Chapter 21
BILLY
Intestines hang in a catenary curve like tinsel from the mezzanine railings above.
I’m momentarily glued to the spot as Bram and I enter together through the front door, peering up at the mass of body parts decorating the main foyer like it’s a gory Halloween themed Christmas.
Blood drips from above, cutting through the cautionary silence like a hammer hitting a coffin nail, the plink, plink, plink sound of it slow and steady.
Neck craned back, I walk forward, leaving Bram at my back, my entire focus on the grizzly decor above our heads.
Bones dangle from the intestines, tied around the organ on one end with a length of dark hair. There is tissue and fat and globules of smelly gunk splattering the polished black and white tiles beneath our feet, my boots sticking with some resistance as I make my way further into the manor.
The cold draft at my back disappears as the heavy door bangs closed, the sound of it echoing, but I don’t look, my attention solely fixed on the severed head of Imogen thrown carelessly on top of the gold crystal chandelier.
That’s when my heart starts to hammer. My blood runs cold, skin razing with goosebumps, I turn rapidly back to Bram, finding Gore in his place instead, Bram standing behind him with both Tolly and Rune.
“Billy,” Gore starts, his voice such a deep rumble, it always makes me feel calm, safe, like my older brother is still my protector even though I don’t need him to be that anymore.
“Where is she?” there’s a tremble in my voice that I wish wasn’t there, something I haven’t heard in myself for so many long years.
Fear.
“Bill-”
“Where has he taken her?” I’m already tearing off my jacket, rolling up my shirt sleeves, storming past my brothers and Rune.
“To the dungeons, I suppose,” I say it with a scoff meant to hide my anxiety, this heavy feeling a boulder sinking in my chest, skin and bone torn open, the rock plunged inside, weighing heavier and heavier on my heart as it’s all stitched back closed. “Fuckin-”
“Penelope’s in the Sanctuary.” It’s Tolliver’s voice that cuts through, the youngest of us all, the most sensitive, despite all his efforts to keep that part of himself hidden.
It’s his tone that makes me pause, shaky fingers going still on the small round button on my cuff, the cotton fabric feeling as stiff as a corpse as I continue to fold it up to my elbow.
Nobody gets taken to the Sanctuary.
I drop into a crouch, tightening my boot laces, double knotting them as I retie the bows.
“I’m going down there,” I inform them as a collective, wondering if any of them will dare follow as I stride past.
We’ve been brought up to compete.
To war with each other to earn our place.
To kick the other while they’re down to look tougher.
To be stronger.
More brutal.
That’s what we were still doing until what happened to Dolly.
How it tore our eldest brother apart.
Since then, the last few years, we’ve been trying to connect, to be brothers, to look out for each other just like our mother has always wanted. It’s only our father that has spent our entire lives pitting us against one another.
Because he knew all along what we didn’t.
We’re stronger when we’re together.
A single set of footsteps follows, and I don’t need to turn to know that it’s Gore.