Uncovered Project: I'm Your Boogeyman Part Six

Chapter Eight: Ring of Fire

Cecy stuffed the blanket into the heating duct and stared harshly at it. She looked down at the vent cover in her hand then tossed it so it clanged against the door.

“Where the hell is she?” She spat at the gagged vent. She then jumped down from off the bed. The room was sweltering. Cecy had already taken off her pants and shirt and was walking around in an oversized t-shirt she had found shoved in the back of the chest of drawers.

“What if the blanket catches fire?” Zeke asked, looking up at the blanket dripping out of the duct above his head. 

“It wouldn’t matter now,” Cecy panted as she pulled the collar of the shirt in and out to create a faux breeze. “I’d welcome a cool inferno at this point.”

Zeke turned his head to watch Cecy continue her pacing. “Why do you think this is happening?”

Cecy snapped her eyes at him. “Why do you?”

Zeke shrunk under her gaze and turned to look at the wall.

“Shit,” Cecy scoffed and tore her fingers through her hair. “They’re doing this to drive us crazy.” She cackled, “lock all the doors so we’re confined and secluded. Crank up the heat to make us desperate…” she suddenly trailed off. “Make us kill each other.”

Zeke stiffened up in his bed.

“Oh don’t be such a simpering idiot,” Cecy sneered as she laid back on the floor. She closed her eyes and exhaled, “I killed Stuart out of self defense. I’m not gonna kill you while you’re on bed rest. That’s dishonorable. Same as stabbing someone in the back.”

“You aren’t going to lay there and tell me you never kicked a person while they were down?” Zeke panted.

Cecy smirked to herself. “Of course not. Have you not seen my rap sheet? Every single one deserved what they got. Well…” She opened back up her eyes and stared up at the ceiling done up with a French lace paint job and cracking at the corners. “There was one I did get while his back was turned.” Her mouth hung open momentarily before she shut her jowls shut and grinded her teeth.

“Cecy?”

“That was a long time ago,” Cecy croaked and rolled over onto her side. “Can you just shut up for a five minuets?”

Zeke sat up and looked over at her on the floor. He couldn’t see her face so he laid back down and stared up at the gagged vent. Everyone he killed had been an immoral sacrifice. All of them had been vulnerable and helpless. Then again, Zeke thought, he was a horrible coward. Always had been always will be.

The thought of Cecy fighting someone twice her size was nearly a cartoonishly insane idea. Cecy couldn’t of weighed more than a hundred pounds and she was no more than five feet three inches tall. She was a veritable pixie. Most of the famous kills on Cecy’s list had all been ogres. Big men with big kills. How on earth did she manage to take them down like the White Knight? Then again, what did Cecy consider honorable?

What Zeke didn’t know was that Cecy was laying on the ground with her eyes wide open and unblinking. From her spot she could see directly underneath the door and directly out into the hallway. She looked up along the sides of the door. The hinges were mechanical but looked normal aside from the wires.

“Gotta get out,” Cecy whispered to herself. “Gotta get out.” She reached out and touched one of the hinges. It was warm. Her finger trailed up to a little yellow wire and she twisted her pinky around it. 

“If I pull it there’s a good chance the door will open,” she tugged slightly then stopped and pulled her hand away.

“Then again, there is an equally high chance I’ll be stuck in here forever.” She slowly slipped her pinky back under the yellow cord. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and just get electrocuted.” She smirked pleasantly to herself. “That’s my safety net.” She then pulled her hand back for a second time and sighed.

“I just better sit back and wait. Patience is a virtue and all that bullshit.” She closed her eyes and held her breath. She could remember making a game of it when she was little. She would sit there and see if she could hold her breath the entire length of a tunnel or until someone thought she drowned in the pool. That was Cecy’s favorite game in fact, playing dead. She used to could lay still for hours without so much as a noise or a subtle movement. Her favorite place to play this game was on the sidewalk or underneath her neighbors parked cars. When she was bored once in jail she even played it with her neck resting on the rim of the toilet. 

Cecy decided to play her favorite game now and see if Those Who Watched noticed anything. Maybe they’d turn off the heat and open the doors so Zeke could call for help. She was supposed to be killed not simply die gracefully.

Back in the early days Cecy had wanted to go as quickly as possible. During her terrible years of middle school and puberty Cecy had decided to take her favorite game up a notch. First she had tried to get beaten to death by enraging some gang members. The next time she had thrown herself out into on coming traffic. Then she tried to walk into the lion exhibit at the zoo. Of course nothing ever happened. The gang just ignored her. Someone pulled her out of the way in time before a car hit her. And then a guard caught her before she could hop the lion’s fence. And all she got from it was people calling her gutsy and stupid. 

