The Dark Sacrament by David Kiely Page A

sense.”
    But Seth had drowned himself six years past. How could it be him?
    She struggled to her feet—and surprised herself when she discovered that the act of getting up made her immediately feel better. A calm was enveloping her whole body. She was no longer afraid. She knew what she had to do.
    â€œ Do it now. Do it now. ” The voice continued to whisper in her ear. It was no longer strident, but slow and soothing. “ You know it makes sense. The blades are in the bathroom, Heather. Do it now. You know it makes sense. ”
    â€œYes…yes,” Heather heard herself say. She felt tired; lack of sleep was taking its toll. She moved to the bottom of the stairs, with the voice in her ear—the languid and soothing voice.
    She placed her foot on the first tread, listening to the hypnotic voice. She was still in her nightgown and barefoot.
    â€œ The blades are in the bathroom, Heather. Do it now. You know it makes sense. ”
    She started to climb the stairs. The hypnotic voice seemed to keep time with her steps.
    â€œ Do it now. Do it now. Do it now! ”
    She kept her eyes fixed on the open bathroom door. There, in the bathroom, she knew, lay blessed release. Death seemed so natural. All her anxiety had drained away. The words were so very reassuring.
    She was almost there. The bathroom door stood open, beckoning. Heather looked down at her wrists. Each bore a double ring of raised, hard skin, like the cicatrices she had seen once on a National Geographic show. The people of some primitive island or other did that to themselves; they cut themselves, watched the blood flow. They did it in the cause of “beauty.” It was the most natural thing in the world. Heather had done it to herself; twice before. She could do it again.
    â€œ Do it now, ” the voice whispered again. “ Now. Do it now. Now. Do it now. Do it now .”
    She stood inside the bathroom door, staring at the cabinet.
    â€œ Do it now. You just know…you just know it makes sense. ” The voice—Uncle Seth’s voice—was coming in waves, washing over her, pulling her closer and closer toward the “beauty” of oblivion.
    She reached for the cabinet handle with the same yearning the alcoholic feels when reaching for the first drink of the day.
    â€œ Do it now! ” the voice cajoled. “ Now ––”
    â€œHeather!”
    She stopped, pulled up sharp. It was another voice, cutting in on Seth’s.
    â€œHeather, are you up there?”
    She went out to the landing. There was a man standing at the bottom of the stairs. A stranger in her home.
    â€œHeather, it’s me. What’s the matter with you?”
    She stared down at him. Who was this guy? What was he doing in her house?
    â€œ He wants to kill you, Heather. ”
    The voice was in her head again, clamorous, insistent.
    â€œ Don’t go down to him. Don’t go near him! ”
    â€œHeather?” The man came slowly up the stairs. “Heather, are you all right? It’s me, honey. Joe.”
    â€œ That’s not Joe! ” The voice was urgent now. “ He only looks like Joe. He wants to kill you. ”
    â€œHeather?” She heard the stranger speaking to her, as if over a great distance. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
    â€œ You must kill him first, Heather. You must! ”
    â€œJesus, Heather, what’s the matter?” Joe was to confess later that he was scared. He had never seen his partner like this before. Her eyes were wide and staring. She seemed in some kind of trance.
    He put a hand on her arm. At his touch she flinched. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
    â€œJoe, what are you doing here?”
    â€œ F*** you! ” said the voice. “ F*** you, Heather! If you tell him about us, we’ll really make you suffer. Really suffer! ”
    â€œHelp me!” she cried and collapsed into Joe’s arms.
    He made them