Plain and simple, Claire is an abused woman who deserves to live a life in peace. But she also bore witness to a crime, and I can’t allow her the opportunity to tell someone.
Afterwards, I immediately went and found Addie and tracked her the entire time. I let her have her fun, visiting all the haunted houses and creepy carnival tents, and ride the thrill rides, all while I stayed quietly behind her, just out of sight. Making sure no one even looked at her funny without consequences.
"Where are they?" I ask, pinning my eyes back on the strange girl. Blood is already splattered across her white nightgown. I arch a brow but don’t say anything.
She nods towards the stairs. "Up in my playroom."
She begins to lead me up the stairs but stops short and looks off into the foyer, seemingly staring at something. But I see nothing.
"Stay down here until I call you guys up," she says, still staring off into space. My brow lowers as I try to figure out who the hell she's talking to. She pauses for a moment before she says, "I can handle myself," and continues up the stairs.
Well, this is fucking awkward. I've gotten myself into a lot of interesting situations over the years. Real interesting situations. But this one hits the top of the list.
Clearing my throat, I ask, "So, uh, what's your deal?"
“What do you mean, my deal?” she snaps.
“Those people you were talking to—do they not like me?” I ask, amusement prominent in my tone. I'm still not entirely sure what's going on with her. Maybe she's high off drugs, maybe she's mentally ill, or maybe she can see spirits or some shit.
“My henchmen? No. Nor do they trust you.”
Her henchmen? The fuck is this girl actually seeing? And are they supposed to be her helpers or something?
“You uh, told them to stay down there and that you can handle yourself?” I ask. “They’re not coming up too?”
She pauses on the steps, whips towards me, and throws her arm out to point behind me. "Do you see them walking behind you?"
I don't even turn to look. No one will be there. Aside from the two of us and the four men upstairs, no one else is inside this house.
I smirk. "No."
“Then there’s your answer! I don’t need my henchmen to protect me from you. And since you’re here, I figured they could sit this one out,” she explains impatiently.
So, she's mentally ill. Got it.
“Ah.”
“Ah?” she repeats, aghast. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re fucking insane, little girl. Where are these demons again, or whatever you call them?” I ask, my own tone becoming clipped.
It took five seconds to no longer give a fuck about what she's seeing. It doesn't impact me at the end of the day, so I couldn't give less of a shit at this point. If she wants to pretend there's gigantic talking bananas following me around with pitchforks, then I'll indulge her as long as I get my time with the four men waiting for me upstairs.
When she brings me into the room, they immediately start screaming. Wriggling about like worms caught on a hook. I can’t tell if Mark is screaming because he thinks I’m going to help him or kill him, but I suppose I’m going to do both. Help him atone for his sins and then kill him for it.
“Do they know you?” the doll asks, and I hum in confirmation, taking in their appearances and broken bones.
The other three men look at me like I'm the boogeyman. And that’s as Zack, the self-made millionaire. Wait until I tell them who I really am—I'm sure their faces will look like Casper’s.
I only need to learn about two things. Find out where the rituals are being held and how to get into the place, and find out if the Society is after Addie. Whatever else they have to say is no longer a concern.
“You sure no one can hear them?”
“I do this all the time,” she answers simply. I inspect her from the corner of my eye, looking her up and down.
“You kill people often?”
She’s a small thing, but the girl can fight. And by the near-constant murderous gleam in her eye, it truly doesn’t surprise me.
She shrugs. “Only the demons.”
I can’t help the small grin. “Do you call yourself the demon-slayer too?”
She snarls and stomps her foot like the child she’s dressed up to be. “You’re not funny!”
I disagree.
But instead of arguing, I turn my attention back to the matter at hand.
Just as expected, the second I rip the tape from his mouth, he starts pleading for his life. And the minute I tell Mark who I really am, his reddened face instantly drains of all blood until his skin is an ashen, grey pallor. The other three men’s faces follow suit, looking at me as if I’m the grim reaper.
I smile.
I am the fucking grim reaper.
I ignore Mark’s reminders that we were friends and his pathetic attempt to point the blame on his business partners while citing his own innocence.
It doesn’t surprise me that he’d pass off the blame so easily to others. He’s selfish, narcissistic, and a complete imbecile. And by the look on the distressed men’s face sitting next to him, they don’t think highly of him right now, either.
In the short time that I’ve known Mark, I've discovered not very many of his colleagues do.
He's loud, boisterous, and outspoken. Always trying to be the cool guy and fit in with the crowd. I've also heard through the grapevine that Mark tends to disagree with a lot of his colleague’s political views. Always voting opposite on bills within his own party.
Don't give two fucks about politics either, at least not the kind that deals with laws and regulations. I break those on a daily basis. The fuck would I care about what laws are getting passed when I've never applied them to my life anyway?
I also manage to piss off the demon-slayer when she starts whining about not getting to kill them yet.
“By all means, start the killing,” I say, gesturing towards Miller, Jack, and Robert. “Don’t let me stop your demon-slaying.”
The air whistles, my only indication that some type of weapon is on its way to plowing into my head like the asteroids that killed off the dinosaurs. I jerk to the side, watching the blade sluice right past my head and into Mark’s gut.
That looks like it fucking hurts.
And then she goes off the deep end, tackling Robert and stabbing him until he's literally mush. Despite the fact that he's no longer a solid mass, she keeps going. It’s when Mark starts puking that I’ve had enough.
Sighing, I get up and walk over to her, grabbing her hand and stopping her from her inane stabbing. She's got strength and energy, that's for sure. It takes a lot to stab someone repeatedly. It's more exhausting than people give it credit for. Stabbing someone even up to a hundred times with the force she's using would have a grown man panting for breath.
And while a thin layer of sweat coats her made-up face, she looks like she's ready for more.
“Now you’re going to stop me from demon-slaying?!” she shrieks, her voice pitched so high, it nearly makes me cringe. God. Fucking women and their screeching.
“Little girl, there’re quite a few things you need to get serious help for, but I’d say anger management is top of the list.”
She stares at me, her face starting to get twitchy. She looks like a malfunctioning robot, and I'd say that this experience now takes the number one spot of the interesting situations I've gotten myself into.
She looks on the verge of exploding, so I reign in my temper and demand, “Look at me.”