Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
In my head, I go through the plan while opening the door a crack and peering out into the darkened compound.
A pillow to the side of the head to muffle the gunshots.
William will go first—there’s a smaller, attached structure that sprang up a couple of years ago, according to the series of images I studied. Christian mentioned something about him living off the main house. I suppose when he reached a certain age, he wanted to cut Mommy’s apron strings.
But he couldn’t be bothered to cut himself completely free.
We’ll take him out first before going deeper into the main building, where Rebecca currently sleeps in peaceful contentment. I can almost imagine her living in comfort, resting easy in her piety.
She took everything from me and so many others and continues to do so. My teeth grind, and my hand tightens around the gun. I almost have to hold myself back, so eager to sprint across the compound and blow her brains out.
I nod once I’m sure the coast is clear, slipping out, practically hugging the fence running behind one of four longhouses where individuals, couples, and entire families live with thin walls separating them, sharing communal kitchens in each building. Beyond them is an additional pair of structures housing male and female restrooms and showers.
Only the main house has its own private bathrooms.
It’s those communal lavatories that have me worried. People could wander out here at any time of night. I hold Scarlet back at the far corner of the longhouse, across from one of the bathrooms, watching and listening closely for any signs we’re not alone out here.
I’m about to signal for her to follow me before a sharp cracking noise makes my heart lurch and my muscles tense. I know that sound. I know it too well. I hear it in my nightmares all the time.
The noise carries me toward the men’s restroom, my feet moving all on their own. A second crack fills the air louder than the first.
Scarlet’s light footsteps tell me she’s close behind, but it’s the crack of the belt that concerns me more. That and the high-pitched whimpers following it.
A child’s whimpers.
“You were warned about this, weren’t you?” Another crack, so sharp and loud, it makes Scarlet suck in a gasp as we reach the open door. This isn’t a part of the plan, but I can’t walk away. I can’t ignore this. Every fiber inside me pulls me toward the sound. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.
“It’s not mine! I just found it out here!” The voice of a little boy, no older than eight or ten. Full of pain, tears, and humiliation. He’s so alone, the way I was. “I promise, it’s not my comic!”
“Your comic book or not, you knew it was here, and you snuck out to read it in the middle of the night while your parents slept. Do not waste your breath or your tears.”
The past weaves itself with the present, the voice of the man dishing out the punishment blending with Christian’s until I might as well be in that closet again. Or draped across the spanking chair, my bare ass earning red stripes no matter how I begged for mercy that never came.
“I’m sorry!” The boy weeps, and Scarlet clutches my arm.
We have to go. Keep moving.
There’s a plan at risk, not to mention our lives.
But…
One lash, another, another.
Quick, brisk, stinging.
He’s going to break the skin.
He’s going to scar this kid.
This child.
Rebecca… William… they need to die. This needs to end, and the best way to do that is to kill them. Now, while we have the chance.
Crack! Crack!
The crying ceases, but the fucker is still beating him.
That’s what makes me burst through the door rather than continue to the main house. It’s what makes me seek out the sadistic prick lashing a little boy for being a little boy, lashing him long past the point of punishment.
I’m snarling, panting like a rabid dog by the time I burst into the shower room, where a tall, lanky man hardly older than me holds a belt looped in his hand while a small, skinny little boy—naked from the waist down and covered in crisscrossing welts—lies face down on the tile floor, breathing but otherwise still.
“Who are you?” He’s breathing hard, his face flushed, and his eyes glittering.
I know that light. I’ve seen it before. Pure fucking evil.
Scarlet squeals in the moment it takes me to raise my arm. “Ren!”
Too late. I’m already squeezing the trigger, already firing on all the monsters of my youth. Monsters who still live and breathe in my subconscious and probably will for this little boy, too. This poor kid.
The bullet is already leaving the barrel, crossing the room, and tearing its way through the bastard’s head.
The sound is deafening against so much tile. Tile painted red when the back of his head explodes and splatters the wall behind him. His eyes are wide open, staring in sightless surprise by the time he hits the floor.