As soon as she made eye contact with Tyler, she pointed a stubby finger at him and when she flicked it, he fell over. He remained on his back for a few beats, occasional coughs sputtering from his throat.
I launched an internal debate, trying to decide if moving to help him was the best option, and eventually decided against it. I couldn’t overpower her. I couldn’t sneak behind her back to stick my knife in her. I was helpless, powerless, useless.
When Tyler eventually found the energy to get onto his hands and knees, she pointed again. This time she moved her finger in a circle, and he started gasping for air. His arms wobbled, and when they gave out, his head smashed against the floor.
That’s when I went against my better judgment and bolted over to him. I couldn’t hurt her, but maybe I could help him. Maybe I could…
Cuts burst open on clean skin. Blood popped out from pores that weren’t injured. Bruises formed on areas that hadn’t been touched.
“What the hell is this? What did you do?” I asked, still staring at him, but directing my words toward her.
I expected her to repeat her routine with me, but when I looked up, she was gone.
And when I looked back down at Tyler’s limp body, I realized he was gone, too.