People said Cecy was theatrical. But when it came right down to the bare bone facts Cecy was just thinking logically. Which way would seem more like an accident than deliberately? Which would be easier to clean up? Which one would make her feel more? Feelings, that’s all Cecy ever wanted. Unfortunately it was in killing that she discovered that wonderful warm rush of…things. But Cecy realized all to well that what she was doing was wrong and she tried to find other things to bring about that warm rush. She tried sex, but she found that uncomfortable and embarrassing. She tried drugs, but once again the experience was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Burrowing herself into studies and education sufficed her but very barely. 

It was during a very interesting trail involving a convicted rapist and child molester that Cecy was playing a caring juror that something ideal struck her. The monster was let go due to the lack of evidence. Everyone knew the evil son-of-a-bitch did it. He was going back out into the world where he could stick his crooked little dick into anything her wanted unwontedly again. No one wanted this guy around anymore. Who would care if he suddenly wound up…gone? Cecy would care, she thought, because she’d feel something. She’d feel pride in a job well done, even if it were illegal.

“Fuck it,” Cecy suddenly snapped out of playing dead and reached out for the wire. She reached out and grabbed the yellow wire with her entire fist. She went to pull it and the doorknob jiggled. It clicked and twisted around and the door came open slowly.

“I was calling you,” Lana murmured. In both hands she held the door. Her right hand she held the doorknob, in the left was the key still stuck in the lock.

“You actually did it?” Cecy asked, her hand still clutched to the yellow cord she was so stunned.

Lana sneered down at her and rolled her eyes. She yanked out the key and side-stepped. “Yes.”

Cecy slowly started to sit up. “Why?”

“Why?” Lana scoffed loudly. “Because you said-”

“This is all about that phone call the other night. Isn’t it?” Cecy grunted as she stood up, “or did you do something?”

Lana’s mouth flapped open and closed wordlessly. 

“Which is it?”

Lana closed her mouth with a pop and turned away from the door. Cecy smirked to herself then turned herself and grabbed Zeke’s side-table and placed it in front of the door.

“Stay,” she ordered. But Zeke could of sworn she was speaking to him. The door would of said Cecy was commanding him.

Cecy darted out into the hallway where she saw that Lana had already gone and unlocked her own bedroom and Adam’s bedroom doors.

“Adam is in the pantry,” Cecy said to Lana who was looking at Cecy’s bedroom door inquisitively.

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” Lana shrieked.

“Why didn’t you just leave me and Zeke to rot?” Cecy retorted snappishly.

“I can’t take that smell!” Lana bit back her frustrated tears. But even if she had cried Cecy would of mistaken the tears for sweat. “Not after Stewart. And that damn furnace scares me!”

Cecy was struck by this insight into Lana’s peroxide-drenched head. “Okay,” Cecy murmured. “Just curious was all.”

Lana tossed the key and Cecy and hit her in the chest. “You take it,” she hissed and turned away to her room. “I don’t want it anymore.”

The key was warm and moist from Lana’s palm. Cecy looked up as Lana stormed down the hallway, she cocked her head onto her shoulder and half smiled. “Thank you.” She went to each room and unlocked the doors, inspecting to see if anyone else had been locked in their quarters. She saw no one.

“Well…” she murmured as she stood in Zeke’s doorway.

“What’s wrong?” Zeke asked.

Cecy shook her head and reached for Zeke’s side table to pick up the hot-pink plastic cup. “You look like you could use a cup of water.” She murmured quietly.

She went down the hallway and stopped just before the pantry door. She heard panting and groaning and soft, repetitive thuds. She stared at the door and took the key in one hand and the doorknob in the other, dropping the plastic cup in the process. The thuds slowed, hesitated. 

Cecy unlocked the door then placed the key into her pocket as she twisted the knob and stepped inside. She first saw the jaw of internal organs sitting on the shelf she then followed upwards to the old sunken sofa and saw Adam.

“Oh,” Cecy murmured, smirking ever so slightly. “Excuse me.”

Adam looked at her, watched her as she stood there watching. He dropped his hands and went to stand.

Cecy‘s smile faded and her lip hooked over her teeth. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

“I won’t hurt you,” Adam rasped.

“Bullshit,” Cecy turned to exit but Adam was much to quick. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from the door. The door slammed shut and locked again. Adam pulled Cecy into him and buried his face into her neck.

“You smell so good,” he purred.

“Get off of me!” Cecy growled, but she stood perfectly still.

Adam’s tongue traced the outline of her neck and down onto her shoulder. His hand reached up the oversized shirt she had changed into and grabbed onto her breast, tugging gently on them.

“Let me fuck you and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

“Pervert,” Cecy huffed. “Damn sex addict.”

