Page 115 of Horror and Chill
I hold my hand out, and Garron hands me what I want instantly. While Little Horror sat with us and planned when we were coming and the layout of the house, we left our plan of what her birth givers would endure a secret.
I take the needle and thread and look at Debra, and I just know there has to be a wicked glimmer in my eyes. “Hold her steady, brother,” I tell Evander.
He steps behind her and presses a hand on each side of her head so she can’t move while I work. Straddling her lap, I pinch her lips together roughly and shove the needle through the top and then bottom lip. She squeals, but it’s muffled since I’m pinching her lips shut tight enough she’ll have bruises. Not that it’ll matter.
I continue my work stitching her mouth shut all the way from the left to right side. Then, I make a little knot and step back, admiring my work. She looks like Sally fromThe Nightmare Before Christmasif Nurse Ratched was her creator.
Debra stares at me over it, eyes wide, tears making little tracks down her cheeks. But I pay her no mind, nor do I have any sympathy. She didn’t speak and stand up for her child when it mattered, so there’s no need for her to talk now.
Evander releases her, and it’s time for her to watch our final performance with Michael. Garron kicks out his boot, landing square on Michael’s chest, sending him flying backward in the chair so he’s looking up at the ceiling. The action startles him back to consciousness, and Garron hovers over him with a foot on each side of his body.
“Any last words? Maybe an apology for everything you did,” he volunteers.
He doesn’t say a word, just continues to glare daggers at us.
“Little Horror?” Evander asks.
We all turn to look at her, and she steps closer, squats down and speaks. “You made me feel small so you could feel big. You told yourself I was a sinner, and maybe I was, but so were you. ‘Fathers are to not provoke their children to wrath but to bring them up in the Lord's training and admonition.’ It’s there you fucked up.”
His eyes widen as they search hers.
“I know the Bible. I read it cover to cover after I left, trying to understand what kind of God would want you to do what you did. That would approve of what you did. You took his word and twisted it to fit your fancy. You let other weak men brainwash you.”
“Aga—” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“Did you know? Did you know what they did to me when you dropped me off with them?” She turns to Debra. “Did you? You left me with wicked men and didn’t question when I came home stripped and sobbing. So tell me, did you know they touched what wasn’t theirs? Did you know they looked upon my body…the body of a child with desire?”
Debra’s tears come faster as she shakes her head back and forth rapidly.
“They wouldn’t,” Michael rasps.
“They would and did. You were just too blind to want to see it. Why else would I come home naked after being with them?” she spits.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
“It's a little too late. And you’re only sorry that you’re here now. Only sorry you won’t get to control and be part of another’s horror story. Because tell me, Dad, how many more women and girls have you helped and left alone with Lundy and Williams? After you turned a blind eye to your own daughter?”
He says nothing.
“That’s what I thought. Go to hell.” She stands up and leans against the wall, not saying anything more to them, but looks at me. “Carry on.”
I waste no time in grabbing a large cloth from the bag and the vinegar before handing Garron the scrunchie hose. He takes it and heads into the kitchen, hooking one end to the sink faucet.As he returns to us, still holding the other end, the hose stretches out behind him, ready for when we need it.
Evander gets to his knees beside Michael and holds his head. His eyes widen as I place the cloth over his face and start pouring the vinegar over the rag.
Across from him, Debra jerks in her ropes. Her shoulders shake, head thrashing side to side like she can will this to stop. Muffled squeals spill past the sutures, garbled and desperate. It’s not words, just the raw sound of terror. Her eyes are wide enough that the whites show all the way around, wet with tears.
He sputters and thrashes, but it’s no use. Choking noises come from under the rag as I empty the gallon of vinegar. When it’s empty, I grab the hose and hold it over the rag and nod to Garron, who’s back at the sink, to turn it on.
Water flows freely from the hose and soaks the rag as Michael spits and chokes beneath it. This goes on for just shy of eight minutes before Michael is still and no sounds come from under the cloth.
Sure enough, when I kink the hose and Evander uncovers his face. Michael has almost a bluish tint to his face in some spots, and his lips and cheeks are swollen.
Debra makes a broken keening sound, shaking in her bonds so hard the chair rocks. She is sobbing, but the sound can’t form into words, trapped behind the silence she earned years ago.
Garron turns the water off in the kitchen and returns to press two fingers against Michael’s throat, waiting. A long breath later, he shakes his head once. Nothing.
The three of us turn toward her. Our girl doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pale, doesn’t even blink. She just smiles. Small, sharp, sly. The kind of smile a cat makes with a canary caught between its teeth.
