Everybody knows the legend: When the crows perch in front of a house and call, Death is coming. The details are foggy as to whether it’s really got to be directly in front of the house, or if the people who inhabit the house are going to die, or it’s just someone you know. That part changes depending on who your grandmother is and what part of the South she comes from. Regardless, crows are Death’s messengers. I had one of those grandmothers who told me not to look at the Crows as if not making eye-contact would shield me or whomever from the scythe.

            We were watching hummingbirds fly about our backyard from the willow tree that our mother named Demeter when the crows came. Wrapped up in her hair and laid out in her arms, we watched them perch atop the oak tree next door and call to us. Two of them, one for each of us. Voshie put her head down immediately and covered her ears. She would’ve fallen out of the tree if I hadn’t been holding onto her belt loop from the branch above her. “They’re just birds.” I said to her.

            “No, they’re not! They’re evil!” She had this weird lisp from her missing two front teeth. It was almost undetectable but as an older sibling, it was something I could pick at and tease her for.

            “Says who? Hitchcock?” I mocked her lisp, making sure to add “th”s where they weren’t needed.

            “Who?” She turned to look at me and then squeezed her eyes shut. “No! I nearly seen ‘em!”

            “So?” I laughed at her and her childish fear.

            “You’ll die if you see them!”

            “No, you won’t. Go on, look.”

            “No! I don’t wanna die!”

            “Why not? You’ll die anyway.”

            “Well I don’t wanna die right now! You go on and look! You go on and die!”

            I laughed again but I didn’t turn my face upward to see them. I didn’t answer their endless calls with any stares.

            “See? You don’t wanna die either!”

            “Shut up, cry-baby.” I shook her belt loop to upset her balance before letting her go and climbing out of Demeter. “Unlike you, I’m not afraid to die.” I didn’t look immediately, I stared at the blackened fence that separated our yard from our neighbours. I stared at a little black and red hummingbird stick its nose in a huge snowy white peony. I watched a bumblebee fly passed my face, nearly kiss my nose. I watched a swallowtail butterfly fly up to the cherry blossoms before I looked up at the crows who watched us. They stared down at me, tilting their small heads to the side before looking at each other, cawing, and flying off.

I stared down Death; I had overcome the greatest childhood fear I didn’t want to admit.

…What if I had notified Him that I was ready for the End. What if He took my defiance and apparent fearlessness as a submission? What if I made Him angry? What if He wants to get revenge for this disrespect? I said I wasn’t afraid to die, but…aw, shit. I was supposed to start college in a few months. I’ve only been here for seventeen years! My life was just starting. Hadn’t even begun. I hadn’t even had my first kiss or gotten laid. Yet, here I was conjuring the Taker of Souls without ever having lived.

            “They’re gone?” Voshie was hugging the branch with one of her arms and both of her legs. She reached an arm out for me, asking me to help her down.  

“Yeah they’re gone.” I stared at her hand for a moment before I looked towards the oak tree again. Where do they go? Where does Death wait for them? Do they die? Are they really Crows at all? They could’ve been weird ass Blackbirds for all we know. I don’t know shit about birds. Either way, it’s just a myth. It’s just some stupid Wives’ Tale. I scoffed at my earlier panic and turned towards the house.

            “Vhiri! Wait, help me down!” Voshie whined, hugging the branch with both of her arms again.

            “Get down yourself.”

            “I can’t! It’s too high up!” She was pretty short, even for an eight year old. I really wanted her to figure out how to get down by herself like I did.

            “Well, I’m leaving you as an offering to Demeter.” I bowed to the willow tree. “Please accept this token from your humble servant, oh gracious Goddess.”

            “That’s not funny, Vhiri! I’ll cry! I’ll tell Daddy!”

            I sighed loudly and opened my arms to catch her, watching her gleefully slip from the branch into her safety net. “I’m too old for this shit.” I groaned.

She giggled, thinking it all great fun.

            I clutched her tight and made heaving noises, gasping for air dramatically before falling to the ground safely as to not hurt her.

            “No! Daddy! Daddy!” Her bawling made the crows sound like angels.

            “I’m just kidding.” I said, putting a hand behind my head. She ceased her tears momentarily and smacked me hard on my left breast, running into the house to cry to Dad.

I rubbed my chest and stared up at the sky. I waited there, wondering if the crows would come back. Would the sky darken with their flight? Could it be so bad to die? I’d see Mom then.

 Some sparrows flew over my head to perch on the end of a flower pot, chirping to each other. I stayed there, watching the hummingbirds zoom from one end of the yard to the next. The wind swept through the yard, making leaves and petals flutter in mini tornadoes on the grass. I closed my eyes, imagining what it’d be like to meet Death. I imagined seeing my Mom behind Him as he came, his scythe ready to cut me down. I imagined the World darkening, falling away. I imagined ceasing to exist. 

