Ivory by Steve Merrifield

scratches compared with
King’s injury. The leg of King’s jogging bottom was almost
completely dark red below the wound and clung to his upper thigh in
its wetness.
    Suddenly King
launched himself from the wall, anger and hatred snarling his face
up. He grabbed Ivory by the jaw, bloodying her face under his
crimson grip. He laughed manically and triumphantly at having
caught her, and tugged her head roughly to one side. It happened so
quickly that Martin stood, stunned, yet there was no reaction in
Ivory’s face, as though she had no fear of him.
    “ Fucking turn on King would you? You girls all know that
deserves punishment.”
    King brought
the jagged end of the bottle up into Ivory’s face. Instinctually
Martin yelled in horror and crossed the room in two strides and
shoved King as soon as he was in reach. Martin’s blundering lunge
jogged King’s aim and the jagged glass overshot her face and
snagged in her hair, but King’s fist and the neck of the bottle
struck her cheek. Ivory did not recoil from the blow, but seemed to
toss her head away from it and arched herself backwards, staying
ahead of the attack. Her move caused King’s lunge to stretch
further than he was prepared for, and he continued to stumble off
balance from the momentum of Martin’s shove. Ivory stepped
gracefully around him as King fell.
    The air
whistled, the singular noise becoming a wheezing howl that
shattered into multiple unearthly voices screaming out. King’s
stumble became an exaggerated tumble and the screams stopped dead
as King fell, leaving only his cry of terror in their wake. He
landed at the centre of the coffee table and passed straight
through, the glass splintered into long blades catapulted inwards
by his weight, turning the entire surface of the table into a giant
man-trap. The glass sheared flesh, hacked through organs dug into
bone. Blood dashed and sprayed in every direction as each blade of
glass simultaneously cut and skewered him.
    Candy, Ivory
and Martin stood motionless at the sight before them. King lay in a
twisted tortured position. Large triangles of glass stuck out of
his chest. Another wider piece stood out from his abdomen, almost
shearing him in two. All the peaks bloodied and gored in scarlet. A
criss-cross of scratches transformed King’s bared flesh into a map
of agony. A piece of glass winked from his eye giving the
impression of twitching life.
    Candy was the
first to react by launching a spray of vomit through fingers that
had tried to seal her mouth against screaming. She fell to her
knees and heaved until she could heave no more. Yet Ivory stood
motionless, with her face sprayed and smeared with blood but free
of reaction, her cold black eyes glittering with the orange and red
light of the room. For the briefest moment Martin found himself
frightened by her hellish vision, until the context of her
appearance returned with King being the aggressor in attempting to
kill Martin and nearly shredding Ivory’s face.
    Martin’s eyes fell upon the bloody body again. His mind
trying to understand the last seconds of King’s life. He didn’t
understand how Ivory had managed to escape
King’s grip, how King had gone from the aggressor to the
victim, how the table had done so much
damage, and what had been the source of the scream that had haunted
Martin once again.
    His
concentration was shattered when King flew to his feet as if pulled
by wires. Glass tinkled and sparkled around him as it tumbled from
his body. King’s monstrous face twisted around a wordless roar, his
mouth awash with blood. He threw himself at Martin and they both
fell. Martin’s eyes clenched as he struck the floor, the air forced
from his lungs, whistling in the air. It felt different to being
winded. He couldn’t catch his breath to replace the supply that had
been knocked from him. He could still hear his breath hissing out
of him, but as he swallowed mouthfuls of air he realised he wasn’t
keeping it.
    He opened his eyes and