The Malice of Abigale Quinlan – Encounter 09

Disclaimer: This novel contains adult material including sexual themes, graphic violence, and strong language.  This work is not suitable for minors. Reader discretion is advised.

The Malice of Abigale Quinlan
Encounter 09: The Return

I managed to ignore Peatrice’s shit for the rest of my run back to the hotel room, and as he was confronted with several minutes of silence, he lost interest in making snide remarks and silenced himself shortly thereafter.  Alone, sort of, I proceeded to tear off the clothes I was in, quickly put on a new panty and bra, and changed into the most comfortable set of clothes I bought from Arjeanne’s.  

Dressed, and not wanting to be confronted with the barrage of surreal sensations that would come with a shower, I decided to head to bed then and there, wrapping myself into a cocoon of warmth made from two blankets and a comforter.  Unfortunately, with my mind muddled from the events of the past two days, and my new body still thriving with energy despite having not eaten anything since I got it, sleeping was an impossibility for me, urging me to escape my cocoon and move about in my hotel room.  

I had nothing to do, or rather nothing I wanted to do.  So I spent my time looking outside the window, gazing at the festive collection of Christmas themed decorations as they illuminated the snow-covered cityscape.  It was a pleasant sight.  A reminder that outside my world, outside the chaos that my existence has devolved into, people were still striving, and still celebrating something.  And why wouldn’t they?  The people here knew nothing of Oransen, they did not know someone related to the terrorist attack was in their midst, so why would they choose to forego their merriment?  I sighed before returning to my bed, where I immersed myself in warmth while drowning out my worries and insecurities with aimless half-formed thoughts that meandered about until I was met with the blissful emptiness of slumber, of unconsciousness.  

I eventually peeled my eyes away from the darkness to see the red glow of a clock radio that I looked at for a few minutes before I saw 6:00 blink back at me.  As December 21st was already a fourth of the way through, and my flight was in three hours, I figured I should get ready.  Though, for me, that meant I slapped some soapy water on my face before switching to a black sweater with some regular old blue jeans.  I thought about doing something more, but if Peatrice’s words were to be believed, I did not necessarily need to worry about grooming or taking care of myself anymore. 

After putting on my bear jacket yet again, snagging my purse, and grabbing my box of clothes, I checked out of the hotel and began to walk to the airport which, thankfully, was only about three kilometers away.  It was still a long walk to get there, but also a relatively quiet one.  It was an early Sunday morning, so the sidewalks were barren and the only vehicles on the streets were plows clearing off the streets from last night’s snowfall.  

As I looked over the plows, I could not help but wonder what the drivers thought as they looked to the side and saw me.  A shockingly tall young woman wearing a childish looking coat made to resemble a bear, carrying a banker’s box, walking around when it’s negative five degrees celsius outside, and not even wearing gloves, because I had some sort of natural resistance to the cold, and simply forgot to put them on accordingly.  It was embarrassing, certainly, but with all the worry and uncertainty that I would not have answered until I returned home wracking my brain, I did not really care.  

The route to the airport was long, but Peatrice was there to keep me company with directions and his usual barrage of snide and sexual comments.  For every instance of aid he offered me he offered a reference about me fucking a child in the airplane bathroom and then shoving the remains down the toilet shoot, or alluded to me hijacking the plane and crashing it to continue “Abi-Q’s saga of chaos.”  It was all familiar trite that I did my best to phase out, and the same can be said about the flight as a whole.  Checking in, boarding the flight, looking out the window while I sat next to a middle-aged woman who looked at me contemptuously, probably because of my skin color, going to get my baggage, and even hailing a cab, it all blurred together in my mind, and I’d rather gloss over it.  I went to an airport, got on a plane, arrived at another airport, and then paid a man to drive me to Oransen.  

Eventful happenings only resumed around 15:40.  Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I had the taxi driver drop me off at a park near my house— a common play place for Maxxie and I when we were younger, and one far enough from my home to not arouse suspicion from the driver.  Not that I had any reason to really care about what he thought.  I sighed as I exited the vehicle and took a moment to bask in the sight of the park before me.  Not unlike Funke, winter had taken hold or Oransen, coated darn near everything in a sheet of white, of snow and ice, and this playground was no exception.  It had not been touched since the last snowfall, allowing the structures to resemble a beautiful ruin that filled me with serene memories of childhood innocence with the ones I loved.  Maxxie, Zoe, Shiaka, Terra, and I all visited this park the past summer, but as I looked at it, that felt almost like a lifetime ago, especially after what happened these past two and a half days.  

I had several nervous breakdowns, nearly killed two people who tried to rape me, learned that I’m now an immortal demigod woman, and dealt with Peatrice’s pestering for over two days.  But now… now this journey was over.  I would finally learn the question of whether or not my friends were dead or not.  Something I could have probably figured out beforehand, by checking updated death records or something, but I wanted to learn it first hand.  I wanted to hear the truth from someone I could trust.  My mother.  My lovely, caring, nurturing, and amazing mother.  A woman who I really owe everything to.  A woman who, based on her life choices, had every reason to turn into a spiteful and hateful person, but never gave up hope, never gave up on me, and wanted my life to be as best as it could be.  