“You aren’t fighting me,” Adam laughed, kissing the back of her neck. “In fact I think you’re enjoying yourself as much as-” Cecy grabbed onto his crotch and twisted, twisted as hard as she could until Adam’s knees buckled underneath him and he collapsed, wordless and gasping, face even redder than before, almost purple.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Cecy whispered. “And yes, I do intend the god awful pun,” she hissed, spitting in his face. “What was it my Grandmother used to say?” She thought for a moment before smirking and laughing. “May your testicles wither and your children die as pickled sperm!” She turned and unlocked the door, making sure to close it gently behind her. She dipped down to pick up the plastic cup and went into the kitchen where Lana was sobbing at the kitchen table.

“You always cry when you do something nice?” Cecy asked as she hovered over the sink, filling the cup with cold tap water.

“You-you-you don’t understand what its like for me!” Lana whined.

Cecy sighed, “no I certainly do not. I only know what my experiences are.” She shut off the water and sat the cup on the counter. “So that means you can’t understand what its like for me.”

Lana sobbed loudly, like a small sonic boom. “But I have a child!”

“And that’s a great loss for the child,” Cecy huffed. “We all have our baggage, our worries, our hopes on the outside but you don’t see us crying over them.”

“That’s because none of you have any souls!”

Cecy snorted, “good thing I don’t believe in such things.”

“See?” Lana stood up from the table. “How could you possibly understand how hard it is for me to be here, somewhere I don’t belong. But you…you deserve this.”

“And I fully agree with you,” Cecy chuckled. “But stop playing the damsel in distress,” she growled suddenly. “There’s no one here who is going to take any pity on you so just shut the hell up and deal with your problems like the rest of us. In silence!”

Lana let out and scream and lurched over the table at Cecy. She grabbed onto Cecy’s neck and dug her nails into her skin. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” She yowled like a rabid cat. “I hate you! I hate you so much! Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

Cecy kneed Lana in the stomach and rolled her off the top of her. She touched the bleeding welts running across her neck and quickly stood. She reached up and picked the cup from the counter and splashed it in Lana’s face.

“Leave you alone?” Cecy coughed. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

Lana charged at Cecy again but Cecy jumped out of the way and tossed a chair in her way. “All you’ve done is try and get in my way. You’ve brown nosed me. You’ve screamed at me. Now you’re trying to kill me! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re the one-” Lana heaved, wiping her dripping face, smearing her running makeup into a sort of sad clown face. “You! You! You!”

“Leave me the hell alone,” Cecy was crying now. “Why won’t anyone just leave me alone?” She started breathing in heavy and they slowly became quicker and deeper. She became blue around the eyes, her cheeks a rosy purple. 

Lana eyes got wide. “What’re you doing?”

Cecy gasped and clutched at her chest.

“What’re you doing?” Lana screamed.

Cecy stumbled, moving towards Lana with out stretched hands. Lana screamed and pushed Cecy, pushed her into the wall and then down the stairs where Cecy fell and tumbled, hitting each step like a stone bouncing on a water. Lana slammed the door shut, holding it there until she heard the lock turn and click. She stood there even longer, waiting for a sound, waiting for Cecy to start screaming or crying. But there was no sound, only the hum of Satan in the furnace.

Lana’s lips pulled up into tight, pinched corners, arching up towards her ears. She giggled wiped at her eyes, completing her sad clown face. She turned, picked up the hot pink cup and refilled it with water. She took it to Zeke’s room and sat it on his side table. She then went to her room and laid down on her bed, closing her eyes and falling asleep.

w

Zeke woke up and turned to see the hot pink cup sitting on his beside table. The water was warm and he was covered in a thick layer of sticky sweat. The heat was unbearable. Didn’t Cecy say she was going to turn it off?

He sat erect and picked up the cup. It was smudged with what looked like crayon and chalk. He ran his finger along the big red smudge and determined it was lipstick. He sat it back down and weakly moved to put his feet on the ground and stand up. In the hallway he noticed every door was closed except for the five occupied bedrooms. Only Stuart’s room was still shut. 

Down the hallway and at the pantry door he could hear whimpering and cursing. It was hard for him to tell but he figured it was Adam. As he walked passed Lana’s room and saw her fast asleep in bed. He stepped inside and stood over her, watching her sleep peacefully with a smeared death mask. She looked like a horribly mutated clown, disfigured by chemical makeup and years of self abuse. 

He turned and walked away and directly into Cecy’s room. Her bed was made and the room was basically clean save for the busted up walls and the fact anything that hung on the wall was ripped down and placed on the ground just below its original post. He sat down on the edge of her bed, recuperating from his first actual activity in days. He felt under her pillow and produced the slice of mirror that had sliced into Stuart. It was clean and spotless, save for the tape handle which was stained with blood, palm sweat, and dirt. 

