Chapter 25 Skylar #2
When I zoom in on her eyes, I see they’re wide and panicked. Her eyelids are painted with a glittery pink eyeshadow.
And her eyelashes.
They’re gone.
Plucked out.
She weeps silently while Knox’s little sister, Reese, is overjoyed from sitting in her lap.
In a frilly, pink dress, her blonde pigtails bounce as she wields an old makeup brush.
Her legs swing while she smacks neon-pink blush over Bronwyn’s fresh tears.
While she hums along with that endless country tune.
To top it all off, she has scissors in her free hand.
What for? What is she going to do next?
This isn’t justice, not the version of it that I had planned for Bronwyn.
This is evil incarnate, this show they’re putting on.
Though I hate Bronwyn, I revolt against this monstrosity. I have to say something to help her through it. Anything, like, any minute now, it’s going to end. You won’t feel a thing.
Except that’d be a lie.
The Colberts aren’t merciful.
The room is closing in on me, cruelty pressing from every wall. I think I’m going to throw up.
Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out!
Knox squeezes my chin tighter, thrusting me back into the moment. Reassuring me that even if I fall, he’s here. He’s got me.
I have to be here for him too. Got to stay focused. We’re not out of the woods yet, nowhere near safety.
Dragged back to the moment, my skin prickles as I sense his family’s eyes on me.
We can’t afford to get distracted, not here.
Terrified or not, I have to see where each of them stands. I have to be ready.
Reluctantly, I force my eyes off Bronwyn and Reese, cataloging these monsters one by one. All of them are here, wearing almost identical clothing to what they wore the first night we rolled into this town. Flannel and jeans for the men, a long, blue dress for Ma.
Only difference is, their act isn’t hidden behind too-wide smiles or friendly vibes anymore.
Their depravity is on display.
Each of them came prepared. Each of them has been waiting for this.
Jett flips a hunting knife in his hand, his whole demeanor screaming, Just tell me when, and I’ll stab her.
Papa stands on the other side of Bronwyn’s chair, barely a foot away. He slaps antique dental pliers against his palm.
Ma clutches a lighter and a bundle of herbs that looks like sage. What for?
What the fuck for?
I shove the horror down and turn to Grandpa, who leans against the wall. The older man pushes up his sleeves, mottled patches dotting his forearms. He doesn’t reach for a weapon. Just cracks his fingers.
A shiver tears through me. The fear of the unknown hooks into my spine. My teeth grind. The metallic tang on my tongue has gone rotten.
I hate myself for not seeing this sooner. The signs were there. The silence was unnatural. Their hospitality was forced on us. The museum, the pictures…
And still, I chose to see the goodness in them.
You chose to see the best in Bronwyn too.
Fuck.
No time to wallow. Not here.
As I fight for each breath, Grandpa strolls over to Bronwyn. The bastard looks casual as hell, face relaxed, a small smile curving on his lips as Jett steps aside to allow him access to my twin.
He’s going to kick-start this nightmare.
“Calm down, child.” He pats Reese’s feet, his soft voice meant to soothe his granddaughter.
“Yes, Grandpa.” She’s no longer kicking her feet, only grinning at him.
“Good, good,” he praises her.
My sister can’t do anything but cry and cry.
His hands settle on her, one wrapped around her wrist, the other resting on her shoulder. There’s no hesitation in his posture, no twitch of mercy.
The gaze he drills into me is equally nauseating. He’s not only daring me to stop him; he’s enjoying this.
This, all of this, eviscerates my last vengeful desire to kill Bronwyn.
My hands, I want them wrapped around his throat, snuffing the life out of him.
None of these people deserves to live.
Knox and I do. For that, I have to hold still. Have to stay silent.
I need to—
Pop.
The loud crack of Bronwyn’s shoulder dislocating ricochets off the basement walls.
Swallowing a scream is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
This is unlike anything I’ve seen in any textbook. This isn’t a picture. This isn’t happening to someone else.
This is real. Less than twenty feet away, my sister’s shoulder juts at an unnatural angle. Her mouth parts, but no noise comes out, only tears leaking from her eyes at a steady pace.
Jett whistles.
Reese cheers on the older man, “Eep! Yes, Grandpa, yes!”
My knees wobble, but before I can collapse, Knox shakes my head, snapping me out of it.
I’m thankful for his presence, his attention.
But fuck, do I hate his family.
As soon as Grandpa steps away, Ma’s wooden heels click on the floor as she approaches the chair. Acid burns my stomach as she combs through Reese’s hair…
While shoving the lit sage right under Bronwyn’s nose.
“Have to purge the skin.” She joins her daughter, and they both whistle together. Smoke curls around Bronwyn’s face, suffocating her, when Ma adds, “Remember, Reese. Can’t leave any stress or pain in it. It sticks. Our customers won’t appreciate that.”
