Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Whenever a twinkle of fear appears inside of me, I take slow breaths, tuning into the solid heartbeat I remember so well, and my own pulse matches that of my imaginary Saint. It allows me to think straight, and I look around the dark mall without seeing demons in the Christmas decorations. No one is hiding behind the massive tree in the middle of the corridor, and no knives are about to fall on me from the glittering Styrofoam snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.
I shiver when I remember the way he said “I’ll catch you”. With him at my side anything feels possible.
The sound of footsteps tears me out of my mushy thoughts, and I scoot down, in case the intel wasn’t accurate and there’s another person here for whatever reason. Still, instead of falling onto the floor and hurting my knee, I duck out of sight, already thinking of excuses that might encourage whoever this is to set me free. After all, we don’t hurt innocent bystanders.
The stranger’s foot squeaks on the tiles making up the floor, and there's a raspy noise, followed by a thump, but just as I get ready to lie flat, to make myself near-invisible, a familiar whistle reaches my ears, soothing as hot cocoa.
“Saint?” I ask, dragging myself up right in time to see him emerge out of the shadows.
Brown is a skinny guy, so Saint is able to carry him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With a narrow face and a stupid mustache, Brown reminds me of a rat. He mumbles something through a gag, but with arms and legs expertly bound, he’s more reminiscent of a sausage than a person.
Saint drops him at my feet without care, and Brown’s head hits the floor with a dull thud, since he can’t protect himself with his hands.
“Ho, ho, ho, I brought gifts,” Saint says and his eyes glow with pride. “Maybe I should be the one with the Santa mask after all.”
I look down at Brown with a growing smile. He’s trying to crawl away like the maggot he is, but I push him over to his back with a kick. Power buzzes in my bones as I stand over him, knowing that for once I’m the one with an advantage.
“Might just be one of the best presents I ever got. Can I… Is it safe to take the gag out?” It’s not just that I want to hear him scream. I hope he begs for his life, like my family did. And I won’t give him mercy.
Saint switches on a flashlight and puts it on the floor. It doesn’t give us much light, but it’s enough for me to see the blood already smeared under Brown’s nose. His eyes are bloodshot, and as he squirms, watching me as if I were the terror from his secret nightmares, my stomach twists in a mixture of delight and guilt. A part of me still believes vigilante justice might not be the way to go, but at the end of the day, that is the only justice some people can get.
“Knock yourself out. Just don’t let him bite your finger,” Saint warns me.
I nod, careful as I pull the gag out of Brown’s mouth.
“Who are you? What do you want? I’ve got no keys to any safes!” he says, his face twisting in pain.
Maybe Saint broke his tooth? I hope he did.
I gesture at my mask, and when Saint nods, I pull it off. The cameras are dead, as Brown will be soon, so there’s no one to hide from.
Brown goes silent, and I swear I see blood drain from his face. I can only hope it’s because he recognizes me. I’m shocked that I’m not afraid to be in his presence, but then again, I’m the one holding a knife, and he’s on the floor. And while I’m still torn about whether I should end him, this is just. And I love it.
“You thought you got away with what you did to my family?” I rasp.
“You’re a fucking psycho, and you won’t get away with this! I did nothing!” Brown yells.
I don’t know why he’d say that, but maybe he thinks I brought a hidden camera, and all this is meant to make him incriminate himself. His loss, if he doesn’t understand I’m long past trying to get any of them arrested.
“You can tell that to whoever’s on the other side.” I chuckle, cocking my head. “That actually might be your buddies, Ted and Patrick. Have you kept in touch? I mean, before we killed them?”
The raw terror in his eyes is so delicious it feels sweet on my tongue. He didn’t have pity for me or my family. Why should I feel sorry for him? He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. In fact, he didn’t even deserve the years of freedom he’s enjoyed while I’ve suffered in silence. Today, I’ll get to balance the scales.