I’m soaking wet. My cargo pants are dark brown, my hoodie a drenched and obsidian black, and my Levi boots are so dark they resemble shadows. A flash of lightning strikes near the building but I don’t flinch.
Drake rows for what feels like hours. He loses all sense of time. The moon shines in the eternal night as it always does and Dark City—his heinous and sadistic home—fades in the distance, glad to be rid of him. The place where his parents’ corpses will be dumped into the sea for whatever animal wants it, the place where he committed his first murder, his first robbery, his first rape, his first act of arson, his first burglary.
They circle him and growl in a horrible harmony, the sounds echo through the night and the air becomes colder still—Drake breathes in the smell of impending carnage with a glee he can hardly contain, the visions of the life leaving his parents eyes as he struck that final blow, his mother’s mouth spitting up blood, his father’s entrails sliding out his stomach like a lethargic snake full off a hearty meal come to him in a vivid and visceral image—almost as if he’s killing them all over again.