Page 45 of Psycho Boys

Opening the backpack, Cali hands me my mask and takes hers out. The masks go on, concealing our identities and transforming us into something entirely else. She hands me a pair of black latex gloves, sliding her hands in her own pair. Tucking her zippo in her back pocket, she sticks the lighter fluid in the other and grips her favorite knife in her hand, ready to put an end to another name who caused her so much pain.

We quietly walk up the stairs, the red glow from our masks dimly lighting our way through the unknown maze of old furniture and shitty art hung on the white walls. My heart thumps as I retrieve my gun, wanting to be ready for anything.

"You sure you're good?" I ask, double-checking her mental state before we make our move.

"I'm fucking perfect," she whispers, giving me a thumbs up as we come to a cracked door at the end of the hall on the second floor, the TV echoing inside.

We find Holden in a dimly lit room. his back facing the door as Cali pushes it open. Holden is notorious for his ruthlessness and involvement in the same underworld circles as our parents, which means he has to fucking die.

Creeping up behind him, Cali catches him off guard, pressing her sharp blade against the front of his throat as she spins his chair around so he's facing us. Holden's eyes, wide with terror, meet ours, confusion swirling as he takes in the masks, probably already knowing who's beneath them. He tries to speak, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, but Calista silences him with a swift, sharp movement, making a small, deep cut across his Adams apple.

"It's fucking over," she whispers, her voice devoid of emotion, a chilling contrast to the vibrant energy she exuded just hours before.

The air crackles with tension, the silence punctuated only by the ragged breaths of our captive and the metallic click of my gun being cocked.

The next few minutes are a blur of controlled violence, a dance of death choreographed with precision and practiced skill. There's no screaming, no pleas for mercy. Only the muffled sounds of struggle as Cali stabs Holden over and over until a pool of blood lies underneath him, and then the random, sharp snap of bone as she puts her knife down, grabs his head tightly, and twists it, breaking his neck and killing him quickly, before he can even bleed out.

When it's over, we stand amidst the carnage, the silence heavy with the weight of what we have done. Calista meticulously cleans the scene, making sure no trace of us is left behind, her movements efficient and precise. Pulling out the lighter fluid as I stand near the door feeling useless, she pours it over his body and around the room until it's empty.

"Fuck, I already feel better," she says, laughing as she leaves a ziploc baggie with a flashdrive inside, away from the dead body and soon-to-be fire, so the authorities can find it. Once she lights the zippo and puts the flame on his drenched shirt, she bolts for the door, dragging me hurriedly back the way we came, a rush of adrenaline coursing through us.

We leave the house as we had arrived, silent and unseen, the only evidence of our passage being the lingering scent of blood, the roaring fire on the top floor, and the chilling memory of what had transpired within those decaying walls.

Back in the car, the silence is different this time. It isn't the comfortable silence of shared understanding, but the heavy, suffocating silence of guilt and the knowledge that we havecrossed another line from which there is no return. But we've been far past that line for a long time, and still the guilt continues to eat away at me.

The sunset, once a symbol of hope and freedom, now feels like a cruel mockery, a beautiful backdrop to a brutal act. Calista's hand rests on my thigh, but the touch feels cold and distant. The weight of our actions presses down on me, a crushing burden that threatens to consume me.

She pulls outthecrumpled-up piece of paper and reaches for a pen in the center console, a smile prpidly dancing across her red-painted lips as she crosses off Holden's name, admiring the list like a newborn baby, a twinkle in her eye and all.

1. Mother

2. Father

3.Holden Graham

4. Gunnar

5. Adam Moretti (Ash's father)

6. David Blacksburg (Kill's father)

7. Jackson Gray (Dom's father)

8. State Senator Pete Gallagher

9. Mayor Kyle Benjamin

10. City Councilman Marcus Rutherford

11. Judge Hayden Wilson

12. Brockton Chief of Police Robert Bailey

13. City Councilman Mr. Josè Brown

“Six motherfuckers left, Kill; six left,” she says, her voice cracking, knowing her adventure is coming to an end.

“I can't believe it,” I admit, still stunned. She killed half a dozen men on her own, for the most part.

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