It takes him a minute to gather the courage to turn to face her; when he does, he's a fucking mess. She's effectively reduced him to a pathetic, sniveling little bitch.
"Where are you going?" She asks. "We're not done with you yet."
She's right. We're not done with him. But we don't need him alive for the next part.
"I'm sorry..." Cole sobs, shaking his head like he can convince her to stop.
He doesn't...
Nikki buries the axe against his neck.
The first hit has him gasping, eyes wide as his torn-open throat tries to push air into his lungs. He only crumples a bit when she pulls the axe free and she doesn't hesitate to hit him with it again.
The second one may be the one that kills him.
His entire face seems to relax, and the gasping turns to one long, low rattle.
The third strike sends his head rolling onto the floor.
Chapter 11
Nikki
MyfavoriteChristmasmemoriesare the ones spent without rushing, taking my time just enjoying mundane things, sipping on hot chocolate and watching the glow of the Christmas lights. Days spent baking and filling the house with the warm scent of desserts that we piled onto mismatched platters on the counter and wrapped in plastic to deliver to the neighbors.
It's how Noah and I spend our day… baking and basking in the warmth and comfort of Cole’s home.
It’s not exactly a place of luxury, but it’s clear he has someone come clean up after him. I wonder how long it will be ‘til they show up and find his body… or rather, what’s left of it.
Noah explained that Cole's parents died but his older sister still tries to care for him by sending someone to check on him. It gives us peace of mind that we won't be discovered before we're ready. And that peace of mind lets us explore... each other, our abilities, our limits. Even if it's just simple touch as we lay together watching Christmas movies.
It's kept me busy so that I haven't had time to think about my mother or siblings, to wonder how they're handling all of this.Somehow, it managed to be both a long, comfortable day and also pass by in the blink of an eye.
Now I know what Noah meant when he told me that he'd waited an eternity for me. I've been dead for less than twenty-four hours, and it somehow feels like an infinity. Except, it's a comfortable infinity now, because we are together, and somehow all the rage has settled. But as we get ready to make our next visit, I feel it returning, stirring inside me like leaves being swirled around in a storm.
"Pie's done." I say, looking up to find Noah watching me with a soft smile. "You wrapped the presents?"
"Of course." He brandishes the box, imperfectly wrapped. One side is visibly short of wrapping paper, leaving a little cardboard to peek through, and I can tell he did it himself. Apparently we grew strong and omniscient in death, but he still can't wrap a present.
"Beautiful." I assure him with a laugh, glancing around Cole's house to make sure I'm not forgetting anything.
I want tonight to be perfect.
"You sure are." Noah grins, his eyes sweeping over me, taking in the long green evening gown.
Being a ghost has allowed me to be something of a shape shifter. I can take different appearances, and I decide whether I want to be seen or not. I suspected as much when the neighbor didn't notice us outside this morning, and confirmed it when we dropped the firewood on her porch, pre-split and ready for use. It's nice, especially because I died naked, and I don't want to appear to my own killers that way. The look on Cole's face when his brain must have convinced him that I was alive was priceless. I can't wait to see that same look on Brant's face.
I don't have to wait long, either, because we've just gotten comfortable in his home— which is far nicer than Cole's— whenthe headlights cut through the night as his car pulls into the driveway.
Brant still lives at home in his parents' half-million-dollar mini mansion. It was an interesting experience, testing whether our presence would trip the alarm system or be caught on video. But tonight, his family is out kissing babies and shaking hands the way politicians do, and his sisters are with his grandma in her more modest house, safe. They won't see the carnage that's going to unfold here.
The pneumatic sound of Brant punching in his access code to the alarm pad is our cue, so I step back into the shadow of the Christmas tree, all twelve feet of it, and watch as he opens the door, throwing his keys on the entryway table that's covered in flowers.
He loosens his tie and sheds his jacket, eager to get out of the suit that makes him look like an upstanding citizen and productive member of the community, moving to the kitchen where the pie and the gift box sit together on the gleaming marble, just waiting for him to notice them.
He does, and he doesn't hesitate to move toward them, immediately checking the name on the gift tag, where I scrawled his proper name in red ink: Brantley.
"Someone got me a gift..." He muses, like he's having a conversation with someone.