If Cecy wasn’t here where was she? Zeke stood back up, this time with more effort and managed to walk into the kitchen. The floor was wet and all the chairs were tossed and thrown about the kitchen in odd positions. He saw the basement door and stared at it, noticed the flesh colored chalk painting the knob, the lipstick smudge on the white paint exactly where a mouth would be on a human.

He grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It opened. When he pulled the door back he noticed the key in the lock but when he stared down the stairs he saw no one.

He had been kept in the basement as a child and he liked it there. His own private little underworld where no one could reach him beyond the cinderblock walls. Those walls blocked out all the voices, all the taunting teasing voices of his classmates. No one understood poor scrawny Zeke Daniels, no one ever did. Then again Zeke never understood anyone either. That was, until-

“Cecy,” Zeke called out with a cracking voice. He placed his foot down on the first stair. “Cecy, are you down there?” The churning and rattling of the furnace was his only response. He had to stop suddenly and cling to the wall. The pain in his lower abdomen was excruciating. It was almost as if the wire hanger was still inside him. He licked his lips and heaved then continued on down the stairs.

His feet rested in the cool earth of the basement floor. He looked right towards the furnace and left towards the stacks and stacks of kindling. Then amongst the wood he saw the little door flutter open and shut. He walked towards it, seeing it looked like some antique kitchen appliance and he braced open the door. There was water inside, pooling at the bottom of the ancient appliance. He touched his fingers to it and brought them to his nose, smelling the aroma. Rust. No. Blood. He stepped sideways from the mysterious box and licked his fingers. He stopped short and noticed something under the stairs.

It was white and shapeless, a huge tarpaulin wrapped up and around something like an odd burrito. He pulled back at the tarpaulin and saw the spill of frothy red hair. Inside he saw Cecy fast asleep, her face pale and her eyes twitching violently behind her eyelids. Zeke unrolled her from her cocoon and noticed her swollen lip, dried blood caked in the corner of her lips. Her knees and legs were scarped and bruised, looking as if a cheese grater had been taken to them. Zeke touched her face but she didn’t stir. He could feel her breath on the back of his hand and the heartbeat in her wrist was as normal as his knowledge led him to believe. He saw blood staining the tarpaulin and pooling under her back. Slowly he lifted up Cecy’s shirt and saw her blood soaked underwear. Zeke’s breath caught in his throat and his mouth went dry and hot as if cotton had caught fire. He reached down and touched the pool of her menstrual blood. He then moved his hand upwards and touched the underwear themselves. He pulled back and put his fingers back into his mouth. The flavor was different from the blood in the box.

Cecy stirred, sifting in her own juices. She opened her eyes and saw Zeke standing over her. She took in a deep breath then let it out in a low whimper. “Help me,” she whined helplessly. “I can’t…”

Zeke sat down beside her and lowered his ear to her mouth. Cecy reached up suddenly and kissed his cheek. Zeke turned his head and met her soft lips. Cecy bit his bottom lip and tugged then she released and looked into his eyes. 

“Help me,” she repeated.

“How?”

Cecy licked her lips, “did you get the key?”

Zeke nodded, “yeah,” he lied. The key was still in the lock at the top of the stairs.

“Go to the pantry,” Cecy murmured. “Unlock the door and let Adam out. Bring him down here.”

“Adam?” Zeke sneered. “What about William?”

Cecy shook her head. “Adam. Go get Adam in the pantry.”

“I can help you,” Zeke insisted.

“No. No you can’t help me. You couldn’t…” her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed it back. “Hurry and just go get Adam.”

Zeke lowers himself back over Cecy and puts his hand in her menstrual blood. Cecy seizes up and stares at him with violent daggers. “Zeke,” she snarled, “don’t!”
Zeke pulled back up harshly and sneered. “Fine, I’ll go get Adam.” His lip curled as he spoke. He then turned and slowly hobbled back up the stairs. He took the key from the door and then closed the door loudly behind him.

Zeke stood motionless in the kitchen staring at the horrible checkered linoleum floors. The floor looked exactly like his old kitchen back home in Louisville. Once a year his foster parents would replace it and always with the same pattern and design. Always the same amount. Always the same flooring outlet. Always the same. Always. Then one years they discovered the manufacturer had quit carrying their beloved linoleum floors. Zeke could remember getting excited, picturing how the kitchen would look with maybe a nice marble white linoleum or even the kind with small green dots. Then he thought about wood flooring and how he was learning about it in shop class. He pictured him and his foster father putting it down together.

“Oh well,” Foster Mother said dismissively. “The floor we have now will last for a while.”