Then she winks at me, and my teeth sink into my inner cheek. Hard.
More blood floods my mouth.
Ma smirks, returning to Reese. “You asked to be the one to give her a final haircut, didn’t you, Sugarplum?”
“Yes, Ma!” The child’s eerie green eyes turn to me as she hurls the makeup brush to the floor. “Wanna help? You’re not gonna get another chance to love her.”
“Get it over with, Reese,” Knox grumbles, shaking my head again. “We’ve got a feeding schedule to follow.”
“Okie!” she squeals. Snap, snap, snap, chunks of my sister’s hair flutter and fall, sticking to her sweaty breasts. “Oh, and Knox”—snap—“could I be there when your living-hide takes off her stitches? I wanna watch.”
Jesus, she’s more fucked up than I realized. Way more.
“You have this one.” Knox jerks his chin toward Bronwyn. His anger doesn’t slip into his voice, his actions. I feel it, nonetheless. “Play with her all you like.”
“Fiiiine.”
“Papa, you’re up next,” his wife encourages, her sage-free hand rubbing his back.
That’s all the invitation the sick fucker needs.
Six slow, heavy steps carry him to my sister’s other side, where Ma and Grandpa stand.
Reese’s face snaps up to him, adoration flashing in her eyes. She drops the scissors, and they clatter on the floor.
Papa kisses the top of her head, then straightens. My body revolts as he yanks Bronwyn’s upper lip higher and brings the pliers close to her drooling mouth.
“Reese, some help.”
“Yes, Papa!” Her tiny fingers latch onto Bronwyn’s bottom lip and tug.
“Proud of you, girl.” He smirks, like she’s his perfect creation. “Be sure to hold steady.”
“Sure will.”
No more words are exchanged between them as he starts. One by one, he plucks Bronwyn’s teeth out, letting them all drop into Reese’s lap.
Blood trickles down Bronwyn’s chin. Her tears and muted gags punch holes through my soul.
My stomach twists the hardest it has since I came down here.
One more second of this and I’ll lose it.
While I somehow manage to keep it all in, Bronwyn doesn’t. When there are no teeth left in her mouth, she retches, her stomach ejecting mostly spit onto her chin and chest.
Her suffering is a living, screaming thing, and my bones rattle with it.
Thank God our parents aren’t here to see this. They’ll never know what happened here. I’ll shield them from these horrors. From everything.
Reese and Jett laugh when Papa picks up one of Bronwyn’s teeth from Reese’s lap.
“Perfect molars.” He twists it under the dimmed light, his gaze appreciative. “We’ll save this one. In fact, we’ll hold on to all her teeth.”
This level of torture, the thrill of defiling someone so completely, is something out of a horror movie.
At least there, the murder scenes are fake.
Nothing’s fake about this.
My chin wobbles. I’m pretty sure my entire body is shaking.
Knox’s fingers clamp down harder.
Quiet.
“My turn.” Jett smirks.
At least he won’t get to hurt Bronwyn for long.
She’s got minutes, if that.
The color has drained from her lips, the edges now bluish.
Her breathing is shallow and wheezy. She’s stopped slobbering, vomiting, and spitting, her body slumped against the chair.
“Miss Reese.” Jett gestures with the knife to Bronwyn’s mouth.
The little satanic helper narrows her eyes, lips curling into a wicked smirk.
She obediently pries Bronwyn’s mouth open, smearing blood and puke across her fingers.
Any kid her age would’ve flinched, gagged at the smell, at the texture.
Not Reese. “Go ahead, Jetty.”
Black dots blur the edges of my vision as Jett slices through Bronwyn’s gums.
What the fuck?
What. The. Fuck?
The dam of tears finally breaks. I’m crying, soaking my cheeks and Knox’s mask.
They drip down my shirt, that’s how much I cry.
Finally, the shitshow ends. Jett’s still cutting her when the light goes out in her eyes. Just as I predicted, Bronwyn is gone before that monster, Jett, can get his fill.
Am I really thankful, though? For anything? For even breathing?
No. No, I’m not.
I’m horrified. Traumatized. Wounded as if I’ve claimed some of Bronwyn’s pain to myself.
My sanity has been stripped clean from me.
Nothing could put me back together again, ever.
Sadly, I can’t afford to faint. If I lose consciousness, it’s game over. I’m going to die here in this basement, with my teeth removed and my gums sliced open.
I’m hyperventilating.
The world is spinning.
I’m slipping.
I’m spiraling.
Help.
I love you, Mom and Dad.
Knox, I love you too.
“Now that we’re done here,”—Knox doesn’t waste a second, slinging me over his shoulder—“I’m gonna go feed my living-hide.”
Somewhere in the background, his dad says proudly, “Good job, you’ve passed the test, Son.”
I want to bask in our victory.
Instead, I black out.