Page 137 of Chalk Outline
“I wouldn’t recommend saying that to the boss. He has connections in high places.”
“Fuck the boss. We put our freedom on the line.”
“What are you doing here?” says a sinister voice behind me, and the two men snap their heads in my direction.
It’s him.
I gulp audibly.
“Nothing, I’m leaving,” I mumble, spinning around to face him. My eyes scan his body for a chance encounter with a snake, but it’s not there. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Hold on, little girl.” He blocks my path, snatches my cotton candy from my hand, and throws it to the ground. “You didn’t answer my question.” He gives me a chuck under the chin.
“Please, I won’t say anything.”
“You hear that?” he says to the men, and they chuckle behind me. “Since you ask so nicely, I mean, we have to, right?”
“Winona,” my bodyguard calls out. “Let’s go.”
“I’m here!” I shout before the clown puts his hand over my mouth, muffling my screams.
“Not a world, little girl, or I cut you.”
He pushes me toward the other two masked men, and they surround me, pinning me tightly. I flinch at the pain from their grip and try to break free, but they overpower me, holding me still and digging their fingers into my skin.
Before I can scream again, they hush me with their bloody hands.
The man in the clown mask yanks my bodyguard and starts pummeling him with brass knuckles. Blood sprays everywhere as a mixture of the crunching sound of bones breaking and muffled groans rings in my ear. I watch in horror as he keeps beating him to a pulp, over and over, kicking him, tearing him apart with his bare hands.
No.
Tears fill my eyes as he becomes unrecognizable.
“This is what happens when little girls wander where they shouldn’t,” he grits out between harsh breaths. “Maybe I’ll leave you paralyzed so you never snoop around people’s business ever again.”
My pulse is roaring in my ears.
A movement in the distance catches my eye, and I zoom in on a boy running toward the exit. I want to call out to him and ask for help, but I can’t make a sound.
They grab my chin roughly, forcing me to watch as the clown pours gasoline over my bodyguard and pulls a matchbox from his pocket.
“Doesn’t it look pretty?” he asks in a sadistic tone. “That’s not something you see every day. Enjoy the show.” He lights a match and flicks it at the body, setting it on fire.
I freeze.
Their hands no longer hold me.
Their voices are gone.
Only the warmth of the crackling fire surrounds me.
“Winona, run!”
A distant voice issues commands.
I know that voice.
I love her voice, even though she controls every aspect of my life and cages me inside the house.