Zeke’s heart sank. He hated that checkered flooring and he hated watching it dirty and mold beneath him and curl at the edges which required more work than needed in keeping them down. Stacks appeared in all the corners and the flat edges leading out the door and into the living room were hidden with horrible rugs that always tripped and stumbled one.

When questioned as to why they didn’t simply buy a new type of flooring the foster mother replied, “well, kids need stability. Especially children in your situation, honey.”

It was just flooring, Zeke thought.

Zeke finally broke his staring contest with the linoleum and looked up and out of the kitchen across the living room and at the pantry door. But first Zeke went to the hall closest and produced several fresh towels. 

When he unlocked the door to the pantry and opened it he saw Adam standing there staring as heavily as Zeke had at the linoleum at the shelving, studying each article of food like they were a shooting line. He was shirtless and his pants were unbuttoned but zipped.

“What?” Adam mumbled, not even bothering to look up.

Zeke motioned the towels up. “Cecy is in the basement. She’s hurt.”

Adam turned at this and looked at him. His eyebrows arched up and his mouth formed into a tight line.

“Take these,” Zeke handed Adam the towels but Adam didn’t take them. “She’s asking for you,” Zeke continued. “And there’s blood so you’ll need these towels.”

Adam took the stack of towels and stuffed them under his arm. “She’s bleeding? What happened?”

“I she fell down the stairs. I don’t think the blood is from the fall though. It’s…well…the blood is from…”

Adam looked down at the towels and then back up at Zeke. “How’d you unlock the doors?”

Zeke held up the key. “Lana had it but gave it back to Cecy. I think Lana pushed Cecy down the stairs.”

At this Zeke saw a fire in Adam’s eyes and flame Zeke wished Adam would use on Lana. Lana scared Zeke, pretty women always did.

“I’ll unlock the door for you,” Zeke closed the key back into his fist. “But you can’t have it.”

“That’s fine,” Adam stepped out the door, sliding by Zeke. “Why didn’t you just eat her when you had the chance?” The stinging tone of sarcasm laced his voice.

“I am hungry for Cecy, but not in the way you think.”

“No,” Adam turned, correcting him. “It’s exactly what I think.”

Zeke unlocked the basement door and Adam stepped down into the darkness, fading away. Zeke stayed to listen, waiting for some voice or noise to assure his next move.

“Holy shit,” Adam hissed upon seeing Cecy. “You alright?”

“No,” Cecy croaked. “Those towels?”

“Yeah. I got them for you.”

Zeke closed the door and slid slowly down the wood and onto the linoleum. After what seemed like a few days a knock came at the door. Zeke slowly lifted his head but did nothing to make his presence known.

“Hey, Zeke,” Adam called. “Do you think you could look in the bathroom for any sort of, uh-hum, lady things,” Zeke was surprised by how flapped Adam sounded just at the thought of sanitary napkins and tampons. “Maybe some aspirin or something too?”

Zeke stood up, “okay.” He murmured. He suddenly felt very weak and realized how much exertion he had put on himself. After he retrieved what Cecy needed he’d go back to bed.

The bathroom of course was locked so Zeke had to struggle with the lock. The carpet at his feet was wet. And when he finally pushed open the door he noticed the whole floor was flooded. He worked his way up from the puddle of water that slowly darkened from clear to pink and to red. He then looked up to the tub where he saw the bloated and somewhat blue arms and legs akimbo over the edges. 

Zeke turned and dipped down under the sink where he produced a box ox tampons and then reached up to open the medicine cabinet/mirror and fetch a bottle of some aspirin that also helped one get to sleep. He turned slightly back towards the tub and reached up above it to retrieve a towel with which he mopped up some of the floor then put it over his shoulder. Cecy would need a wet towel to mop herself up with even if it was a little bloody already.

He went back to the stairs and unlocked the basement door where Adam was sitting on the top stair. He looked up at him and stood then reached out to take them.

“By the way,” Zeke spoke a little loudly so Cecy could hear him as well. “William is dead.”

He heard a low moan of the furnace below from below. 

Then Cecy murmured, “oh. Well…oh no.” For a moment Zeke thought he heard Cecy sob, but this was only the low guttural sound of the furnace. 

“How?” Cecy called back.

“Suicide I think,” Zeke replied. “He cut his wrists, but I think what did it was him drowning in the tub. Thought you’d like to know was all.”

“Oh. Sure,” her voice trailed off. “Thanks.”

Zeke looked at Adam. “You may want to prop a chair before the door.” Then he turned away. “I’m going to bed.”

“You can give me the key,” Adam replied, hopeful.

Zeke smirked. “No. I really can’t.”

