8. Sid #2
“Ma’am, two of our Damned have expired. They were learning explosives and blew themselves up.
Weren’t paying attention to instructions, because apparently they know more than I do.
” Her words ooze with sarcasm and I fucking love it.
It should also be mentioned that Lucy is a bomb and firearms expert, self-taught since a very young age, she could close her eyes and still shoot you in the middle of the forehead.
She is a fucking blast, pun intended. I like her… a lot.
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Bury them in unmarked graves. Not even the pigs will want to get within ten feet of their stupidity.”
She snickers before composing herself quickly. “Understood.” Then she disconnects the call.
Papa has the biggest smile on his face. “See. They respect you already. If you have gotten hers, you have them all. You were the first call she made, not me.” Lucy is a Demon, therefore, calling to report the incident isn’t unusual.
“Have you thought about Archangels? Will you keep D on?” Cecilia also sat in that seat with D, but stepped back to focus on her family and raising the kids.
“For as long as he’s willing.”
He doesn’t need to say it, I know he’s pleased to hear my decision.
“You’re brother, I’m worried. He’s getting progressively worse, showing us what he can do with our own members.” Referring to Tash who was nicely displayed on the hood of my Bentley, dead.
“Never in my lifetime did I imagine that the one person most capable of ruining everything we’ve built would be your brother.”
“Me neither.” I feel defeated, exhaustion from the day is beginning to wash over me. The high of learning from my initiation night has disappeared and I just want to sleep, to forget. “I’ll handle it, I promise.”
“Go home. Rest. Tomorrow is a new day.”
Taking the hint, I fix my dress, and walk toward the patio door. Looking out the window, I find Jack and Sally instantly, thanks to the lighting in the backyard, and it appears they are occupied with feasting on a head. What the fuck?
Rushing outside, my feet move at new speeds I’ve never done before, as I shout, “Hey, no, babies! No touching,” in an effort to deter them from enjoying the flesh any longer.
Once reaching them, I shoo them away with my hands and grab the head by gripping its stringy hair.
Holding it up, the face looks familiar. Broken bloodied nose, bloodshot dead eyes, and the distinct odor of a pest. It’s the bitch from the tunnel.
A fucking cockroach. Someone’s cut off her head and yet still, she continues to thrive, residing in my family’s backyard.
“Babies, no. This bitch is vile. We don’t eat vile bitches. I’ll give you some more of Gus once we get home,” I promise my now sulking pigs.
Looking at the cut made at the neck, it’s just like Tash’s cauterized marking.
“Blaise?” Papa startles me from behind.
Turning around, my eyes look the head over once more. “I think so, it has the same burns around the open cuts. And he said he would handle her after I was finished at the slaughterhouse, but I don’t see a note.”
He takes the head from me, shaking his own. “Go, rest. We can handle this in the morning.”
Nodding in compliance and in no mood to object, I leash Jack and Sally and we head out.
What a fucking day.
Walking home, it's dark, quiet, and uncomfortable.
Confused, my brain can’t comprehend the head, my brother doesn’t do body parts.
Since he was a child, anytime Dad and I would prepare to dispose of bodies or distribute them to the pigs, he would leave when the chopping part started.
His mind and body are drawn to fire, not knives, not blood, and not mutilation. This isn’t adding up.
Leaving the videotape on my doorstep earlier today didn’t help his cause, but ruling him out would be senseless. If, and that’s a big if, Blaise is doing this, he is getting help.
But from whom?
Blaise was the only one I told about the pest in the tunnel, and he promised to handle it. This is what he deemed appropriate? Sneaking into Papa’s yard undetected or without any alarms going off, and leaving that bitch for my pigs? It has to be him who left it.
I’ve always been so used to Blaise fucking with my dad, for as long as I can remember it has been an almost daily occurrence in life. But why fuck with me? I’ve always had his back, fucking always! Even after today, I still will defend and protect him… that is, after I’m done being pissed at him.
The tension with my dad and him has been building since the day he was born. A piece of it was jealousy, on my dad’s behalf. Another man in my mom’s life, Blaise never stood a chance.
He also didn’t help his cause as time went on.
Blaise is quiet, observes, then attacks. He watched my dad, took notes on what made him tick, and then he would slowly pick away at it until Dad would react. Blaise plays the long game, he never fails, and he is predictable like that if you pay close enough attention .
Body parts aren't a long game, unless I’m missing something. I have to be.
And when Dad reacts, you could die. You don’t fuck around with a man like him.
Mom would always do her best, rushing over to break it up when she could. Dad would get scolded, Blaise protected, and the hostility between them would build.
As time went on and we all got older, Mom realized the game Blaise was playing. It was from habit now, built into his daily routine. She would still try to stop them, but her fucks to give are slowly running out, and one day she will let them go at it until only one remains, I’m sure of it.
The bad blood is never going away, blood may be the only true solution.
As his big sister, I would attempt to convince my baby brother that he was delusional or reading into shit too much, but he’s wise, seeing through my bullshit. Because that’s what it was, I was spewing it to try and help Mom, because she would never speak of it but you could see it killed her.
Regardless of my bullshit, Blaise and I always had each other's backs growing up; we made blood oaths and promises. We are, or were, as tight as thieves. Even when the family started grooming me to take over for Papa at such a young age, Blaise always made sure I still enjoyed my childhood.
I remember how job shadowing days were always the hardest on me.
It was intense, so much information and remembering of processes.
I would come home exhausted and questioning myself; imposter syndrome is real.
Blaise would sneak into my room and just hold me for as long as I needed him.
We would spend hours just being, in silence while I wanted to scream.
His calm calmed me, balanced me, and reassured me.
And now, I don’t even know if I can trust him.
Walking up my driveway, I find the lying cunt whore’s car is now gone, praise fucking be.
Leading Jack and Sally up to the front door, my heart drops. I immediately sober from my memories.
Another one.
Hanging before us is a torso, but not one I recognize. Reaching out, my fingers graze the skin, still warm. It’s a fresh kill, fascinating, but who?
An upside-down cross is etched into the skin, the wound is cauterized, same as Tash, and a note is stapled into them.
Fear the unknown.
Well, no shit.
Some people can be so fucking stupid.
Pulling at the piece of paper, staples fly and I slide the note down my top for safe keeping.
Unlatching the pigs’ leashes and opening the front door, I let the babies in before closing it quickly behind them.
My hands move swiftly, removing my new friend from the door before my parents catch wind of it, my dad is forever wandering about at night.
The torso has rope tied around the waist, an iron stake keeps it hanging from just above my door frame. Assholes put a hole in my house.
Scratching my head, I truly have no idea who this body could belong to. Initiates, maybe? The Damned, but they would have small Devil’s Society branding on them, and I don’t detect anything of the sort on this person.
Unable to sort out who my new friend is, I decide to name the torso. Abi.
Oh, how I would fucking love this to be her.
“ Come on, Abi, time to throw you in the trash where you fucking belong.” An evil cackle follows and suddenly I’m not feeling so sad.