Page 113 of The Lies We Steal

He wiggles, bucking off the ground, the last attempts of a man about to meet whatever maker he believed in. Never to take another breath again.

“I want you to remember this fear in Hell. Remember this pain for eons as you roast alive in the pits of the underworld.”

With unimaginable strength he sinks his thumbs into the sockets of Greg’s eyes. Pressing into the hollows, digging through the delicate skin of the eyelid, seeping farther into the spongy muscles of his eye.

Guttural screams, like a static TV come from Greg’s chest. A pain that would have anyone begging for mercy. Yet, Silas barely flinches. Even as blood vessels begin to pop open allowing blood to squirt onto his chest, coating his thumbs as he gouges his eyes out.

“Fuck,” Rook whispers under his breath as he stands beside me, Thatcher looking at it as if it’s some sort of demonstration and he should be taking notes.

“I hope you think about her, how you could have avoided this had you never laid a hand on her.” He continues, looking unshaken, as if he’s digging into a peach to pry the pit out of the center, the soft flesh giving way to his pressure.

Crimson liquid replaces the hollows of his eyes, streams of the sticky blood race down the sides of his cheeks. The way he curls his thumbs beneath the side of the eye, pulling upwards abruptly. When Silas removes his fingers from inside his eyes, it looked like a digital horror effect.

The way Greg’s eyes dangled from the sockets by tiny nerve endings, jiggling with the momentum of his body’s violent shakes.

Without another word spoken, Silas wraps his hands around Greg’s throat and begins to compress. It takes four minutes to end his life. Four quiet minutes before his legs stop moving, his throat stops making gargled noises, and his heart rate completely stops.

In those four minutes it felt like it was finally over.

For now.

Together we helped follow Thatcher’s instructions on cleaning up the body, picking up any traces of us being here, while he drowned the body in bleach. Making sure any form of DNA evidence we had left on his body was melted away by the chemicals.

As our last measure of covering up our tracks, we let Rook douse him in lighter fluid, before setting Greg on fire. The smell of burnt flesh and fried blood took over any other smell. It came off as a perfume of death and my nose would still be smelling it years from now.

I stood outside of the house, waiting for the body to disintegrate, smoking a cigarette against the brick when Silas came walking outside hood up and head facing the sky, like he was looking for her in the stars.

“You good?” I ask him as I exhale the smoke from my lungs.

“I asked you to stay a year, stay still we figured out who did it and we did that tonight. So I’m not gonna ask you to stay any longer.” He says, still not looking down from the night, “But I’m going after Frank.”

I wasn’t offended by what he said. He knew what being here was like for me. Having to stay longer in a town that raised me to be an outcast with a family that put me there to begin with. I knew he was just trying to look out for me.

But I told him I’d stay till he was done. I promised him.

And I wouldn’t break it. Not even if it meant dealing with the trauma that comes with this place.

I walk up behind him, placing my hand on his shoulder, “I’m with you, until the very end of this. I’m with you, Si.” And I meant that. I would be here until the end, whatever that meant for us.

He nods, accepting my answer, “She used to say you were the most like the older brother.”

I furrow my eyebrows, my throat suddenly clogged, “What?”

“Rose. She used to say that you took on the older brother role, so that you could be what you never had. Always looking out, making sure nothing ever happened. It was one of her favorite things about you, because she knew I’d be alright as long as you were in charge.” There is a faint smile as he stares up into the night, telling me something I’d never heard before.

I’d never told Rosemary about my family, but when you grow up around someone, it’s hard not to notice the inner workings of someone’s life. She knew enough to put certain things together.

I let silence takeover. Allowing him some space, some time to think about what just happened. To come down from the adrenaline high we all were experiencing.

Somewhere deep down I knew Rose was in the clouds angry with us. Angry with Silas for risking our lives just to avenge someone who was already dead. I could see her slitted eyes and furrowed brow.

But even so, we could die knowing her killer met the same fate.

That was enough.

“Alistair!” Rook shouts from inside of the house, barreling through the entryway to the front porch.

“What?” I ask, suddenly snapping back to high alert. Ready to fix whatever problem had just arisen.

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