Chapter Nine: William 

William, by all means, was a normal child. He had hard working middle class parents, his father was a carpenter and his mother was an elementary school teacher. He had an older brother and a younger sister, so aside from having a middle child complex his life was actually quite ordinary. 

In the Guthrie household once a child reached a certain age they were allowed to pick out one pet they would take care of themselves. William picked a dog that he named Grover. One day Grover went missing.

William’s father pulled his bereft son aside one day a week after Grover’s disappearance. “Now, Willy, you know that Grover may never come back.”

“But why?”

“Well, a great many reasons why,” his father replied. “But one reason is that Grover may be dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, but its nothing to be afraid of. Grover will be in heaven, Willy. It doesn’t get much better than heaven.”

Little William thought about this. He had heard about heaven, he heard it in his father’s Presbyterian bible study and at mass at mother’s Catholic church. It was at that point William began to think that is heaven was so much better than life here then why didn’t everyone just die? As he grew up he realized that some people did just that. 

When William was eighteen his thirteen year old sister, Angie, killed herself. William was away at college when he received the news. When he told his student councilor she seemed very empathetic towards him.

“Its always a hard thing to digest, death, especially when its in the family,” she turned to look out the window as she spoke. “But when its self inflicted-”

“But she was so young, that’s what I can’t understand,” William muttered, sounding like some beaten dog. “I can understand why someone old would do it but why her? She was pretty and everyone liked her, she had even just started a fund to help needy kids with her band class. So why would she-”

The councilor smiled softly and she handed William and cigarette. “You’ve never been a teenaged girl so I suppose you wouldn’t know what its like.” She lit her cigarette and took a deep, long drag. “I’m sorry,” she exhaled a cloud. “I shouldn’t say that to you.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

She sighed, “well, you’ll pretty much coast from here. Death in a family normally does that for you, but as to what you actually do with yourself,” she shrugged then put a soft smile, “I can’t say. Heal. Grow. Live. I’d start there.”

“When I was young I had a dog and he ran away,” William said suddenly. “My dad told me that I shouldn’t get my hopes up, that my dog is probably dead. He said that that was alright that heaven was better than living on earth.”

The councilor looked stunned, “how old were you?”

“Pretty young. I can see now that my father was being pretty tactless with telling his grieving son that. And now that’s the only wisdom I can look back on for my sister. She’s happier, she’s in heaven, she’s better off than me. I should be sad that she’s gone,” his voice was becoming nothing more than a whisper. “But I’m actually sad for me.”

The councilor stubbed out her cigarette and reached across her desk to pat William on the head. “In a way, that’s what grief is. We’re mourning the part of us that died with them.”

When William went home he surprised his mother’s family by how big he had gotten. It was true, William was a giant of a young man he stood a full head above his older brother and he was as strong as an ox. But it was his eldest uncle he took a particular notice in this.

“I need good help,” he said taking William aside. “Its pretty dirty work, Willy boy, but that kind of hard work is good during hard times. Keeps your mind off the dark spots.”

“Sure, I’ll take a go at it,” William agreed and after a week home moved into his uncle’s massive estate. He knew his uncle was well off, but he never knew how much so until he stepped into that massive mansion. He then learned why his mother wasn’t on speaking terms with most of her family.

Mafia was such a glorified world, William used to think when he did work for his uncle who used his restaurant as a front for his actual business. The work was most certainly dirty, much more so than the movies let on. Although William wasn’t allowed into the deepest of shit until he turned twenty-one. It was also in this age where adolescence gave way to maturity that William killed his first man.

It had been a quick and sudden thing. He and his uncle’s car had gotten shot out and everything became this big blur before William’s eyes. Cars and mean came out of woodworks, William being one of them, and guns rained bullets like manna from heaven. William shot a man pointblank and directly between the eyes.

William liked it so he talked to his uncle afterwards about putting him under his friend Ulysses who was the best shot in the group and was always out on special assignments. His uncle didn’t like the idea but Ulysses liked the idea and so he placed William in his care.

It was the best time of William’s life. He traveled the world, earned a retiring sized fortune before he turned twenty-five, slept with all sorts of women, and killed a number of very important men.

“You’re good,” Ulysses laughed one night. “Better than me.” He placed his hat on a hook on the door and smiled at William. “So I suppose I’ll see you around,” he laughed as he left.

So for years after William did work for his uncle and various other clients. He thought of Ulysses from time to time, wondering where the old man was now and what he was doing. He had taught William everything, how to hunt your prey properly, how to think like them and research them. William, as fun, had studied all his favorite celebrities and politicians and came up with ways on how he would assassinate them. 

He then learned that Ulysses was dead. Not long after he had hung up his hat for good he was found dead in his home, a bullet through his temple. Was it possible, William thought, that Ulysses would kill himself?

