part. And that wasn’t going to happen.
Nicolas found three driveways together that led onto a short, fat peninsula; he had himself a winner.
Dan’s car was located beneath the shade of a large elm tree, two hundred feet from the road, in the driveway of a summer home that looked like it cost a Hollywood fortune. The house was big and beautiful and stylishly elegant.
Nicolas walked around the house slowly and cautiously, making note of the surrounding area. He peeked through the building’s windows with care, which were strong and thick and designed to give intruders a hard time.
He didn’t see anyone inside the house, figured Cameron and her friends were either upstairs or in the basement. Either way, it didn’t matter. He wanted to wait until the evening turned to night and the sky became black.
Nicolas returned to his car, which wasn’t far from Dan’s driveway. He opened the trunk and let out a small gasp, surprised at what he discovered.
Pauline Anderson, a.k.a., Pauline Stupid-Head, was in the trunk. She looked five years dead.
She wasn’t.
The corpse was only twenty-six days old, but her body told a different story.
Pauline’s muscles had shriveled; her skin had deteriorated. She was exceedingly dehydrated on the day she died––the day Nicolas emptied his cage, dragging her from her shit-filled pen, screaming and crying, pleading and begging, only to have her throat slit while Olive and Cathy watched in terror.
Now she looked truly monstrous, horrific.
Her lips had curled into tight stringy worms. Her eyes had fallen into her head. Chipped arrowhead teeth pointed in all directions, encased inside her purple, rotting maw. Her hands had no fingers; her feet had few toes. Her arms and legs looked like they had been embalmed, salted, and cured. The only place on her body that seemed recently deceased was her stomach, which was a soup bowl of maggots and flies.
It was hard to believe she just turned sixteen.
Nicolas scratched his ear and sighed. “I forgot about you,” he said. “I forgot you were back there. You should have told me.”
He laughed. He made a joke.
“Now where am I going to put Cameron, huh? Do you think I should let her ride up front? I don’t. My God, girl... you’ve been nothing but trouble since you were thirteen years old.”
Nicolas considered throwing the corpse in the bushes but decided against it. Uncalculated moves could only bring unwanted trouble. He was better off leaving her in the trunk. Cameron might not like being back there with a corpse but tough-tit said the shit , she’d get over it. And besides, home was only three minutes away.
He lifted a shotgun and a box of shells from beside Pauline’s corpse. He placed them on the gravel and pushed the carcass to the back of the trunk, making room for Cameron. He closed the trunk with a grunt, lifted the shotgun and the shells from the road, and walked up the driveway grinning.
Halfway to the house he stopped, listening to the sound of a door opening. He could hear people stepping outside. A man and a woman were talking.
Nicolas scratched his head.
Maybe Cameron had a husband. If so, that was bad. He didn’t like breaking up married couples, but he’d do it if he had to.
“Okay baby,” he whispered. “Daddy’s coming.” With his shotgun close to his chest he looked at the bloated moon, which was peeking up from behind a line of trees that looked healthy and green.
Soon it would be time for adoption.
10
Cameron and Daniel entered the garage. Dan clicked on the overhead light, walked past a small fishing boat, and approached a workbench.
Cameron said, “So, Daniel. Where’s the wife?”
“Home.”
“And where’s home?”
“About an hour south of here, in little town called Martinsville. You know it?”
“Everyone knows Martinsville. I went to school near there, remember? The place is famous. You didn’t know James McGee, did you? The guy that killed those
Nicolas found three driveways together that led onto a short, fat peninsula; he had himself a winner.
Dan’s car was located beneath the shade of a large elm tree, two hundred feet from the road, in the driveway of a summer home that looked like it cost a Hollywood fortune. The house was big and beautiful and stylishly elegant.
Nicolas walked around the house slowly and cautiously, making note of the surrounding area. He peeked through the building’s windows with care, which were strong and thick and designed to give intruders a hard time.
He didn’t see anyone inside the house, figured Cameron and her friends were either upstairs or in the basement. Either way, it didn’t matter. He wanted to wait until the evening turned to night and the sky became black.
Nicolas returned to his car, which wasn’t far from Dan’s driveway. He opened the trunk and let out a small gasp, surprised at what he discovered.
Pauline Anderson, a.k.a., Pauline Stupid-Head, was in the trunk. She looked five years dead.
She wasn’t.
The corpse was only twenty-six days old, but her body told a different story.
Pauline’s muscles had shriveled; her skin had deteriorated. She was exceedingly dehydrated on the day she died––the day Nicolas emptied his cage, dragging her from her shit-filled pen, screaming and crying, pleading and begging, only to have her throat slit while Olive and Cathy watched in terror.
Now she looked truly monstrous, horrific.
Her lips had curled into tight stringy worms. Her eyes had fallen into her head. Chipped arrowhead teeth pointed in all directions, encased inside her purple, rotting maw. Her hands had no fingers; her feet had few toes. Her arms and legs looked like they had been embalmed, salted, and cured. The only place on her body that seemed recently deceased was her stomach, which was a soup bowl of maggots and flies.
It was hard to believe she just turned sixteen.
Nicolas scratched his ear and sighed. “I forgot about you,” he said. “I forgot you were back there. You should have told me.”
He laughed. He made a joke.
“Now where am I going to put Cameron, huh? Do you think I should let her ride up front? I don’t. My God, girl... you’ve been nothing but trouble since you were thirteen years old.”
Nicolas considered throwing the corpse in the bushes but decided against it. Uncalculated moves could only bring unwanted trouble. He was better off leaving her in the trunk. Cameron might not like being back there with a corpse but tough-tit said the shit , she’d get over it. And besides, home was only three minutes away.
He lifted a shotgun and a box of shells from beside Pauline’s corpse. He placed them on the gravel and pushed the carcass to the back of the trunk, making room for Cameron. He closed the trunk with a grunt, lifted the shotgun and the shells from the road, and walked up the driveway grinning.
Halfway to the house he stopped, listening to the sound of a door opening. He could hear people stepping outside. A man and a woman were talking.
Nicolas scratched his head.
Maybe Cameron had a husband. If so, that was bad. He didn’t like breaking up married couples, but he’d do it if he had to.
“Okay baby,” he whispered. “Daddy’s coming.” With his shotgun close to his chest he looked at the bloated moon, which was peeking up from behind a line of trees that looked healthy and green.
Soon it would be time for adoption.
10
Cameron and Daniel entered the garage. Dan clicked on the overhead light, walked past a small fishing boat, and approached a workbench.
Cameron said, “So, Daniel. Where’s the wife?”
“Home.”
“And where’s home?”
“About an hour south of here, in little town called Martinsville. You know it?”
“Everyone knows Martinsville. I went to school near there, remember? The place is famous. You didn’t know James McGee, did you? The guy that killed those
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