Page 66 of Entombed In Sin

ANGEL EYES

There’s a pep to my step as I walk down the residential driveway.

It’s a quarter after nine. The sky is darker than normal thanks to the thin clouds blocking the moon and the stars. There aren’t any streetlights on the road leading up to this driveway, and the woods on either side of the street add to the darkness. It’s just my type of night.

As I approach the older two-story house, I take my time. Most of the curtains are drawn, but lights are bleeding through, letting me know the owner is still awake. I can’t wait to meet him. Somehow, this man, Pastor Michaels, was able to get under the Hunt twins’ skin today. I’d watched from afar as they spoke in the church parking lot. The tension humming between the three of them had been palpable. The flash of fury covered by contempt in Thatcher’s expression was a delight to see. What could have possibly transpired between them that would’ve causedthatreaction?

Did the pastor accuse them of murder? Of stealing his son’s eyes?

I sat in the back of the church and watched during the service as the pastor’s eyes continuously darted from the twinsto the doors, as if expecting something. Or someone. Judging by the scorn and absolute vile murmured behind the hands of the congregation members, the stiffness radiating off the twins, and the pastor’s nervous ticks, I’m inclined to believe the father of the deceased may have been expecting Beatrix Starr.

I’d watched Thatcher and Sagan closely. They’d sat so still. Eerily so. But their quiet rage? That was like sitting through a violent hailstorm. It’s interesting, really. These two act like protective big brothers rather than lovers. At least in public. Behind closed doors, I’m sure that’s not the default dynamic.

Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter what triggered the reaction in the parking lot. All that I truly care about is that the congregation saw the whole passionate exchange. I hadn’t planned on doing anything to the people of Chasm. I wanted to wait until the next time the Hunt twins drove into Chicago to act.

But how can I pass up this opportunity to throw a wrench in their perfect little world?

Nearly giddy with what’s to come, my pace increases. Rather than approach the front door right away, I decide to loop around the property. Carefully, I note the different escape routes. The property slopes toward the back. The wet leaves that were never raked during fall are a noted hazard in case I need to make a quick escape. Scouting the property is just a precaution. I won’t need to run or escape tonight. I’m almost positive about that. But as certain as I am, I have a beautiful wife at home that needs me. I can’t afford to grow too complacent. Especially now that I’ve given her hope. Failing my sweet ShayShay isn’t an option.

Tonight, I’m here to stir up trouble to distract the twins.

Then, with their attention elsewhere, I’ll rip their family apart.

My fist comes up to knock on the front door. Before I can make contact with the barrier, though, I realize it's already open. The door is open just enough to let the smallest amount ofinterior light out. My fist freezes in the air. What’s this? Has this door been left open the whole time? It’s possible that I may have missed it when I did my laps. Still… It seems odd to keep your front door open this late at night. Confused, I turn to check the driveway. Only the pastor’s car is here. Did he come outside while I was out back?

Lowering my fist, I strain to hear any noise to tell me someone is moving about.

I do hear something almost immediately. But it’s not coming from outside. There’s a yelp, then a hard thud. Lighter knocking follows, frantic and without rhythm. I frown as I consider my options. If Pastor Michaels is busy, taking him by surprise would be easy. But what if someone else is inside? I glance at the driveway again. As I scan for signs of anyone else, I notice the pounding inside the house is beginning to dwindle. It’s not as loud or frantic.

I hesitate only a moment longer before deciding I’m going to check it out. If there is someone else inside, I’ll kill them too. What’s one more body? Pushing open the door, I step into the house. I don’t have to go far to find the pastor.

There, hanging from the metal railing, is his body. He’s still flailing a bit, his hands twitching at his side, but they don’t rise up to try to remove the rope from around his neck. His eyes bulge and his face is a deep shade of purple. Dressed in his pastoral clothes from earlier, he looks like he came home from his son’s funeral service and simply kept moving—not giving himself time to relax enough to change into something more comfortable.

With a weak croak, Pastor Michaels goes limp.

“Goddamn it!” I snarl.

Iwas supposed to kill this bastard. His death would’ve stirred up a fuck ton of gossip and speculation—all circling around the Hunt twins. They wouldn’t get a moment of reprieve from it andthe police would hound them. They’d be backed into a corner with all eyes on them. A disruption in their life—that’s all I wanted. With all that stress, they wouldn’t see me coming.

But that’s all out the door with the pastor fucking kill himself!

“Fuck!” I spit out through clenched teeth.

Ok, well, it’s not the end of the world. I glare at the body for a moment before starting toward the staircase just off to the side. I can still make this look like a murder. There’s always the option of taking his eyes, like I did with his son. Maybe the police would notice this time and wonder about that? I get three steps up when headlights flash through the open door.

I freeze as they wash over me before swinging out of sight. They’re followed by the sound of tires screeching to a halt. I know what’s coming next. My body twists and I head back downstairs and slip into another room at the sound of a car door opening.

“Ernest! Ernest!” someone shouts.

A few seconds later, I hear footsteps enter the house.

“Oh my god! Ernest! No!” The panic and horror in the visitor’s voice is strained as they stare up at the body dangling from the second floor. There’s a fumbling of footsteps as they make their way upstairs, the sound of ragged breathing and a broken sob. “Shit, shit, Ernest,no!”

My chest tightens in fury as I listen to the visitor make a call for help. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This house is going to be swarming with bodies here in a minute, from EMTs to the police. I need to get out of here. I move toward the other entrance to the room, the one that leads around to the back of the house. There’s a patio door I can use to slip out and into the backyard. I just need to get out of here without being heard. My plan to fuck the Hunt twins over failed before it even began.

Irritation is a hot sizzle coursing through my veins. This isn’t the end of the world. Coming here wasn’t even part of the biggerplan. It was a side quest just to ruffle the Hunt twins up. I’ll get them soon enough. I just hate when my plans are thwarted.

Just as I make it to the glass door, handle in hand, I hear the visitor speak again.

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