Page 101 of Horror and Chill
“We don’t want the whole town on our asses right away,” I say.
“Boring,” Corwin drawls.
“We want their bones to rattle. We want Michael and Debra to wake up and look over their shoulder. We need the right kind of fear.”
Garron’s pen taps the table. “Michael’s pride will be the most fun to crack. Debra watches everything he does as if he’s her God. Make her watch him fall, and she loses her mind.”
Corwin slams a fist on the table. “I want the pastor. We humiliate him. Publicly shame him. Make him small. Then he dies.”
“That’s the idea,” Garron agrees.
42
Agatha
I pullon black leggings and the green shirt with Medusa on the front, the one that saysthe female gazein crooked letters. After twisting the top half of my hair into a loose knot, I pin it until it looks like I meant it that way. I slip into Crocs and stomp down the stairs.
The boys are hunched at the table like a jury. Papers, a map, empty cups. Garron looks up with that even face. Corwin grins like he owns the world.
I pour a coffee because the ritual steadies me more than anything. I carry the mug to the table and slide into the spot between Corwin and Garron.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
Garron keeps his voice flat. “We’re going to watch Michael for a few days. Learn his not-at-church routine. When we know enough, we move.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Okay.”
Corwin drops his jaw like I have given him the wrong answer. “That is it? Just okay? We plan on killing your father, and you only say okay?”
I laugh, a hard sound. “He stopped being my dad a long time ago. I left when I was eighteen, and I have not talked to anyone from that town since. I do not miss them. I miss what they might have been, but I made do. I built my family with Kira and Lorna and Chad. Behind the Lens is my life. It is more than a job.”
Corwin leans in like he loves the drama. “So that's why you didn’t want us to touch Kylo.”
“Yes,” I say, blunt. “I do not hurt my friends.”
Garron nods and folds the paper flat. “We understand. You gave us another name, and we’ll hold up our end.”
I drain the last of my coffee and drop the mug in the sink. Corwin snatches up the map again, muttering about routes. Garron double-checks his papers, Evander brushes crumbs off the table, quiet as always, but his eyes flick to me when he thinks I won’t notice.
“Alright,” Garron says, folding the paper. “Time to move.”
Outside, the air feels damp. Gravel crunches under our feet as we cross to the car. Garron takes the wheel without asking. I slide into the backseat between Evander and Corwin, his elbow draped over the seat like he owns everything.
Garron steers, and the little town slides by like a photograph I don’t want to remember. We park at the little park about half a mile from the house. Garron kills the engine, and Corwin hands us each a pair of binoculars. I hold them to my eyes, adjusting them until the porch light and the truck in the drive come into view. I lean forward, stomach knotting tighter with every second.
We’ve been watching the house for fifteen minutes when an older man in a windbreaker slows on the walking path, eyeing the binoculars.
“What are you up to?” he asks, but his voice is suspicious.
Corwin freezes, but I don’t miss a beat. I tilt my chin, like I’ve done this a thousand times. “Birdwatching.”
“You lot are birdwatching?” He raises a caterpillar-shaped brow.
“Yeah. There’s a red-winged blackbird,” I point off toward the brush. Then, without hesitation, I add, “Conk-la-reeee.”
The man blinks, like he’s not sure whether to be impressed or weirded out.
“Don’t hear many of those this time of year,” he mutters.