What is a being?

I sat on the couch

watching everyone else         

test the layers of atoms

that separate us as entities

“Just remember me”

Maybe I’d find the answer

in the bottom of my red solo cup

in a swirl of alcohols

that probably shouldn’t be mixed

“Jungle juice is the shit isn’t it?”

That’s the kind of smile

I was warned about

dimples pressed into small pearls

sharpened like she descended from cannibals

“Remember me when they come for you”

It’s like her finger beckoned from her eyes

as green as the weed I smoked before I got here

and she smelled like candy

my skin tingled as I felt collagen pillows on my neck

“Let’s get out of here.”

I’ve got bees in my pocket

and my legs feel like lead

Does control have a factor in existence?

I wanted to reach for the pictures on the wall

as if the people in them could pull me back

“I was hoping to get you to myself”

Has the Rapture started?

Or am I training for the Olympics?

The bees are attacking my ankle

Who’s whistling?

“Aren’t you popular?”

…

does the roof disappear into spots of black

when you die?

is it just a continuation of black stars?

“Dude, are you okay?”

Just like when you’re born you’re surrounded by people

you’ve never seen before

“We’ve been calling you man. Can you move?”

The bees are silent.

            “I never get tired of it. Never get tired of hunting them afterwards, especially if they leave on their own. That hasn’t really happened before but now that it has, I like this better. Gives me a thrill. A Rush.

            Have you ever killed someone before?

            It’s better than an orgasm. It’s like, this tingly feeling in my spine that makes me roll my shoulders back and bite my lip like I’m getting my dick sucked good and when the blood splatters—you know, the kind where I get a little on my face, some on my lips to taste, like jizzing on a pornstar with the bubble tits…mmmm…I just can’t…it’s so good. So good.

            I gotta give it to her though. She made me mad. I didn’t know where she went. She snuck out so quietly. I remember it like yesterday. I was coming home as usual, ready to walk up those stairs and find her there on the floor with her collar on and her chain swinging from getting into position. Yeah, mouth open wide, ready for it. Gets me hard.

            I don’t know how she did it, but she got the collar off. Look like she picked it with something. Made my inner white knight come out. You know, they were mad at me for a taking a Greek one this time. Even though she was half black, they were still mad. Said it was too Euro. Black is black to me. All niggers are the same. Just meant for serving and then dying like the beasts they are.

            They’re becoming soft. A joke of former glory. A shame to the Hood.

            I like them young. Gives a new feel to saying, ‘Daddy’s home!’ when I walk in the door. They don’t fight back like the older ones do. If you’re interested, I wouldn’t go past say, sixteen. This one, she was thirteen. Old enough to bleed, young enough for her tits to start appearing but not quite. When they grow a nice size, I cut them off and keep ‘em a while. Suck on ‘em when I’m in between girls.

            You look sick. You alright?

Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. You don’t see those little ten year olds eating lollipops and popsicles and wonder how their lips would feel? Little virgin lips, all ready to learn. Good thing you cuffed my hands behind me, haha. Isn’t gonna stop me though. I’ve worked enough child pornography and assault cases; I’ve learned to master this kind of art.

            You wanna know how I killed them? Yeah, yeah you do. You want to know step by step. Yeah, yeah you do. You wanna kill your wife so she’ll stop spending all your money on stupid shit and then you can run off with that sweet-assed Latina who’s always got her tits jumping out of her shirt like every woman should. Yeah. Yeah you do.”

            “Fuck are you talkin’ about, White? Huh?” A sniff here from the investigating officer.

            “I know all about Marisol. Just like I know you’re the reason why the cocaine we confiscated is less than the original count.” He laughed, leaning back, exposing the bulge that stood out against his jeans. “Let me give you some advice. Listen to a master, kid. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

            “You should really wait for your lawyer, White. You’re delusional.”

            “When I saw that she got out of the collar, I thought, where the hell would she go? She doesn’t have any clothes. She must be nearby. So I went and I looked for her. No trail. That was why I stayed late that one night, when I caught you with angel dust on your nose. I was lookin’ her up. See if anyone called about her. Couldn’t find her for a couple of weeks, so I decided to patrol the neighbourhood. You know, those old gossiping ladies love that. Love to see a man in uniform protecting them—“

            “I should remind you of your Miranda Rights, White.”

