The sun shined down brightly, from the rich blue sky, upon a lavish green field. The field blossomed with wild flowers; colors of every kind could be seen by the eye. A small bright-eyed child wandered about, picking flowers to make a crown for her head. Her dress grazed against the grass as she skipped along. Her mother sat nearby, keeping ever watchful.
The girl plucked her last flower, its soft white petals brushed her skin. She added it to her already large collection. Entwining the stems, she weaved her crown, and placed it on her head; now she wore all the colors. She decided that she was fit to be a princess. If she were in a fairytale, then she would be ready to go to the ball, and in her mind, she was. She danced, twirling her dress and letting her dark waves of hair spin around her. Her dance partner, a monarch butterfly, fluttered above her, obviously attracted to the flowers.
The mother watched her carefree spirited child play. The girl was very happy and innocent, what a mother would want for her child. Though she knew that she wouldn't be able to shield her daughter from the cruelties of the world forever, she was glad that she could have peace for now.
After a while of swirling, the girl began to grow dizzy. She stumbled, swayed, and then came crashing down. The weight of her body fell onto one knee. The knee hit the ground hard and scraped open. Warm red blood flowed out from the wound, it stung and throbbed. The girl grabbed at her knee and called out, "Mama!"
It wasn't long before her mother was by her side. She calmed the girl, wiping away her tears, and moved her daughter's hand so that she could see the injury. It still bled. The mother put her hand on the wound, and closed her eyes. The knee grew warm, and the girl stopped crying. The mother then opened her eyes and removed her hand. The scrape was gone, the skin was unharmed. She then bent down and kissed her daughter's knee.
"Look, all better," the mother said.
The girl smiled up at her, her violet eyes bright once again.
“Sarain… Sarain are you awake?”
Sarain opened her eyes to see Kit looking back at her. She groaned. She was still tired from her overly intensive night before. She looked at Kit and saw the stressed expression on his face. She sighed and sat up. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.
“I had a bad dream,” he replied weakly.
“What was it about?” she said, trying to be sympathetic.
Kit crawled up on her bed like a frightened child and relayed, “I dreamt that my family was in the park and a demon came out of the sky and started hurting my mom. Nate tried to save her, but the demon killed him. My mom kept screaming for me to help her, but I couldn’t move. Then she started saying that it was all my fault, and that she wished the demon had killed me instead.”
“You’re mom would have never thought that. You know better,” Sarain stated.
“Yeah, I know… But it felt so real. And I still feel helpless,” Kit whined.
Sarain contemplated for a moment, and then came up with a grand gesture. Her hands reached for her neck, and she felt for chain. She took off her ankh, and said to Kit, “I also lost my mom at a young age, but before she died, she gave me this. It’s been in my family for generations; it protects you from evil things. And I want you to have it.”
She put the necklace on Kit, he admired it for a second before saying; “I’m never going to take this off.”
Sarain smiled, and replied, “Good, because we’re family now.”
Later that same day, once Sarain felt rested, she awoke and tended to Kit. She fixed him a meal and made sure that he was feeling better from his disturbing dream. He seemed well as they sat to breakfast; she was amazed at his ability to bounce back.
They ate their food in silence until Kit spoke up with a mouthful of food and asked, “What do you do when you go out hunting?”
“Well, you saw when I rescued you,” Sarain answered briefly.
“Yeah, but is it always like that?” he continued to push.
Sarain sighed - she didn’t want to disturb him with details - and responded, “Not always, I usually have to take some time to find them first. They hide a lot of the time. They normally like to stay in dark, unpopulated places.”
“But do they sometimes go in crowds?” he pressed on.
“The ones that look human do, and they will eventually try to get a person alone somewhere,” she replied.
“How can you tell when they are a demon or a real person?” Kit asked.
“When they get provoked their eyes glow and their fangs come out,” she simply said.
“Do they ever still act human?” he curiously wondered.
Sarain thought for a moment, the question was one that rarely ever entered her mind, then she answered, “They pretend to, but they are still monsters.”
