Page 17 of Trick or Treat

“And I fucking told you that I was coming, so get over it.”

As we move toward the alley in search of a truck to move the girls' bodies from the other night, our heavy steps reverberate from beneath the bridge as the train squeals above us on the old tracks, coming to a rough stop at the station.

“What are you doing with the fucking head?”

“I haven’t decided yet," he laughs, a sinister grin curling on his lips.

“So you’re just going to carry it around until you do?” I laugh, tucking a smoke between my lips, as we file down the dark alley in a line, using the flame from the lighter to illuminate our way.

“No, White. I was gonna leave it for her tonight, but I changed my mind. Just stop asking fucking questions,” he spits, sounding more uptight than usual.

We come to a halt when we hear voices ahead, and we duck into the darkness to avoid being seen. A female yells, and distinct male voices follow, building up my rage to the point where my veins bulge with burning hot fire. We exchange glances as we pull our knives from our boots, both of us aware of what’s about to go down.

I emerge from the shadows, smoking my cigarette, lighting the cherry, and causing the orange to glow brilliantly as the men push the girl against the side of the abandoned building. As I approach the men tearing at her clothing, Sil remains crouching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She screams again when I bolt up and she sees my mask. I begin ripping the guys off of her and tossing them to the ground on their backs.

“Get out of here,” I tell her, not even giving her another glance.

She runs, and I turn around slowly, giving the predatory creatures a chance to get to their feet for a fair fight. I notice Sil slowly making himself known, stepping into the dim street light with his silver mask on and his blade gleaming in his hand.

“Who the fuck are you weirdos?” One of them laughs, slurring his words as he points to the masks on our faces that protect our identities from the world.

“Your worst fucking nightmares,” Sil bites back, still as calm as can be. Compared to the shit we’ve done, this is nothing.

Without noticing the knives we have in our grips, they charge at us, each one slamming into the sharpened point. I dance around my guy as he tries to flee, twisting the knife as I press it deeper into his stomach, while Sil continues to play with his. Blood splatters everywhere, staining his white shirt and turning my hands bright red. After I knock him to the ground and remove my knife, I re-insert it into his neck, slicing his jugular in half and almost completely removing his head.

“I wasn’t planning on killing them here, White,” Silver shouts as he swipes the blade across the guy’s throat as he lies still underneath him, decapitating him completely so that his head rolls down the small hill toward the end of the alley.

"Now look at what we've fucking done," I laugh, rolling the limp, bloody body to the side, blending it in with the bushes, while Sil fetches the bloodied head like it's a fucking basketball, tossing it where the bodies are piled.

"So, we just add them in with the girls' bodies, and we bury the four of them together. No biggie," he replies with a casual shrug to match.

We return to the cemetery after getting a truck to move the new bodies. Sil is quiet, gazing out the window, and is probably losing himself in compulsive memories of the black-haired beauty from Halloween night—the one he saw holding a gun.

Riley appears to be passed out when we enter the Mausoleum, clutching a bottle of Jim Beam and sprawled out on the top of a coffin. Blade approaches, looking at his brother, but Saint brushes past him and helps himself to the sheet of acid on the small wooden table near the bloody concrete torture slab.

"What the fuck? Why does it look like you two got into a fucking fight?" Blade eyes us, anger seeping off of him as he grits his teeth and steps into my face.

"Because we did. Their bodies are in the truck. We're putting them with the girls."

"What the fuck, Nixon?" He glares at me, bearing his teeth.

"It wasn't our fault they ran into our knives! We ripped them off of some girl they were going after."

He shakes his head but smiles and pats me on the back. Blade, being the oldest, took on the role of big brother; even though he’s Saint's actual big brother, he’s all of ours in a way. We became close during our shared time serving in the Marines. The four of us are as thick as thieves—orkillers, depending on your perspective.

He approaches his brother and pulls him toward the small room we constructed for privacy before leaving me alone with a snoring Riley. I snatch the bottle of Jim Beam from his hand and take a few sips before starting to load the girls' bodies into the truck so I can take them to the cemetery on the other side of Salem.

Blade

I can tell something's eating at Saint, but trying to get him to talk is like trying to get a junkie to get clean. After he's placed the tab of acid on his tongue and shot gunned his first beer, I hand him a lit cigarette and tug him out of the Mausoleum, hoping the fresh air and change of scenery will help him open up.

"Fucking spill it, Saint," I say the minute we step outside.

"Ain't nothing to talk about, Blade. I'm fine. I already told your ass that."

"It's got something to do with Scar, doesn't it?" Once I say her name, he looks at me, his curiosity instantly piqued.

"How'd you know her name, Blade?"

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