No. There must be some explanation.

William began digging, learning more about Ulysses trying to find something, someone, that would explain his death. William discovered he had been seeing a therapist. Maybe he did kill himself. He then contact the therapist and stole files from him. From those files he learned Ulysses had been talking about his business, William’s business. Maybe he didn’t off himself, maybe he was killed off by the people he talked about. Maybe my uncle.

“He talked, Will,” his uncle said when William asked him pointblank. “When you talk you will more than likely stop talking.”

“And you never thought to tell me this?”

“You two were pretty close and even though its bad for my health I care for you, Will. You’re more son to me than anyone. But I suppose, if you’re that, then you deserved to know. I’m sorry, kid.”

So William went back to work. He started taking less and less from his uncle and started taking more and more work from various other clients. He was in high demand and before too long amassed a very nice fortune for himself. But unlike Ulysses he couldn’t find a place to stop and hang up his hat. He enjoyed the work even more so than the pay. He liked the hunt. He liked the people.

One day he was contacted by Arthur Caruso, big brother to Martin Caruso a bought politician and hidden child molester and killer. He was hired to kill someone who William was shocked to learn was no older than he was when he first started the business. She was a pretty young girl but in her eyes William noticed that she looked somewhat disturbed. Her eyes were blue, crystal clear, but they looked black. He learned that Caruso thought she killed his brother. They had been dating for a while and suddenly his brother was gone and she showed nothing for it, but little brother knew something was up with the pretty little redhead.

William tailed her for a few days, following her to Athens, Georgia where she lived near the college and worked in a record store despite the fact she had studied at Brown in medicine and law. She liked to visit bars but was never one for becoming a a part of that night life. William found himself strangely attracted to this girl and he found himself very hesitant to kill her.

William returned the money to Arthur Caruso and said, “I quit.”

“You can’t quit,” Caruso sneered.

“I just did,” William laughed.

Caruso pulled out a gun but William was much quicker.

Chapter Ten: Don’t Speak

“Well shit,” Doug gaped breathlessly as he signed the waver. “Never saw that coming.”

“Couldn’t see it coming is more like it,” Emma said with a demur smirk. “The bathroom is our blind spot.”

“You’re just happy Cecy didn’t die when she fell down them stairs!” Doug snapped angrily, nearly coming across the table at Emma.

Clancy grabbed at Doug’s arm and pulled him back. “You’re done here, Doug. We’ll call and let you know later.”

Doug sneered across the room at Emma then topped off his head with his hat and ushered himself out of the room. The rest sat silently for a moment, listening to the hum of the monitors and watching the cool black and white images move that ghosts through shadows. Emma sighed loudly.

“What?” Clancy grunted.

“Oh nothing,” she rapped her fingers against the tabletop. “Just bored is all. Ever since we started Edgar’s little game nothing has been happening.” She looked up at the screen then gasped suddenly, “well except for William and the Lana vs. Cecy thing but…” she rolled her hands in the air. “Not much.”

“Maybe we should just unlock the doors after all,” Clancy murmured.

“What’s the point? They have the key,” Emma groaned.

The door opened and Eleanor came into the room. “I saw Doug leaving,” she glanced around the room. “Did William die?”

“Suicide,” Emma answered.

“We think,” Edgar sneered. 

“Oh,” Eleanor took off her coat and sat down. “That certainly is interesting, now isn’t it?” She picked up her clipboard and looked it over then turned to the monitors. “I see Adam and Cecy are acting some what chummy again.”

“Not really…” Edgar growled.

Eleanor sat down and sighed. “Cecy fell?”

“Lana pushed her,” Clancy explained. 

Edgar gurgled a laugh. “Cat fight.”

Eleanor swallowed and ignored Edgar. “Is she okay?”

Emma pointed to the screen where Adam was pulling Cecy from the cocoon she had made for herself. Her arms and legs coated in blood. “Something happened during the fall.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Eleanor asked, breathless.

Clancy scoffed. “Does it look like she’s alright to you?”

“Where’s all that blood coming from?” Eleanor asked pointing. “I don’t see any major wounds on her.”

Emma shook her head. “It’s her period.”

Eleanor started. “But-”

“Can we all just shut up?” Clancy snapped. He motioned towards the screens with a violent gesture. “Listen.”

“Why do you trust me with you?” Adam asked Cecy.

“Zeke is still sick.” Cecy answered. Adam lifted her leg slightly to wipe her clean with the towel. “And I caught him licking my blood.”

“Really?” Adam laughed.

“It isn’t funny.” Cecy snipped harshly. “If he were strong enough he’d kill you.”

Adam scoffed. “I would love to see him try.”

“You’re more disgusting than he is in my eyes.”

