“So, what’s the next step?” Garret asks.
We brought him in at the last minute. He was spiraling after Remy’s death. Mercy did create one thing—vengeance. Because we’re all craving it.
“Next we kill the Keepers.” Every. Single. One.
88
LUCA
SIX DAYS LATER
The List
Keeper 1: J. Sinclair
Keeper 2: K. Norwood
Keeper 3: L. Hardley
Keeper 4: S. Trahan
Keeper 5: H. Montgomery
Keeper 6: A. Arceneaux
Keeper 7: W. Kensington
Keeper 8: G. Thackeray
Keeper 9: D. Comeaux
Keeper 10: B. Pitre
Keeper 11: R. Wright
Keeper 12: C. Drummond
Keeper 13: H. Huxley
“Last one,” Cain utters. And I feel the fatigue. But it’s almost over for good.
“This guy is a joke,” Garrett laughs. “A cabin in the woods. Could he be any more stereotypical?”
“He thought he could hide.” But I’ve had eyes on him since we started picking off his board member buddies, knowing the coward would run and hide. They all sat by, watching and enjoying the show as we played Mercy. Now, they’re playing a game of their own with only one end result—death.
Cain checks his burner phone then informs me, “Keeper 12 was just found. It’s all over the news. Let’s get this done.”
We sit in the car for a few seconds as Garrett asks, “How do we go back to normal after this?”
“There was no such thing as normal the moment one of these bastards came up with Mercy.”
From my research, I’ve found it dates back to 1913, about ten years after Belgrave was founded. Every year since they picked a winner to join the society. And that person ran the next year’s game. Eventually, they formed a committee of thirteen who remain until their passing when a successor is appointed in their place. It’s all decided by whomever has the highest rank (i.e. longest tenure). There’s no election or group decision, it’s only a dictatorship. However, the first death associated with Mercy was reported forty years ago. It was the year after Harold Huxley won and assumed authority over the game.
“Harold’s time is up,” I declare as we exit the vehicle.
The cabin is dark and noiseless as we approach. But I can feel him watching us. He was always watching somehow.
As I slowly make my way through the doorway, the wood planks creak beneath my feet. The sound of a gun cocking fills the air around us.
