face
tortured her. Delaney’s eyes traveled down to his neck where she
read the tattoo inked into his neck, 1 John 1:9 . Her body
went limp. Mr. Rowan. Richard Rowan. St. Luke’s Church. He
had aged; his hair was now gray and the fullness sucked from his
deeply scarred and pitted face. A face she would never forget. A
face that had haunted her for fourteen years.
“He was released from prison a few weeks
ago,” Gunnar began. Delaney could feel his hot, stale breath on her
neck. “I didn’t get a chance to kill him before the police got him.
Right after he raped you.” The fear in Mr. Rowan’s eyes pierced
Delaney as she felt Gunnar release her. They pleaded for help –
disgusting plea for mercy. Her feet sunk several inches into the
snow as Gunnar moved closer to the trunk. He perched his legs and
reached inside his jacket to retrieve a knife. He raised it high
above his head, pausing before he grunted his well-rehearsed chant.
The man began violently twisting along the plastic that lined the
trunk beneath him while Delaney silently begged for it to stop.
“Your sins will never be forgiven.” Gunnar
thrust the knife down, sinking it deep into his chest. Delaney’s
scream vanished as she watched Mr. Rowan’s body go lifeless in the
trunk. Blood pooled beneath his body and onto the plastic sheet.
Her legs failed her, buried deep in the snow. Her feet somehow
chained to the ground, she stood next to the experienced killer,
her body pulsating as it threatened to verge into convulsions. He
pulled a white cloth from his jacket and inched it across the
blade, wiping his knife clean. He turned it over in his hand,
examining the point, before he tucked it into a sheath near his
chest. Leaning forward, he swept his hand over Mr. Rowan’s empty
eyes, closing his lids. Gunnar rolled the ends of the plastic
toward his body before shutting the trunk.
“He got what he deserved. You should feel
redeemed, but you should be more careful next time. With that
student, I mean. Errors in judgment lead to devastation. Consider
yourself,” he waited as his throat released a grotesque noise,
“notified. I don’t want to see you again.”
Delaney sputtered, unable to formulate
anything comprehensible. Instead, she stepped back, watching him
get into his black Buick. The sedan’s wheels spun as snow flew into
the air. The red taillights vanished into the white as she stood,
empty, listening to the wind thrashing against the warehouse.
10
DAY 2: Friday, December 19 – 1:00 p.m.
V swung open the back door that led into the
kitchen and slipped through, closing the door tight behind her. All
the residents of Appleton, with the exception of her, were holed up
in their houses, waiting out the storm. To her, this just meant
more time. V rubbed her white boots on the rug stamped with
“Welcome” eradicating what wetness she could. Contemplating
unlacing them, she reconsidered, just in case. She stepped forward,
hearing the slightest squeak against the wood as she moved through
the kitchen. Delaney’s living room was just a few feet ahead.
Swinging the white backpack around, V placed
it on the floor and unzipped it, revealing the small silver case.
She flicked open the clasps of the case, lifting the lid up to
expose the two circular lenses. Sliding off her white gloves, she
picked the first one up with her index finger and thumb, carefully
cradling it in her fingers before scanning the room. There was
barely anything in it. A couch. Coffee table. Mounted TV. Boxes of
unpacked belongings. Her eyes turned toward the charred fireplace
adorned with an old, wooden mantel. A built-in bookshelf to the
left of the brick had books along the first row. She would be able
to set it on a book without Delaney noticing. It wasn’t perfect,
but it would work. She slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve
her phone, sliding through the interface with ease. An image of her
body appeared on the screen. A small wave of her hand mirrored
tortured her. Delaney’s eyes traveled down to his neck where she
read the tattoo inked into his neck, 1 John 1:9 . Her body
went limp. Mr. Rowan. Richard Rowan. St. Luke’s Church. He
had aged; his hair was now gray and the fullness sucked from his
deeply scarred and pitted face. A face she would never forget. A
face that had haunted her for fourteen years.
“He was released from prison a few weeks
ago,” Gunnar began. Delaney could feel his hot, stale breath on her
neck. “I didn’t get a chance to kill him before the police got him.
Right after he raped you.” The fear in Mr. Rowan’s eyes pierced
Delaney as she felt Gunnar release her. They pleaded for help –
disgusting plea for mercy. Her feet sunk several inches into the
snow as Gunnar moved closer to the trunk. He perched his legs and
reached inside his jacket to retrieve a knife. He raised it high
above his head, pausing before he grunted his well-rehearsed chant.
The man began violently twisting along the plastic that lined the
trunk beneath him while Delaney silently begged for it to stop.
“Your sins will never be forgiven.” Gunnar
thrust the knife down, sinking it deep into his chest. Delaney’s
scream vanished as she watched Mr. Rowan’s body go lifeless in the
trunk. Blood pooled beneath his body and onto the plastic sheet.
Her legs failed her, buried deep in the snow. Her feet somehow
chained to the ground, she stood next to the experienced killer,
her body pulsating as it threatened to verge into convulsions. He
pulled a white cloth from his jacket and inched it across the
blade, wiping his knife clean. He turned it over in his hand,
examining the point, before he tucked it into a sheath near his
chest. Leaning forward, he swept his hand over Mr. Rowan’s empty
eyes, closing his lids. Gunnar rolled the ends of the plastic
toward his body before shutting the trunk.
“He got what he deserved. You should feel
redeemed, but you should be more careful next time. With that
student, I mean. Errors in judgment lead to devastation. Consider
yourself,” he waited as his throat released a grotesque noise,
“notified. I don’t want to see you again.”
Delaney sputtered, unable to formulate
anything comprehensible. Instead, she stepped back, watching him
get into his black Buick. The sedan’s wheels spun as snow flew into
the air. The red taillights vanished into the white as she stood,
empty, listening to the wind thrashing against the warehouse.
10
DAY 2: Friday, December 19 – 1:00 p.m.
V swung open the back door that led into the
kitchen and slipped through, closing the door tight behind her. All
the residents of Appleton, with the exception of her, were holed up
in their houses, waiting out the storm. To her, this just meant
more time. V rubbed her white boots on the rug stamped with
“Welcome” eradicating what wetness she could. Contemplating
unlacing them, she reconsidered, just in case. She stepped forward,
hearing the slightest squeak against the wood as she moved through
the kitchen. Delaney’s living room was just a few feet ahead.
Swinging the white backpack around, V placed
it on the floor and unzipped it, revealing the small silver case.
She flicked open the clasps of the case, lifting the lid up to
expose the two circular lenses. Sliding off her white gloves, she
picked the first one up with her index finger and thumb, carefully
cradling it in her fingers before scanning the room. There was
barely anything in it. A couch. Coffee table. Mounted TV. Boxes of
unpacked belongings. Her eyes turned toward the charred fireplace
adorned with an old, wooden mantel. A built-in bookshelf to the
left of the brick had books along the first row. She would be able
to set it on a book without Delaney noticing. It wasn’t perfect,
but it would work. She slid her hand into her pocket to retrieve
her phone, sliding through the interface with ease. An image of her
body appeared on the screen. A small wave of her hand mirrored
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