With my home only five blocks away, I began dashing through the higher class suburb of Oransen as I made my way to a large, darkened home, one I had seen thousands of times.  I rang the doorbell, hearing the same chime that I’ve heard for all my life… but nothing happened.  I knocked, but no one responded.  I called out for her, for Caroline Steticks, but nobody came to the door.  I then moved around to the backyard of my home, covered in glistening, untouched snow, and illuminated ever so slightly from the nearby street lights.

So, how are you going to get in, momma’s boy?  You gonna break a window or something?  

“No, Peatrice.  My family buried a key to the back door in case of emergencies.  I just need to dig it out and I’ll be set.”  I dryly said, likely resembling Abigale Quinlan more than I had intended

Practical, Jad.  Practical and discrete.  Go grab yourself a cookie when you get back in.  And you don’t gotta worry about it going to that dynamite butt of yours.  Y’know, you really ought to sit back more and think, ‘Fuck, dawg.  This body of mine is great.  I get all the perks of being a girl and I can eat an entire chocolate cake without gaining a gram.’

I huffed in response as I dug near a bush in my backyard, dirtying my gloveless hands as I clawed at the snow and into the frozen earth.  It took several minutes for me to find this buried chunk of brass, but I found it eventually.  

With that, I made my way to the back door and was finally back home, back into the same series of rooms I have seen just about every day in my life, the same kitchen, living room, stairwell, and et cetera.  Whatever feeling of homesickness I had been repressing had been remedied, and some of the anxiety and worry I had been carrying around with me had torn away from my being.

I placed my box down near the back door before kicking off my shoes and looking around the house.  Everything that should have been here was there, except for my mother.  She was not on the ground floor and her car was still in the connected garage.  I opened the front door and realized the walkway had not been shoveled, and it lacked any footprints.  The coat rack was also undisturbed, with her shoes and her coat the same place they always were, right next to my light jacket and boots.  Two articles of clothing I would never properly fit into again… 

I then decided to pick up the kitchen phone and dial my mother’s cell number, which I thankfully remembered since I learned it at age seven.  However, she did not answer her phone, and I was instead met with her voicemail.  It was comforting to hear her voice, but this was still incredibly discouraging.  

Having exhausted most options, I quickly made my way up the stairs, wondering if I would potentially find my mother in her bedroom.  But no, instead I found nothing, and I had absolutely no idea where she could be.

“Great.  Just great.”  I muttered under my breath, trying to relieve some tension.

Meh, this isn’t that surprising.

“Care to explain yourself, Peatrice?”

Woman’s son dies horribly and is vilified by society, so would woman even want to stay in the same home in which she raised that sorry little turd?  Fuck no.  She’s probably been traumatized as hell over these events, and she’s probably gone to the point where she’ll never believe that you’re her little J-kun.  I mean, you can try to find her and convince her that you, a random tall brown-skinned lady is in actuality her son, but do you think her brain can even process something like that?  Shit, even if she does believe you, would she ever be able to look at you the same way again?  Do you seriously think she could identify you as her child, that she could love you as a mother?

And what about your friends?  Assuming they survived their sort of attack, wouldn’t they have already undergone some heavy trauma and developed the same sort of scars as your mother?  Even if they managed to deny the fact that they saw Jad Novus kill over a hundred people, they won’t be able to forget it, forget what they felt after the deed was done, after the blood was spilled.  Because of that, I’m not sure if they’ll ever feel comfortable around you ever again, let alone trust you.  Even if they could get over that, there’s still the fact that you’re a monster.  An inhuman creature, indestructible, all-powerful, and a threat to all life.  You can try to run away from it, but that’s the truth.  

Actually, here’s another truth for you!  No matter what you do, no matter how you handle yourself, no matter what you do, you are not strong, and you will never become strong enough to deal with being immortal.  You will hurt others and inevitably become a psychopath in your own special way.  You may think that’s impossible, but it’s only a matter of time, something you have plenty of, my dear Yahd-kun.  Or maybe I should say Jade-chan.  I mean, it’s about time to give up this retarded charade.  About time to just let Jad Novus die, once and for all.

“…Peatrice.”  I said with a palpable level of hatred for the invisible little bugger.

Yes’m?

“I expressed how much I despised you and your shit back at that restaurant, didn’t I?”  I coldly reminded Peatrice

Oh, yeah, but you were just joshing me around… Right, little miss Quinlan?

“I was frustrated.  But now, I’m past that.  I’m over being angry at you.  You know why?  Because I despite you, I loathe you, and I am going to kill you.”

