Rehima

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‘It would be better for him to have a millstone hung around his neck and to be thrown into the sea than to cause one of these little ones to stumble.’ – Luke 17:2 (Berean Standard Bible)

‘And they too will reply, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?’ Then the King will answer, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for Me.’ – Matthew 25:40 (Berean Standard Bible)

‘He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute Me?”’– Acts 9:4 (Berean Standard Bible)

I can’t sleep. The familiar heavy cloak of night is no longer my friend. Now that I need its soft touch, feathering my eyelids shut, drifting away my fight, delight, fear and honor, all the things that tend to fill my days, I am betrayed. Abandoned. So here I lie beside my cheating trophy wife who I care little for anyway, in the home that I built on a lake of blood. Beneath our palatial mansion, three decade old bodies lie locked in concrete and for years I have delighted in sleeping and walking atop their abased corpses all the while knowing their families grieved. Many times when I shat in one of our numerous gilded bathrooms, I gloated over every flush, knowing that the main sewage pipe ran straight through their final resting place.

Evil is my normal. Evil is my very nature. If I could safely have gotten away with more, I’d have done so. But self preservation rules. Usually.

So what is wrong with me now you might ask? Because something clearly is.

Despite never having done so in my adult years, I feel like crying. My eyes burn. My chest feels crushed. I’m falling into a hole where my sense of self is being stripped away more painfully than if it were my actual flesh being pared from my bones. And I have seen that done. I’ve ordered it. 

I think she caused this. That girl.

It’s unheard of for me to feel remorse at torture or the death of an enemy. And I didn’t when Fitz, my right hand man started slicing and snipping off parts of Brian Kennedy twelve days ago. Beside him his eight year old daughter sobbed and begged. I saw it all on the live stream. There was nothing either one of them could do, both tied to chairs, criss-crossed ropes biting into their flesh. I felt a fascination at the way they interacted. Even when Fitz had sliced off Brian’s lips, the fool had spluttered through the bloody mess, entreating his daughter to be brave and to not watch. And she of course, pleaded for the torture to stop and did watch. 

It continued regardless at my behest. 

After breaking both Brian’s knees with a sledge hammer, I ordered Fitz to shave the girls head. The hair was stuffed into her father’s mouth and he was ordered to swallow it all or else his precious daughter would lose her tongue and eyes. He did, much to my amusement, choking and choking, eyes streaming, veins popping in visual testimony of his agonies. Still the child begged us to forgive Kennedy for his errors. 

But I do not forgive anyone who dares to steal from me; where would be the sense in that? You let one person walk all over you, the precedent is set for others to follow. Brian had to die.

He did after three long hours. All live streamed to those to whom it mattered, his body a shiny shattered bloody pulp. His child appeared to be catatonic beside him. Her blink rate was slow. Eyes wide. She seemed thinner somehow, as though hollowed out by something greater than grief. 

‘What shall I do with her?’ Fitz had asked. He looked tired from his murderous exertions. And to be honest I was rather bored and had lost all interest now the sack of shit called Kennedy was dispatched. 

‘Shoot her,’ I shrugged. ‘And make it clean and quick. Then clean up.’

Fitz nodded and fired two shots straight into her pale head, as bald and round as a turtle egg. Blood fountained, her head lolled. And just when I thought she was dead, she looked directly into the camera and whispered loudly, ‘FEEL.’

Then that was it. Once Fitz was sure she’d died, he cut the link and I swear I have not slept a wink since that day. 

Not only can I not sleep. I’ve been doing crazy stuff. I paid for both their funeral arrangements anonymously. I don’t know why. I cannot explain. I set fire to the main warehouse where we store all the best drugs. I arranged for the guards to look the other way. I’ve ignored all calls and messages from my two underage lovers; I’ve no desire to see them. I feel only revulsion and shame. I’ve started to consider ways to disband the human trafficking network I set up seven years ago. I can’t seem to even be able to walk down the street without giving a cold homeless person my fucking coat or a wad of cash. I gave the housekeeper time off to look after her terminally ill son – with full pay. I don’t beat our dogs anymore, or make them fight each other; they look confused. But not nearly as fucking confused as I am.

This is how good people must feel when they get the uncharacteristic urge to do something bad. It’s like I’ve got worms under my skin. Like I’ve suddenly found myself in the wrong goddamn body. I’m simply not meant to feel. Not like this. And there is no one to help me. I categorically believe I am at the mercy of that little girl’s last words. Like some sort of curse.

And what hurts me most is that I don’t know her name.

She wasn’t even his daughter as it turns out. She was a four year old homeless child that he and his wife had taken off the streets. Suffering from amnesia and trauma arising from past abuse, they cared for her, rehabilitated her, partly funded by the money he had stolen from me – $6,000.  They renamed her Rehima, meaning compassion. 

Ironic, since I showed them none. 

Since that day, all I have inflicted upon others has become mine. The wolf now knows what it is to be prey and this wolf must learn to endure. I must gaze upon reality now that the scales have fallen away and I must never flinch. Never shirk my burden. Compassion is my millstone. My penance will grind my soul to flour until I die. I can feel it.

I hurt.

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