“You killed her!”

Manny had been watching everything happen in mute terror, unable to stop it. He was a passenger in his own body, unable to control his muscles, his actions, his intent. David had banished him. All he could do is scream out his feeble protests to deaf ears as one atrocity after another was committed by his hands.

But when the ax hit Theena, the balance of power shifted.

Manny’s rage inflamed his brain like a fever, forcing David back. He stared at the ax and willed his hands to open. They did, the ax falling to the ground.

His eyes scorched Bill, the cords in his neck bulging. He forced out the words.

“Pick… up… the… ax.”

Bill remained rooted, jaw agape.

“Give it up, Manny.” David’s voice echoed in his head. “You can’t win. I’m going to bury you so deep in our mind, you’ll never come back out again.”

Manny pleaded again. “The ax…”

“Look! Theena’s still breathing! Why don’t we crawl over there and finish the job?”

Manny rolled onto all fours against his will. But his voice was still his own.

“The ax!”

Bill bent down and took the ax in his good hand. He held it away from his body, as if it were a poisonous snake, a stricken look on his face.

“We’re going to snap her neck.” Manny began to crawl to Theena. Every inch was a struggle, and it was a struggle he was losing. “I’m going to let you feel the bones break beneath her soft skin while you’re squeezing.”

“Kill me!”

Manny’s hand shook, but he couldn’t hold it back. It was reaching, reaching for Theena’s throat. Manny felt himself being pushed back again, back into the dark space, David muscling him down and taking over.

“PLEASE KILL ME!”

His hands reached Theena’s thin neck, and began to squeeze.

THUNK!

The ax hit him in the small of the back, pinning him to the floor.

There was no pain. Just a spreading warmth that was almost pleasant.

The struggle was over. The conflict in his mind and body seemed to have ended. David’s voice had lost its anger. It was quieter now, almost peaceful.

“You finally did it.”

Manny saw David, in his mind, but he was a kid, no more than nine-years old. And Manny saw himself, a year younger that his older brother. They were sitting together on the porch of their house, sharing an apple. A happy time, before the State took their mother away. Before foster homes, and juvee hall, and suicide.

“I didn’t want to kill you, David.”

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, Manny. I shouldn’t have killed those cats. It was wrong. You did the right thing to tattle on me.”

“But juvenile hall…”

“I was never going to be happy, Manny. That’s how it was for me. It wasn’t your fault I ended it. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I wish things turned out better.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

David took something out of his pocket, handing it to Manny. It was small, yellow, and seemed to shine with its own inner light. A die-cast pickup truck.

“I love you, David.”

“I love you too, Manny.”

The warmth was all around him now, covering him like a blanket. It was different, so different than all of the other times he’d died taking N-Som. There was no fear, no pain, no emotional turmoil. Manny was infused with a deep and calming peace, which welcomed him into the thing he wanted most of all.

Everlasting rest.

Emmanuel Tibbets let out a gentle breath, closed his eyes, and went to sleep for the last time.