Ooh la la, the noble murder-and-sex-hating human being who I’ve been venturing with me is going to kill their closest companion.  Like, O-M-G-W-T-F!  Quit fooling around, numbnuts.  You can’t kill me.  You’re a wimp, a coward, a pussy, a classically trained cunt muffin, somebody who’s too scared of their power to ever use it.  Besides, you’re just proving my point if you kill me.  Murder is like anything else; it’s a lot easier the second time around, third time even more so, and by the time you get to number seven thousand, it doesn’t even phase you.  But if you want to accelerate your ascension into becoming Jade Quinlan, Abigale Quinlan’s shittier successor, I say the following: Just go for it!

I knew this little shit was only trying to mess with my head as he rambled on.  Even if there was some truth in his words, or some advice he could give me in the future, he was more of a burden than anything at this point, and I refused to deal with his nonsense for any longer.  I went into the upstairs bathroom, where I moved the towels and the rug out of there.  Now that the bathroom was barren, I needed a weapon to break open my head and break the chip that gave Peatrice the ability to communicate with me directly through my brain.  So I headed into the attached garage, where I found a musty, old, and very thick metal hammer.  A mallet, if I recall correctly.  It was dirty and had some greasy residue on it, but I didn’t care—  it’s not like I could get an infection or any such thing.  

Upon returning to the bathroom, I began to strip myself, discarding my bear jacket and the clothes I had on underneath.  In doing so, I caught a glimpse of my body, the naked body of a beautiful woman, and winced at the sight.  I never wanted this.  I never wanted to see this.  But now… I would see it for the rest of my life, all because of her.  This realization steeled my conviction as I struggled to fit my taller form into the bathtub, and with my palms clenching a mallet, I was ready.  I knew it would be messy, that it would hurt, and that I may regret this in the long run.  But I didn’t care.  I had already told myself that I would do this, and I refused to back down and let Peatrice win.  

Upon letting out a guttural yell, I swiftly bashed the tool against my forehead, causing a wave of pain to spread through my body.  Before I could even fully register the agony I was going through, or see the blood seep from my forehead, I struck my head once more.  Then another time, and another, and I kept doing it as I heard my skull crack, felt the blood drip across my naked body, lost control of my limbs, and dipped in and out of consciousness.  Time had no meaning as I wailed on throughout the dreadful process, a process that sent Peatrice into hysterics.  His cackling and apparent joy inspired me to work through the pain, to tolerate the torment I was inflicting upon myself, knowing that there was a light at the end of this wretched tunnel, that I would soon be rid of him forever.

I eventually lost all cognizance of my actions and ceased my onslaught on my cranium.  By the time I regained consciousness, I felt no pain.  I moved a hand to my head to feel a now-familiar head of hair drape down to my shoulders.  I was unharmed.  I was perfectly fine.  I expected as much.

It was then that I chose to look down at the contents of the tub, and it was painted red with my blood, with minuscule chunks of skin, brain, and skull mixed, creating a disgusting fleshy paste that surrounded me.  There was not a ton, and very thin for the most part, but the mere sight of the shower stall, coated in this stuff, was enough for me to gag, nearly vomiting as I saw and smelled the insides of my own head.  I immediately turned on the shower in an attempt to wash this filth away, and it did.  The warm water that cascaded down on me sent the stray bits of blood and flesh down the drain, and off my unclothed person.  I stood underneath the stream for a while, taking a moment to relish in the consistent and droning sound of running water, hoping that I would feel cleansed after all of this.  But it still felt wrong.  The way the water caressed my body, reminding me of my new body by sending a string of strange sensations to my mind, it saddened me.  This was how showers would feel.  This is how… everything would feel.  Nothing would be the same, and this… was my new normal.  The breaths, the smooth legs, and being so damn tall that I couldn’t even fit underneath my showerhead anymore.  

“Peatrice, are you there?”  I asked after a few minutes of quiet.

I was met with silence.

I was relieved to be free of him, but in my haste to shower, I was unable to find what remained of him, the chip, or some such thing he existed in.  Peatrice must have gone down the drain, where his remains would be filtered out from the urine and feces and discarded forever.  It was a cruel punishment, one I had not intended, but I did not feel bad for him.  He was a selfish and obnoxious being, one who cared only for his own amusement and viewed humans as little more than playthings or tools.  

I felt I had done the right thing, but that doesn’t mean I felt good about it.  Especially when there was so much I did not know about Abigale Quinlan.  So much I now didn’t know about… myself.


The Malice of Abigale Quinlan Main Page
Encounter 00: The Mistake
Encounter 01: The Body
Encounter 02: The Voice
Encounter 03: The Mountain
Encounter 04: The Beast
Encounter 05: The Power
Encounter 06: The Funke
Encounter 07: The Shine
Encounter 08: The Date
Encounter 09: The Return
Encounter 10: The Night
Encounter 11: The Flare
Encounter 12: The Rain
Encounter 13: The Torment
Encounter 14: The Revenge
Encounter 15: The Malice
Encounter 16: The Escape
Encounter 17: The Meld
Encounter 18: The Reunion
Encounter 19: The Demon
Encounter 20: The Failure
Encounter 21: The Death

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.