Page 111 of Horror and Chill
“Why the tongue?” Evander asks, softer. “Why take it out?”
Garron shrugs like it’s obvious. “They used their mouths as weapons. We left the tongue in plain sight so the town would see the hazard. It’s a message. People remember what they can see.”
Words are cheap and mean. The tongue is a warning. A reminder not to touch what isn’t theirs. I see Evander weighing the brutality against the mercy he gave last night. He stayed so she wouldn’t wake.
“And the lens?”
That one’s mine. I drag the rag across the tire rim, buying a few seconds. My mouth pulls into a smirk. “The camera belonged to them. They watched her, then turned on her. We caught them looking at pictures of her when she was young. The lens was dramatic, yeah, but they pissed me off. Calling our girl a whore while jerking off to her face? The lens was theater and evidence in the same breath.”
Evander rubs his face like he’s wiping something off. “Couldn’t you have kept it quieter? Did it have to be that public? We’re here to murder others, not just them.”
Garron’s face goes hard. “We made it public so the town would understand the price. If they see it, they remember.”
“I stayed home to make sure she slept. I should have gone with you to keep you leashed. But what’s done is done.”
Something like gratitude sits in my gut. He’s the man who will sit with her if nightmares come, careful enough to keep herwhole. He isn’t built for spectacle, and still he kept watch while we did the rot-cleaning.
We turn off the water and head inside because our jeans are sticking to our legs. Soapy water ran into our shoes, and wet socks are the fucking worst. Garron pushes the door open like the house already belongs to him. Evander goes ahead of me, and his shoulders block most of the stairwell. I trail behind and catch a glimpse of the hallway upstairs.
I head toward my room to change, hand brushing the wall on the way up. Then the bathroom door opens, and she steps out.
Agatha’s got a towel twisted in her hair and one tied around her body. She stops when she sees me. For a second, the hall feels like it’s about to close in. Sunlight from the high window lays a stripe across her face. She stares like she’s waiting for words I haven’t said yet.
I break the tension the only way I know how. My mouth finds an old line. “Take a picture,” I say, grinning crooked. “It’ll last longer.”
She rolls her eyes, the little tilt that means the joke landed even if she pretends it didn’t. My chest loosens.
“So?” I ask, leaning a little closer, voice low. “You make up your mind? You in or out?”
The question is a coin I flip, and once it lands there’s no taking it back.
For a moment, she looks like someone making a long list inside her head. Then her eyes steady enough to sink a man.
“I’m all in,” she says, locking everything into place, simple and final.
Garron comes up behind her, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Good,” he says. “Because we move on Michael tomorrow night.”
Agatha whirls on him, eyes flashing. “Okay.”
Garron only grins and takes a step closer—slow, deliberate, crowding her. “Are you mad?” he asks, voice low.
“No.”
He leans down and bites her collarbone hard enough to make her flinch. His mouth hovers at her ear when he mutters, “You’re the revenge they tried to bury, Agatha. The time has come for them to pay their penance.”
“Okay,” she breathes again, softer now, like she’s already given the word away and it belongs to him. Then she ducks out from under us, pulling her towel tighter around herself, and heads to her room. The door shuts with a firm click.
We give her that space. For now.
Downstairs, the three of us meet in the living room. Garron sinks into the old recliner, Evander drops onto the far end of the couch, legs sprawled out. I sit down on the middle cushion, elbows on my knees. Charmed is on the TV, the sisters throwing some glitter spell at a demon. Garron chuckles. “Mom loved this show.”
That pulls a huff of air out of me too. Of all things, she’d pick this to watch.
Agatha comes padding down a few minutes later, hair still damp and loose now, dressed in leggings and a two-toned purple shirt. She doesn’t say anything, just slides onto the couch between me and Evander, curling herself up like she belongs there. Evander shifts to the other end without protest. We don’t argue.
We start talking. We make the list.Michael. Debra. Williams. Lundy.That’s the mission. Anyone else is just cannon fodder. Don’t get in the way, and you live. Easy.
Our voices dip lower as the plan takes shape, Garron sketching lines on a scrap of paper, Evander pointing out the weak spots we’ll need to cover. Agatha doesn’t weigh in, but she doesn’t leave either. She just listens, her eyelids drooping until her head tilts sideways and lands against my shoulder.
