Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“You know I do.” I stare at him across the grimy bedroom. The mattress is bare except for a stained sheet and a lumpy pillow.
Jack edges to a nightstand. “I got money. Come on, Cormac. I got money. I can pay you. We don’t gotta do this. I can pay you and the problems go away, right?” He’s begging now. Pleading. Thinking maybe he can change the past.
That’s not how life works.
The past never goes away.
“You stole,” I say, taking a step toward him. “You know what happens when you steal.”
“We can be cool, right, bro? Like, it was barely even stealing, and if I pay it back, with like, interest and shit, that’s just a loan, right? Come on, Cormac, please—”
He reaches toward the top drawer of the nightstand, grinning the whole time. He snatches at something, and for a moment, there’s this look of triumph on his face as he pulls out a pistol, this massive silver thing, absurdly huge in his hand.
I suck in a breath. Pleasure rolls down my spine as that look of joy turns to one of horror. He realizes he’s not going to get the gun up in time. All he had to do was raise it and pull the trigger, but I’m moving too fast, already right on top of him, and he knows. In that split second, he knows.
Nobody survives the Whelan family’s ghostman.
“Fuck!” he screams as I knock the gun away with a bone-cracking blow to his wrist. The weapon clatters to the dirty floor.
I smash my knee into his guts, knocking all the air from him, and shatter his nose with a casual elbow to his face. He staggers sideways and lurches onto the bed, choking and gasping.
I kneel on his arms and put my full weight on his chest as I wrap my hands around his throat.
“Urk!” he says, tongue poking out between his teeth. I notice one of his molars is gold. Who gets a gold fucking tooth where nobody can see it? “Urk! Urkkkk!” He paws at me. His blows feel like the wind. I stare at him, a dark pit in my chest, the same dark pit I can’t ever escape. It’s always there, waiting to suck me down into its depths. The hell of my own mind.
I say nothing. No prayers, no insults, no threats. None of that matters anymore. There’s only the kill. Jack’s eyes bulge in horror, and his face turns purple. He’s thrashing, but I’ve done this so many times before. I know how to hold him steady, where to press, how to make sure he doesn’t wriggle free as his animal instincts take over. He fights as hard as he can, with everything he’s got, but it’s too late.
I squeeze and squeeze, watching as the horror turns to calm, turns to nothing as his swollen tongue rolls back into his throat, his purple face turns reddish-pink, and he stops moving altogether.
A rush of bliss hits me then. It always does. The only pleasure I ever feel happens right now, right in this moment, at the border between life and death. I watch Jack Grace pass over, and it’s like I’m there with him, holding his hand, stroking his hair, telling him everything will be okay. It will be, Jack, maybe in hell, but it will be. You’ll be okay. You’re gone now.
I release him and pull back, gasping for air like I was the one being throttled. Jack doesn’t move. He pisses himself, and his bowels release. The dead doing their dead thing. It’s only a body now. I stare at him, breathing hard, jaw clenched against the rolling waves of pleasure that cascade down my spine.
Fucking beautiful.
I close my eyes. It takes a few moments to gather myself. Once my heartrate is lowered to normal, I take off my gloves and shove them into my pocket. There’s nothing here that’ll tie me to the murder. Jack’s just another piece of shit dealer, and nobody will miss him. Except for those girls, since they’ll have to find a new way to source their drugs, but they’re better off in the long run too.
I pause in the living room. The girls are still passed out. I watch them sleeping as the bliss of watching Jack die fades, leaving only the bleak empty nothing hole behind. I take out a little tube of Chapstick and swipe it over my lips. I stare at it and lick the end, tasting only wax. Not her. Never really her.
I leave the sleeping girls alone and step out into the evening.
It’s not even late. That’s how easy killing Jack Grace was. I took him at six in the evening. An older couple walks past me, and I nod at them and smile, feeling nothing. They nod and smile back.