Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Aven
All things considered, the girl is taking this well.
A little too well, maybe. I didn’t expect her to start screaming her wee head off or anything, but she seems more intrigued than put off about the whole serial killer thing.
Jim said the simulation predicted this outcome.
I don’t think his precious simulator could have predicted just how jolly she’d be, though.
Granted, we never ran a simulation where I told the lass her father was a prolific killer.
That was probably a mistake on my part, but I figured it would help her adjust a little more.
The last name comes with certain benefits, and I figured knowing those benefits would set her at ease.
It certainly seems to have worked a trick. She doesn’t appear frightened at all.
When Jim opens the dinner with a game, Quinn’s hand is the first to shoot into the air when he asks for volunteers.
We discussed what would likely happen in this moment.
In most instances, the simulation predicted she would be interested in witnessing the killings, but that she wouldn’t go so far as to participate.
I guess we need to stop relying so heavily on that machine’s predictions, because this woman is clearly the least possible outcome in any given situation.
Jim looks at me, silently asking what to do. I look back at him and offer no help. This is his monkey and his circus, and I’m just here to hold the tail.
“Well . . . come on up, Quinn,” Jim finally stammers. He introduces her to the group, but instead of smiling and listening, the performer inside her rears its massive head.
Quinn snatches the mic from his hands and smiles at the crowd. “Hello out there,” she says with a wiggle of her fingers. “As Jim said, my name is Quinn, but some of you might know me by a different name.” She offers a wink.
A fucking wink.
What is she doing? If she tells everyone who her da is, Jim will send me out with a boot in my ass.
“That’s right! I’m Daisy!” She lifts her heel and covers her coy giggle with her dainty little fingers.
I breathe a sigh of relief. She meant her cam-girl alter ego, not her Carter lineage.
“After the dinner tonight, I’ll be hosting a private show in my chat room, just for the fellow Sinners. If anyone needs a little extra entertainment after tonight’s dinner, you know where I’ll be.” She nibbles her bottom lip and shimmies her shoulders with another playful giggle.
The crowd goes wild after her announcement. Even the girls are tossing out wolf whistles and supportive applause. The men at our table only clap politely, but the unattached men are practically drooling. And I don’t fucking like it.
None of this was discussed previously, and if there’s one thing I cannae fucking stand, it’s making decisions on the fly.
I look at Jim to gauge his reaction, but he’s firmly in Camp Happy Face. And why wouldn’t he be? What better way to bait Desmond into the open than by putting his prized painting on display?
The trouble is . . . she appears to be prized by pretty much everyone who isn’t tied down.
I glance around the dining hall and see dozens of male eyes dancing with wonder as they watch her swing her hips and answer Jim’s questions.
The girl is a natural on stage. She oozes sex appeal and sultry energy in that little purple dress.
My attention turns back to the stage as Gary, one of Jim’s staffers, wheels a large table into the spotlight.
A thick velvet covering drapes the contents, obscuring them from view as he positions the table in front of the three Cattle still awaiting their executions.
In the center of the table is a perch. Once the rolling wheels are locked in place, the large white bird flies from offstage and lands in the center of the table, right on the perch.
“Everyone, I’d like you to formally meet Kenny,” Jim says, and the bird flaps its wings and flares its crest. The screaming starts, so Jim drops his voice to a whisper.
“I need everyone to use quiet voices for this fellow. You see, Kenny came from a home where his family neglected him. He was kept in a tiny cage, no bigger than he is. When he screamed in distress or boredom, they would strike his cage and scream back. He was the only survivor of a house of horrors. Twenty-three birds were found deceased at the hands of this man.”
Jim snatches the yellow hood away, revealing a whimpering man who’s had his thin lips sewn shut. Rivers of sweat plaster his greasy black hair to his forehead, and his eyes bulge when he sees the bird.
“That’s right,” Jim says. “We’ve brought Kenny’s old master to the stage so that he can finally pay for his crimes, and who better to serve up the revenge than the very bird he tortured?”
“Piece of fucking shit,” the bird mutters in a very human-like voice. “Piece of fuck, piece of fuck.”
Gary snatches away the table’s velvet covering, revealing a line of gleaming silver weapons. His job finished, he exits the stage with a shit-eating grin.
Kenny’s head bobbing resumes as he eyes the shiny assortment. He wiggles his wings and rocks from side to side, still repeating his creepy mantra. “Piece of fucking, piece of fuck!”
Quinn stands on tiptoes behind Jim, trying to see around him so that she can glimpse the weapons on the table.
There are several options to choose from, including a machete, a revolver, and some sort of scythe.
