its waves threatening to sweep her out to sea and drown her. She had fantasised about many different modes of death over the last nine months, but never one that would bring so much pleasure. Such an exquisite ending to her life. Maybe she should just let it happen, sod her mission, just drown in kindness and die with the knowledge that there was still good in the world.

“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business, but you look upset.”

Did she? Damn, maybe she wasn’t so together after all; maybe she had fooled herself all along. Where had that bloody Avenging Warrior gone? She shook her head violently and the oceans of his eyes filled up with kindness yet again; she had to speak!

“I’ve lost my sunglasses, that’s all. I’m ok.” She forced her mouth to curve upwards in a smile. She had to appear normal but she hated conforming to socially acceptable behaviour by pretending to appreciate his concern for her. She was The Avenging Warrior! She did not play their stupid misogynistic games anymore.

“Ok, good.” His perfect lips curved into the sweetest of smiles and golden rays bathed the forest in sparkling pools of light. It was breathtaking. The sun was burning down onto his tousled dark blonde hair, giving it radiant golden highlights and blessing him with an ethereal glow. He turned and stared at the sunshine-bathed forestland behind him. “Wow, it is unbelievably beautiful here.”

Yes, it was, but didn’t he realise he was the cause of the light moving all around them? It was worshipping him, he was the centre of all existence. He was about six foot tall and dressed casually in jeans and a white denim jacket, yet he more closely resembled a god than anyone she had ever seen before.

“Yes, it’s stunning.” And the forest isn’t bad either. What? What was happening? What was she doing? Why did her mouth keep opening? Why? Don’t bloody talk to him, get away, now! “Are you on holiday here?” What was happening? Did she really want to jeopardise her mission? Shut up and leave!

“Yeah, I’m going to the literary festival in St Michael’s Valley next week. I thought I’d take a break in the country first.”

You’re adorable and I have gone completely insane. How ridiculous that I should survive my holocaust and then fall apart in front of this angel. She stared vacantly, unable to process her crazy reaction to him. Her heart was pounding, her head was spinning and it felt as if electricity was coursing through her entire body. And yet she felt completely calm and safe. How?

“You’re a writer?”

I have given up. I have a suicidal compulsion to converse with the enemy and that is all there is to it. She felt her mouth curve upwards again, and more disturbingly she felt her eyes smile too. She had gone mad. Insane.

The apparition pulled an endearingly childlike face. “I’m trying but I have a lot to learn. I teach drama, and I’ve just started work on a drama therapy book.” His exquisite features contorted in horror. “I’m so rude, please forgive me. I’m Ryan.”

He moved his arm forward slightly as if he was going to offer her his hand but he just turned the full power of his beauty on her instead. His golden-rayed smile was ridiculously dazzling. Bloody hell, he was merciless; he took no prisoners, did he? She was a big old pool of mush at his feet.

“I’m Ailith.”  

What was she doing? Whatever it was, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Her stupid mouth was curving ever more upward, her dazzled eyes were glowing in welcome and her head was filled with fireworks. It felt like the most natural thing ever to be indulging in flirtation with this dangerous stranger when she had thought such behaviour was dead to her. He was truly diabolical, a threat to her mission, to her very existence; who knew what horrors he was capable of? He smiled again; it was no doubt an integral part of his evil master plan to lull her into a catatonic state of dependency on his beauty. His golden rays were blinding her to all reason. He was completely merciless with his radiance, laying it casually before her in all its splendour without compassion for the level of adoration it inspired. Merciless. He was truly evil.

“What an unusual name and so beautiful, it suits you.”

He liked her name, ooh! He seemed completely unaware of his effect on her, standing there all godlike, casually dropping compliments as she stared like a village idiot. How could he not know how spectacular he was? How?! The Avenging Warrior was screaming at her to focus, to get a grip, get rid of this guy and get on with the serious business of torture. It was joined by an irate Feminism that couldn’t comprehend her stupidity. His kind did this to you, Ailith! He is the enemy! Leave or destroy – they are your only options. How can you be flattered by his false compliments, he will have the usual ulterior motives, he is a man! She ignored them both, they were so much less interesting than Ryan. Ryan. Godlike Ryan.  How could he be innocent about his place in this world when the trees were straining their branches towards him, desperate to get a little closer, and the sun was choosing to act as his own personal spotlight, shining so much more brightly on him than anywhere else in the forest. A pair of doves edged closer to where he stood, and a squirrel descended a large elm to peer inquisitively in his direction. The forest world was quite literally revolving around him. He was the centre of gravity for it and for her.

“Thank you.” She had accepted it, his compliment and this craziness. Later on, when she was safely ensconced in her cottage, she would make sense of this. Attempt to make sense of this...

He was staring intently at her neck; what was he looking at? “That’s so beautiful, I’ve never seen a crucifix like that before.”

His voice was gentle and melodic; he calmed her. What? She shook her head violently and smiled shyly at him. What was she doing?

“I found it at an antiques market, eleven years ago, it means so much to me. I always wear it, it is my very favourite thing.” What? He doesn’t want or need to know all that, you idiot child. Hold your tongue and get a grip, Ailith, you are a blathering fool.

She looked down at the crucifix resting against her hot skin. He was right, it was unique. It was silver, about an inch long and Gothic in design, but the remarkable thing was the addition of four delicate aquamarines, one at each end of the cross, surrounding the tiny Jesus nestled on it. Over the years, many people had commented on these stones. Some had found them aesthetically pleasing, but they had received criticism from the more conventionally religious, who had vocally objected to Jesus having sparkle with him on his cross. It was sacrilegious, profane and disrespectful, a frivolity that turned religion into a mere fashion accessory. Ailith had heard it all. Most of the time she had tolerated the critics’ opinion, but sometimes she had expressed her view that Jesus should be very sparkly indeed. He should be luminous and iridescent, for he brought light and love into the world. Jesus should not be dark, dour and repressive, but beautiful, joyous and life-affirming. Yes, the critics would say, you do have a point, but to sparkle while on the cross, surely not, Ailith? But she had always believed that the cross was where Jesus would sparkle the most; his beauty and goodness would shine to the maximum during his greatest suffering and sacrifice for this would show the world just how magnificent he was. This was not a view that too many had come round to accept, or at least accept that it was best illustrated by a piece of sparkly jewellery, but it meant everything to her. It was her truth.

Ryan was staring into her eyes, his golden rays caressing her again. What had he just said?

“Sorry?”  Idiot child.

“It’s a real find, Ailith, it’s simply stunning.”

“I think Jesus should be sparkly.”

What? Oh, no, she hadn’t? She bloody had, she had said that out loud; the glorious apparition would surely run away in terror now. But he didn’t, he was clearly unshockable. Instead of running, he blessed her with another blinding golden-rayed smile. “So do I, Ailith, so do I.”

Oh! His voice was so sincere. The gorgeous apparition saw the beauty of a sparkly Jesus, just as she did! She beamed at him; he was speaking again, concentrate, Ailith!

“Would you like to share my picnic? I have far too much for one.”