            “You know, I saw her going in out of that house for a week. Sneaking out to the grocery store, hoodie pulled up, in men’s clothing. I watched her sneak her way in and out, looking away from every officer she bumped into. Nervous about any car she saw. She was at that crazy boy’s house. The one always in and out of that institution. The one whose therapist kept calling on wellness checks, always worried that he tried to off himself again. She was with that crazy.”

            Johnson snorted, bringing his hand up to rub his nose, sniffing. It was red and his eyes looked away from White, he had a nervous smile on his face. One of his front, top incisors was chipped notably. His left eye was healing from its prior blackened condition, he still had blood aneurisms floating around his dark green iris and the skin around his eye was a ghastly green and faint purple that made the paleness of skin even sicker. He lifted his cap and rubbed his head, full of thick short black hair. He fixed his cap back on his head, straightening and pulling the visor down at a little more to cast a shadow over his eyes: C.P.D. printed on the top.

            “You think I’m crazy, Johnny? You think I’m like him? Meant to be all locked up because I’m gonna off myself?”

            “Well—“

            “What was the first thought that crossed your mind when you all walked in on me, sitting in that pool of blood, smoking my cigar? What did you think when you saw her limbs strewn on the floor and his guts hanging from the canopy? Whatcha think, huh? Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

            Johnson sighed and looked back at the one way mirror, unable to see the officers on the other side but knowing they were there. He folded his arms, his lips spreading and thinning into a grimace.

            “Did you wonder how you were going to cover it up this time? Thinkin’ about that?”

            Johnson looked back at White, fixing a piercing gaze on him. His eyes flickered down to the table and back to him. He narrowed his eyes at the other.

            “I know it’s taped. I know it’s all out in the open now. The whole town knows, the State…” White laughed. “I don’t care. I realised that when I saw them together. Jimmied the lock, found them lying together in bed, fully clothed, don’t think he ever touched her. There was just…an air of serenity… Just kind of stared at first. Felt weird. Felt off. Something to be so calm…” He stared at the metal table, his knee creating a resounding rhythm in the room as it bumped consistently against the underside of the table.

            Johnson looked where he looked, stared where he stared but did not see. He looked up to other, watching him slip into that trance.

            “Her name was Ekaterini, no last name. Got her from a breeder. They take kids, sell some of them, force the rest of them to reproduce, like dogs. I had been getting my girls from them for a while. They specialise in everyone: Pakistani, French, Tunisian, you name it. Asians and niggers are on the come up, you know.” He chuckled and then shifted in his chair. “I beat her, choked her, raped her, you know the spiel. Nothing new.” He grew sombre then; his gaze still directed on the table but his vision was inward. “It was weird…seeing those bruises healing with no new ones, watching her walk. I always made her crawl. She was human with him. I didn’t like it.” His features twisted and contorted like a muscle possession; his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed down at the reflective metal, jaws clenching and unclenching. His knee stopped from its consistent bobbing, he closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. He tilted his head until his neck popped, something Johnson could hear. He suppressed his shiver.

            “I took the blunt end of my rifle and I started smashing his head in. She woke up pretty quick, screaming, so I shot her. In the stomach. I didn’t want to kill her just yet. Wanted her to die slow. Bleed out some. I like when there’s a lot of blood. Kind that drips down stair cases for the police to find. Well, y’all.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Johnson.

Johnson stared at him, not amused in the slightest.

“I cuffed her to the bed and went into the kitchen to get a knife.” White nodded, rocking himself. Johnson was worried that he would tip himself over. “Got one of the ones with the rigid end. The kind that really hurts you when you slice your hand open. I got that and I dragged him off the bed, but where she could still see. I knew she was watching, still screaming. I punched him in the face, kept punching ‘til I couldn’t see there was so much blood. Kept punching until all I heard was squish, squish, squish. Then I sliced his stomach open. Real clean like a tomato, real delicate. I shoved my hands in, still warm, rubbed it up my arms like lotion for an ashy nigger.

            And you know what I did then? I ripped his intestines right out. I ripped them straight out and I tried to tie her feet with them. It ain’t work so well so I just threw them in her face, tried to shove the large one in her mouth. Make her choke on it. And then I took that knife and cut her pants and panties off. Part of me wanted to watch, see if she could spit it out or choke. Part of me wanted to keep shoving it down her throat, hope I make the skin of her cheeks rip with the force. Part of me wanted to shove that knife right up that little cunt of hers and give her a reason to scream.”

            Johnson shifted uncomfortably, knowing what happened, seeing the aftermath. He didn’t want to hear this. He looked back to the other mirror.

            “I did it, Johnny. I shoved it right in there, heard it rip.” He closed his eyes as if savouring the memory. “And then I dragged it until it cut right into her pussy. I just kept cutting until I couldn’t cut anymore. I don’t remember if I cut her tits off first or her limbs. Not sure. I can’t even remember when I started smoking. I just remember that I fucked her like that. First with limbs, then without.