Before she can choose any of them, Jim steps forward and grabs the flashy revolver with a pearl grip.
He wiggles the gun in the air, keeping the barrel pointed toward the ceiling.
I’m not so sure he’s that experienced with firearms if he’s about to do what I think he’s about to do.
But that’s exactly what he’s planning. As he places the revolver into a special holder at the center of the perch, the bird’s crest rises. Its head tips to the side, and it studies the gun with increased interest. One scaly foot reaches toward the trigger guard, and my stomach lurches.
Jim places his hand over the guard and wags his finger at the bird.
“Not quite yet, Kenny.” He turns back to the crowd with a laugh.
“We’ve opened a new division, you see. We don’t just want to ravage the cruel humans who’ve abused these animals.
We want to save the animals as well. Kenny is the first of a few animals you’ll meet at this retreat.
Through care and compassion, we’ve reduced his plucking and have brought him back to excellent health.
We even desensitized him to gunfire to make this moment possible for him.
For his final act on his healing journey, we’re giving him the opportunity to destroy the very human who abused him. ”
The crowd whispers its approval, and Quinn quietly claps her hands behind Jim.
Ice Pick raises his hand from his table, and Jim leans closer to him. The mic barely picks up his timid question as he says, “But Jim . . . that bird ain’t got any thumbs. How’s he gonna shoot the gun?”
Jim tosses his head back and laughs, and the crowd offers a polite titter in response.
“The weapon is designed especially for Kenny. There is minimal recoil, and he’s trained to perform the action on command.
Ultimately, it will be his decision, but when I say bang, bang, we’ll see what he does.
This gun has a state-of-the-art, hair-trigger—”
Blam!
The gun goes off, and everyone screams. Kenny flaps his wings and dances on his perch with his crest held toward the heavens. The Cattle looks down at his chest, where a red rosebud begins to blossom behind the yellow fabric. He screams through his nose as he realizes what’s happened.
Kenny flaps his wings and looks . . . really fucking pleased. He retracts his scaly foot back to the perch and wiggles his wings as he bobs his head some more. His dark beak opens in what I can only describe as a smile as he keeps doing his happy murder dance.
I look at Quinn, the polar opposite of Kenny.
The excitement has drained from her features, leaving behind a pale landscape of shock and uncertainty.
Her fingertips quiver against her chest. Her mouth hangs open, and her eyes are widened to the point of no return.
She doesn’t take a breath, and neither do I. Not until a smile slides onto her face.
She peers into the crowd, somehow finding me in spite of the spotlights in her eyes. Wow, she mouths.
Excuse me, what? That’s her response?
The dying man drops to his knees, and the hooded Cattle to either side of him cower and try to move away, but they’re linked together by chains around their ankles.
There’s nowhere for them to go. The crowd falls silent as we witness the animal abuser’s death, which takes entirely too long, which is exactly what he deserves.
After five minutes of groaning, Jim finally snatches up the gun and finishes him off with a bullet to the brain.
Then he turns to Quinn. “Who’s next?”
My blood runs cold because this was never part of the plan.
Having her witness the kills was as far as this was supposed to go.
She isn’t meant to participate. Yet she’s all smiles and eagerness as she moves to the table and plucks up a hacksaw with a chrome blade.
And it’s all my fault for telling her about Daddy Carter. Fuck me sideways.
“Pink is for the child abusers, right?” she asks as she eyes the cowering Cattle.
Jim nods, and she sidles up to the pink character. With a nibble of her lip, she grips the hood and yanks it off, revealing the shriveled face of an old man. He looks harmless, but many of them do. That’s how they get away with it for so long.
Quinn doesn’t even wait for the rundown. She doesn’t need Jim to tell her what this vile monster has done to children. She grabs the man’s gray hair, snatches back his head, and begins to saw his throat open.
His legs kick out as he tries to scramble away from the blade, but the chain catches and sends him to the floor.
Quinn is on him immediately. With his hands strapped behind his back, he’s defenseless against her wild onslaught as she straddles his waist and starts sawing again.
We can’t see his face. We can’t see the carnage.
What we can see is the way his kicks grow weaker as a red puddle begins to spread across the stage.
When he stops moving, Quinn finally stands and faces the onlookers. She’s all purple elegance and crimson wrath as she holds out the hacksaw and takes a bow. Red stains paint her fluffy dress, her pale skin, and her golden hair.
I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.
Or a more terrifying one.
Quinn didn’t need to wait for Jim’s explanation of this man’s crimes. She didn’t even need to know he’d done anything wrong. She just needed permission. To kill.
My friends, I believe we’ve just witnessed the birth of a monster.