“Screech no!”
“Nah, they wanna play games. I’ll show 'em a fucking game—”
“Screech, no! What would Chester say?” My breaths heaved as her hand spread across my chest, stopping me from launching towards them.
They fucking killed him. For what? For caring about Squeeks?
My anger burned into my stare as tears flooded into the corners of my sister's eyes.
“It's my fault.” Sobbing into her hands. My shoulders dropped as I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her as visions flashed across my eyes of how they would have just left him. Dying and pleading in the gutter.
When I got back to the house, I sat on the kitchen counter for hours, barely moving, smoke dancing around my fingers, eyes fixed out of the window. I couldn’t stop my racing mind, thinking about Chester and how he was yet something else Danny had stripped from me. But I couldn’t allow myself to grieve him right now; there was Misfit’s voice dragging me back towards the tainted reality.
I turned the lighter over in my hand repeatedly, the metal now warm on my skin. My thoughts wouldn’t stay still. Every possibility ran through me like a slow drip. She might be setting me up to take another shot, finishing me off. Nah, she wouldn’twant our game to finish so abruptly. Would she? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Misfit, smirking in the dark. Blood on her hands. On mine. I couldn’t tell if my mind was playing tricks on me or showing me what was to come. Would the voice return? To guide me through my potential execution.
By the time the sun started to dip, the walls of the house felt like they were leaning in. I couldn’t sit still anymore. Couldn’t pretend I wasn’t winding tighter as my leg bounced restlessly against the counter. I couldn’t just turn up empty-handed. It would be like leading a lamb to slaughter. My eyes drifted around the kitchen, looking for anything that could be a potential weapon. My eyes fell on a butcher’s knife thrown into the sink. No, too obvious. I needed something I could conceal. Or risk endless questions. But then it hit me, a lightbulb moment, if you can call it that.
So, I stood, cracked my neck, and walked toward the back room with unwavering confidence as if I wasn’t about to do something dodgy. The hallway to Danny’s back room felt colder than usual, even though the air was still thick with old smoke and the sour stench of stale beer.
The door was half ajar; Danny never shut it. I guess he figured we valued our lives more than an open-door policy.
The room was the same as always, like a second-hand pawn shop had exploded in a biker bar. Boxes stacked high in one corner, a flickering lamp on the desk casting long shadows over a tangle of wires and tools. And in the back, under the workbench, the old metal lock box.
I crouched down, running my fingers along the floor until I found the loose tile and slipped it aside.
The key was still there, taped beneath it. Danny always thought hiding something obvious made it safer. I figured he was just lazy.
The lock clicked open with a soft thunk as I prized the lid open.
Inside: the scuffed gun I'd had the pleasure of being threatened with, two spare mags, and a small cloth bag that smelled like oil.
I picked up the gun, turning it in my hand as I inspected its appearance. The weight of it in my hand felt wrong.
A step I never thought I'd have to resort to.
Returning to my feet, I slipped the gun into the back of my jeans, tugging my hoodie down to cover it.
My reflection in the dusty window caught my eye. Hollow cheeks. Eyes like burned-out headlights. I barely recognised myself.
But Misfit would.
And I needed to be ready for her.
I stepped back into the hall, pulling the door closed behind me, and found Squeeks waiting at the end.
“Where are you going? And why were you in there?” Her voice was quiet and inquisitive.
“Going to see a man about a dog. Don’t wait up.” Noticing the alerting shift in her expression as I slipped past her. My hand lingered on the handle of the front door as I turned to look at her. “I’ll be back soon.”
CHAPTER 15
My boots hit the pavement with a quiet rhythm, each step echoing through the veiled backstreets. I shoved my hands deep into my hoodie pocket, fingers clenched against the cold. The weight of the gun lay heavily against the waistband. A constant reminder of the decision I’d made.
Streetlamps flickered above me, casting long, eerie shadows that dragged across the walls. Windows on either side of me stared blankly into the night, curtains drawn, shutters pulled. Nobody wanted to see what crawled around after darkness had fallen.
My senses igniting to every sound around me, causing my head to snap in the direction of the slightest sound. Abattoir Street wasn’t far now as I felt my pulse thud harder with each step. I didn’t know if it was fear or excitement, maybe both. But it sat in my gut like static, that jittery, almost giddy tension before something snaps.
