I've Heard Stories About You... (REPOST)

Jason's fingers tensed around the long, slim piece of wood in his hand. A makeshift club of sorts. He'd found it while foraging in the old camp, and with the dangerously rusty nails spiking the very edge of it, he could hardly pass up the opportunity to take it. He watches as the girl, stripped down to her underwear, drags the body of a man he'd seen her kill into the water. Jason could easily enough help her with the mediocre task, but something in the determined grunts and shoves she kept dealing her victim told him that it would be far more entertaining to watch. Her resourcefulness surprised him; the use of the belt and the rock to keep the man pinned to the bottom of the lake. Resourcefulness that, if allowed to develop, could very well match his own.

He keeps himself still, hardly daring to breathe during the entire thing. Occasionally, his fingers tensed on the piece of wood out of reflex to the excitement of the violence. As she moves toward the small pier, he follows her keeping behind the darkness of the bushes. She sat there. On the dock, in her underwear, in the rain. What a strange creature. He'd seen other girls and women sit on the pier in their flashy bathing suits, but never in the rain. They would bathe in the sun, leaving themselves open to whatever means of attack he chose. Her shoulders didn't shudder and she didn't seem to be hiding her face, as if sobbing. She barely moved, once she rested her chin on her knees, her back toward him. Now was the perfect time.

He takes carefully measured and nearly silent steps toward her. The voice of his mother seemed oddly silent now. Not encouraging her special boy, or discouraging him from this task. Usually, she would act as his mental cheerleader or scolder, depending on the nature of the task. But, now? The only sound he could hear was rain and his own sloshy footsteps as they landed in the mud. Perhaps, his mother hadn't decided what to do either? This is, undoubtedly, a first; someone being murdered at this lake by someone other than himself. But, the rage that had been so clear on the girl's face just before she'd managed to pin the man down and choke the life from him, told of a story behind it. Perhaps, like Jason, she was protecting something of her own? Like Jason, doing away with someone guilty? Would Mother permit him to kill someone doing as he did? It was too much to think about.

His footsteps pause at the very edge of the dock, before taking one step onto the creaky old wood. The noise didn't seem to startle her, if she even heard it. He resumes his carefully spaced steps toward her and still, she doesn't move. As he raises the piece of wood above his head, the rain causes the material of his soaked shirt to rub against itself, loudly. At the sound, she raises her head, slightl and closes her eyes. 'I've heard stories about you,' she says, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. He pauses and tilts his head to the side in confusion. She'd known he was there? For how long? Did she know that he'd watched her kill that man? 'There's a lot of stories to be heard about this place,' she continues, as if unaware of the danger she presently sits in. 'There's noone here but me, now, Jason. You can kill me, if you like. If that's what it'll take for you. But, let me have this night before you do so. This is a night of justice.' Her voice was strangely even. Eerily so. Emotionless, almost callous sounding even. The type of voice that the counsellors used on him, to get him out of their way when he needed help with something as a child.

He lowers his arm slowly and allows the wood to slip through his fingers and land with a wet clunk on the dock. Curius, how unafraid she seemed. Not afraid to kill someone and not afraid to be killed by someone. Could such a person exist without being dangerous? Another person that seemed as unafraid as he, himself, was?