Eleanor leaned over to Emma and tapped her on the shoulder. “I feel as if something transpired between them.”

Emma nodded. “She caught him masturbating and then he tried to grab her to rape her.”

A disgusted look washed over Eleanor’s face and she settled back into her seat. She fanned herself then. “Oh. Oh I see then.”

Emma smiled amusedly. Her eyes wandered over to Clancy who got up from his seat and made his way out of the door. Emma followed after him a few moments later and found him standing in the hallway looking out the window.

“Clancy?” She asked.

“Did someone else kill themselves?” Clancy asked, not even turning to face Emma as she came to stand beside him.

“No. Of course not.” Emma leaned over to look at his face. “How is Savannah doing?”

Clancy exhaled loudly. “Dammit.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Her psychiatrist says she needs help.” Clancy muttered. “And I don’t mean medication for ADD or some shit like that. I mean actual help.”

Emma patted Clancy’s hand on the railing. “She’s been through a lot of stress recently. It’s only natural that she’d-”

“No,” Clancy seethed, finally turning to face Emma. “The doctor says Savannah has psychotic tendencies that if they go unchecked-” he stopped and hung his head, turning back towards the window slowly. “What the fuck am I to do with that?”

Emma sighed. “Back when I was a social worker I had to deal with a family in which the grandfather repeatedly beat and raped his two granddaughters who were left with him and his wife. One day the youngest girl came home pregnant.”

Clancy looked up at Emma with his brow lowered and his jaw dropped in disgust. Emma smiled at him and continued. “Now it wasn’t the grandfather’s. No. He’d let anyone touch those little girls. Well, the grandfather died, luckily, and the girl had the baby. She was only twelve or thirteen at the time. I took the baby she had and as the girl grew up we became friends and she still got to see the child. But I knew the girl wasn’t right. No. She had this look to her eyes.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“A lot of things. A lot of deeply horrible things. But she tried to act as if they weren’t there.” Emma met Clancy’s eye. “One day her sister killed herself and the baby.”

Clancy’s jaw dropped further.

“She was babysitting for me.” Emma continued. 

Clancy inched closer. “What happened to the girl?”

Emma lifted her head back towards the screen room. “You best get Savannah whatever help she needs. Yes it’s scary but,” she turned back to Clancy and smiled. “In the long run it will be worth it.” She turned back away and went towards the screen room.

Clancy stared hard after her, hesitating at first then going back to the room where, when he sat down, he looked up to the screen to see Cecy sitting alone in the basement.

Her knees were pulled to her chest. She was completely naked sitting on the tarpaulin in front of the furnace. Fresh blood had pooled underneath her because she refused to use a tampon or pad. She was staring into the fire. The shadows of the flames echoed on her pale face and in her dark eyes.

There was a thud and her head turned up to see the basement door open. A body fell limp against the top of the stairs and slumped down. The dark hair covering the face like a curtain. Adam came up behind and gave a great push. The body came tumbling and crumbling down the stairs. It made hollow slapping sounds as it hit against itself. Cecy turned back to the furnace as it hit the last few bottom stairs. 

“He’s a heavy bastard.” Adam grunted as he came down the stairs and kicked William’s body down onto the dirt floor.

Cecy grimaced. “He didn’t deserve that.”

Adam gave Cecy a horrible, dirty look. “How the fuck was I suppose to carry him then?”

Cecy shook her head. “I liked him. He was nice to me. He saw me.”

“Well that’s very comforting.” Adam sneered. He opened up the door to the furnace and pulled out the slab. “You aren’t going to want to be down here when he starts to bake.” He tossed Cecy a towel and a robe.

“It’s a funeral. I should at least make an appearance.” Cecy murmured.

As Adam placed William onto the metal slab his skin sizzled. Cecy squirmed a little then and turned away as Adam fixed William the best he could on the slab. Adam forced him into the fire then closed the door.

“Ashes to literal ashes.” Adam muttered,

“It’ll all be so clean for them.” Cecy murmured. “Just burn it all.” She shook her head dismissively. “Just let it all burn.” She stood up and Adam watched. Her body was sickly thin. Her ribs jutted out about just as much as Zeke’s. Cecy wrapped the towel around her waist first and then she placed on the robe.

“What happened to you?” Adam finally asked.

“Something inside me opened up.” Cecy answered blankly. She clutched the robe tight around her chest. “Something that has been closed for a very long time.”

Adam licked his lips. “Will you be alright?” 

Cecy shrugged. “It’ll close up again.” She looked back at the furnace. “Goodbye William.” She murmured before turning and walking up the stairs. There was a trickle of blood running down her leg. Adam bit down on his bottom lip and looked away and into the furnace. The heat was near unbearable.