Page 24 of Pulling Strings

The bound man’s cries weakened as the airsqueezed out. His pitiful whimpers struck every one of my already frazzled nerves.

“I’m waiting,” Grimm rumbled.

Thatcher whined a shrill sound that must have taken all his effort to squeak out. I rounded on him with my fist raised.

“Shut up!” I snapped, and he did, too.

His head tipped sideways where the spinal cord had separated. Internal decapitation. Immediate silence.

Avery whistled. “Damn.”

My jaw clenched as I looked away.

Grimm echoed my thoughts when he said, “You’re out of control, boy.”

It was starting to feel that way. Like yesterday’s toilet bowl spiral was still sucking me down. Nothing I could say would stop the sensation of drowning, but words came out anyway.

“This is stupid,” I said. “So fucking stupid. And it’s not about Donnie at all. It’s about you and your endless power trip. Just saying jump and wanting us all to ask how high.” Everything was hot, swelling up from my gut like a sickness I wanted to puke out.

“I jumped, damn it,” I continued. “I’m here. And Thatcher’s dead, so congrats. You got what you wanted. Like always.”

Vinton dropped the books he’d been holding. His muscles rippled as he squared himself with me. “You’d better show some respect, you little cocksucker.”

Predictable. And brazen to call me names when we all knew he’d lick Grimm’s shoes given the chance.

“Stay out of this, kiss ass,” I told him. “The men are talking.”

The burly man growled and lunged forward, across the room but closing fast.

I swung an arm toward him, rocketing force in aclothesline that struck him center mass. He flew backward into the fireplace, crumpling the mesh screen and upsetting the pile of logs.

Avery muffled a laugh. “Well, that’s my cue.”

A two-wheeled dolly materialized in his hands. He slid it under the legs of the chair containing Thatcher’s lifeless body. When the dolly tipped backward, the bound man’s head lolled.

Vinton lumbered to his feet, so enraged I thought steam might rise from his polished dome.

“Gimme that,” he snarled at Avery, reaching for the dolly and its corpse cargo.

I tensed, bracing for retaliation until Grimm spoke again.

“No.” He stopped Vinton with a shake of his head. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

Vinton withdrew, sulking.

“Down, boy,” I sneered at him.

The necromancer let out a roar. Thatcher’s body forgotten, Vinton charged at me. Full linebacker move, ready to take me to the ground.

Before he could reach me, I punched up through the air and caught him mid-flight. I struck him in the gut with enough force to launch him into the ceiling. He crashed through the fan and its attached light fixture, reducing the room to darkness with a shower of drywall dust.

His body needed no assistance from me to plummet to the floor and land with a thud that knocked the air out of him.

Grimm surged forward, suddenly near my face. He caught hold of my forearm and held it aloft where I’d used it to throw Vinton.

In the blackened room, it took a moment to discern Grimm’s expression as he loomed over me. Hisshoulders heaved with scarcely controlled breaths.

“That’s enough.” His grip on my arm wrenched painfully tight. He was still holding on when someone else joined the conversation.

---