Kit continued to eat again, and it was silent for a little while. He didn’t talk until he finished his meal, and then just went on about mean kids in school that he thought were demons. So she explained that the demons also couldn’t go out in sunlight, hence why she only hunted them at night. She also told him a few basic things about demons, like their weakness and how to hurt them.
While Sarain was cleaning up the dishes, Kit made another inquiry, “So what did you do last night?”
She stopped in place, and the image of Winston’s blue glowing eyes staring through her flashed into her mind. A chill went down her back, and she shook the thought away, then answered, “I went to a club looking for the vil sang type of demons.”
“Did you find any?” he asked with excitement.
“I found one,” she replied.
“Did you get him?” he said like a child.
Sarain hesitated from the memory then said, “I will.”
Kit responded with an ordinary “good” then went to his sleeping bag where he opened up a comic book and began to read. Nothing appeared to hold his interest long.
Sarain turned back to the dishes, and when she was almost finished she heard Kit ask, “Are clubs fun?”
“Some people think they are,” she answered.
“Yeah, Nate liked clubs. He liked them so much that he worked at one,” he said still staring at his comic.
This got Sarain’s attention. She hadn’t been sure where and how Nate had ended up a vil sang. She tried her best to keep her tone casual when she asked, “Really, what club did he work at?”
Kit didn’t seem to notice Sarain’s heightened interest, he just answered, “It had a funny name, I remember, because it reminded me of a cat; The Purr-ge. I don’t know what it means, but he only worked there a couple of months.”
“It means ‘to rid of impurities’,” she said realizing that that was the tie that fit Nate to Winston - they both frequented the club. It all could have been just a case of bad luck for Nate, but thinking about their interactions that first night and how the guard even went in to retrieve Winston, started to lead Sarain to believe that Winston may be more than just a frequent visitor of The Purge. She knew now that this wouldn’t be a simple kill, she would have to go back and investigate further. But it was beginning to look like more might be taking place at this club than she had previously thought. And maybe the reason why the police never touched the place wasn’t for the motives she had believed it was. Perhaps it was out of fear and not just human crime life.
Nearing nightfall, Sarain quickly dressed in her street clothes, simple all black once again, and readied herself to go off to the club. She checked on Kit first, made sure he had everything he needed, and told him not to leave the house.
She faced another long hike, though this time the sky was clear, so she wouldn’t be burdened by rain. The moon was partly shadowed, so not much light lit the streets, but Sarain knew the way well. As she walked she pondered why Nate had stopped to talk to Winston that fateful night; it was something she constantly questioned in her head. Vil sangs normally don’t stick around after they’ve turned another, not unless it was someone they had been close to in life, and all she could see that connected Nate and Winston was the club. And better yet, why turn Nate at all? Why not just kill him, and why him and not the woman at the Velvet Rose? Sarain couldn’t make sense of it, but she aimed to find out.
When she finally neared the club the streets had become active, it appeared to be quite a busy night. Cars sped by looking for parking, and a large crowd of people waited outside the Purge’s club doors. The club was already open, but was nearing full capacity, allowing only a few to enter. It would be a long wait if Sarain wanted to get in. She looked at the lengthy line, and debated if it was worth her time tonight; she could always try again another day, and do her regular hunting in the meantime.
She started to turn and leave when she heard someone call out, “Hey, you there!” People normally didn’t address her, but Sarain looked up anyway to see what the commotion was. The large guard who had watched over the door every night that Sarain had been there was now looking at her from his regular position.
“You, Miss,” he said still staring in her direction, “the boss has asked to let you right in.”
“The boss?” she thought to herself. Was he talking about Winston? She hesitated for a second, she didn’t like where this was going. She felt like a pawn in a game, but she had no other choice if she wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery. She wanted to give Kit an answer to why this all happened some day, something she had never obtained for herself. She just hoped to not get herself killed in the process.
Sarain reluctantly went inside.