I like the way cut flesh feels. You know, it flaps around you, tickles the head. She was dying then, or maybe she was dead. She was making them choking noises you hear old people make when the spirit’s leaving them. I remember when my granddad made them noises. Still clutching the flag. The one he got from his dad when he fought in the war against the Yankees. He was a big man in Knighthood, before he was that choking old cripple.” White paused, his head lowering like he was staring at his boots. “Not that I knew much of that, he was always that choking old cripple to me. Always made me sit in the dining room with him, then he’d point to the Flag and talk about the good days of the South. About how he was the son of a Gentleman, and how big the plantation was until some nigger got himself a share of wealth and bought it right out of his hands.” White shrugged as if this was just trivial information.  

Johnson looked down at the off-white tile, smeared with blood from White’s clothes. He was dripping in it. They hadn’t let him change yet, just locked him in the interrogation room with Johnson. IA was going to ream them after this. Fire all of them. Johnson gave a heavy sigh, watching White fidget with a piece of carnage stuck to his laces.

 “It was hard chopping them off with that butcher’s knife,” White started again. “Guess I’ve gotten soft. Usually, I rape ‘em, and then use a chainsaw. Makes it easier. But this wasn’t my house. I didn’t think to bring materials. Just the gun. That was habit. But Johnny,” he smiled. “I know you like fucking Marisol when she’s on her period, but fucking a girl in real blood is even better.”

            “You’re sick, Sheriff.” Johnson said, recalling the image of White sitting on the floor with Ekaterini’s legs around him.

            “Maybe.  But I don’t wanna be cured if I am.” He sighed. “Can’t cure me, Johnson. Can’t save those not wantin’ to be saved.”

            Johnson shook his head, refusing to look at White.

            “That Therapist was a surprise though. Didn’t see that one coming. She crept into the living room when I was playing with Eka’s jaw. It’s pretty fun looking when it’s not connected. You should try it. But anyway, I heard her pushing open the door when I looked. There she stood, jaw down, all in shock. Made me wonder how it’d be to rip hers off while she was still alive. I chased her down before she got to the front door, carried her off to the bathroom…”

            Johnson stared down at his shoes, remembering the therapist. She had wild black hair. It was everywhere, sticking to her chest and face from the blood.

            “You ever love something so much, you know you’ll never get tired of it until you do it again and realise you’re tired?”

            Johnson nodded.

            “That’s what happened. I don’t get tired of hunting them, but I get tired of them dying. I get sad a little bit in the end. It’s over. I gotta start again. Maybe I shoulda stuck to ten year olds. But I liked her. Eka. Can’t explain why I was angry.”

            “Maybe it’s because you’re sick in the head.”

            “Maybe. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t recognise her after I ripped her jaw off. Even then, she was still beautiful.” He shifted, jutting his hips forward.

 Johnson didn’t need to look to know.

“She had a mouth like a ten year old. Lips real soft, real big, real beautiful. Two weeks after I got her, I ripped her front two rows of teeth so she couldn’t bite down on me. Sliding along those gums never felt so great. Got her while she was still bleeding too. Made it even better. I like the way it looks. The way blood looks when it’s dripping down from my tip—“

“I can’t fucking deal with this shit.” Johnson got up abruptly, kicking his chair to the side and leaving the room. White just laughed.

He stared at the one way mirror. “How’s it, boys? Still selling H to the Stones? You still fucking that prostitute from 79th, Willy? The real dark one with the ratty blonde weave?”

Johnson came back shortly later, a napkin to his mouth. He grabbed his chair, calmer than this abrupt departure. He sat back down and stared at White.

“You still look green, Johnny.”

“You’re making this hard, Sheriff.”

“Am I? I’m caught. I’m done. What’s so hard about sitting here, having a conversation?”

“Internal Affairs is here.”

“I know.”

“You just keep talking.”

“I know.”

“About everything.”

“They’re gonna find out anyway, Johnny. Might as well quicken the process. It’s alright. The brothers make sure you alright.”

“Not you, though.”

“Hmm.” White smiled, looking off towards the door and then back at Johnson who leaned closer to him.

            “You know you’re getting the death penalty, White.” Officer Johnson sucked on a tooth, staring at White.

            White shrugged, still smiling. “We all gotta die sometime, Johnny.” He laughed again.

            Johnson shook his head and sat back.

            “You’re going down with me, Johnny. You, Williams, Jackson, Benuto, O’Donnell, Kelly…the whole team.”

Johnson stared at the door, getting up and leaving the intervention room.