Page 5 of Mean One

Max slapped a folded newspaper in her lap, tapping the title with her index finger.

“You’ve made the front page.” She leaned close, kissing my cheek as I gripped the paper and flipped it open. “See?” She pointed again. My eyes scanned the text, reading aloud.

“The Grouch is back! Whoreville is in a panic, its townsfolk watching over their shoulders as the shadow of such a monster haunts us all. Despite years of peace, the once-forgotten Grouch has returned and seems to have one thing on his mind: revenge. Even his mother has sat down to share her thoughts on?—”

I stopped, my stomach dropping as I silently reread the last sentence. Max leaned in, curiously reading the sentence out loud, my claws digging into the leather with each word. “Even his mother has sat down to share her thoughts on both his horrendous past and current crime. She claims he is no son of hers, or her late wife’s, and vows to seek justice for the slain couple found in the street late last night, stating ‘he got away with it once, but I won’t let him get away with it again.’ Whoreville’s police chief, Gustopher, has refused to release a statement at this time.” She looked at me, her green irises watching me closely. “Don’t you listen to this.” She crumbled up the newspaper and tossed it into the fire. “Whoreville has no idea what really happ?—”

I stood, and Max slipped from my lap and fell to the floor.

“Fuck Whoreville! My own mother hates me, Max.” I stared into the flames, watching as they danced and devoured the newspaper. “After what happened, I’m not surprised. I hate myself for it.” Max quickly stood.

“We should kill all of them.” She stomped her foot. “She doesn't deserve you. No one does.”

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly at her protectiveness as I crossed my arms and glanced back at her. “Even if she does hate me, I’m not going to kill an old woman. Death is already knocking on her door. But,” I looked back into the fire, watching as the embers of the newspaper drifted into the air, “I know exactly who we could kill to make ourselves feel better. Why don’t you show me where that newspaper was printed? I think it’s time to add some color to their dull print.”

The snowfall softenedas we approached the back door of the printing press. Max watched, checking the dark alley as I used the tip of my claw to pick the lock. The back door easily opened for us, slightly squeaking as we slithered into the building.

The sound and warmth of large printers filled the air, the smell of fresh ink and newly-printed paper clogging my nostrils as we ventured deeper, searching the seemingly emptied building. If my memory was correct, there would be at least one person lingering behind to ensure this wretched little newspaper of Whoreville was running sufficiently. It was something I was personally betting on tonight. Max stopped me with her arm as we approached the back of one of the large printers. I listened, hearing a faint whistling coming from the other side. I was right; someone was here after all.

Max’s grin made me giddy as I nodded and stepped around the machine to find an older man comparing a few prints. My sudden appearance must have startled him, as he nearly fell over.

“Y-you’re the—the?—”

“The-the-the. Go on.” I flexed my claws as saliva dripped from my teeth, my mouth watering with anticipation. “Say it.” He stepped back, his spine hitting a wall as he shook with fear. “Say it!”

“T-the Grouch,” he stuttered. I tilted my head, a low snarl escaping my clenched teeth.

“Bingo.”

My arm swung, slicing his torso as his body flung across the room. He groaned in pain, blood soaking the scattered newspapers around him. I picked one up, folding it as my claw tapped the article featuring me and my mother.

“Did you write this?” His dark eyes just stared ahead. “Answer me!”

“I-I-I—” was all he could manage.

My hand gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him from the ground, raising him off his feet as I slammed my forehead into his, my brows furrowed and full of anger.

“Answer me!” The room vibrated with my roar while my nostrils flared.

“I-I only print the papers!” I scoffed at his statement. “P-please!” Weak, pathetic old man. Max suddenly appeared, swaying her hips and twirling her hair.

“I found something I think you’re really going to like.” She winked. “Follow me.” My eyes returned to the bawling man, dropping his body as I grabbed one of his arms and dragged him behind me, his blood smearing along the floor as we followed Max. She led us around the corner to what appeared to be an old-school printing press, one with a large metal plate that hovered above the base. She skirted around it, tapping it with her fingers. “I think we could put this beauty to use, don’t you?”

“I like the way you think, freckles.” God, she was beautifully insane. I turned to look at the man over my shoulder, his wounds leaving a trail of blood behind him as I dragged him closer. “Since you don’t want to tell me, I’m going to force it from your mouth with the most excruciating pain. Get ready, old man. Youwilltell me who wrote that article.” I yanked his arm up and slammed it onto the base of the press.

“No! No! Please!” the man begged and pleaded, trying to rip his arm free with the other, scrambling to escape my grip.

Max pulled his free arm, forcing it to the ground as she stomped on his hand, crunching his fingers beneath her shoe as she giggled at his screams and cries. I gripped the handle of the hovering plate, grinning as I stared down at him, raging with power.

“Tell me.” I squeezed the handle. “Whowrote the article?” The man sobbed uncontrollably, unable to answer me. Pity. “Fine. Let’s see if you can print these newspapers with only one arm!” I yanked the handle as the metal plate began to fall.

“Wait! Wait!” I stopped the heavy plate just in time, the bulky slab hovering an inch above his shaky arm. “I-it was that female reporter! T-the one with a silly name.”

“What name?” I demanded. He didn’t answer, only begged. “Tell me their name, or I’ll peel your flesh from your skull.” I bore my teeth.

“Cindy! Her name is Cindy!”

“Cindywhat?”

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