Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
She’s here. My heart races and dread ignites inside of me, but I can’t run. I can’t see her. I can only hear her so close to me.
“No one ever helped me,” she tells me. “They’re going to pay for that.”
It felt so real last night, the sensation of my mother being so close to me.
An uncontrollable shudder runs through me as I slowly walk down the stairs. My heart won’t stop racing and I can’t clear my throat. I feel like I’m suffocating.
It was only a dream.
It’s only a dream.
My chest tightens and the fear rips through me anew as I swear I hear something upstairs, something in the bedroom.
“Knock it off,” I grit between my teeth.
The floor behind me creaks, loud and heavy. It almost sounds like someone’s walking down behind me quickly and not hiding their weight, making me scream and I nearly fall down the last four steps. My back pressed against the wall and my chest frantically rising and falling, I stare behind me. No one’s there. No one’s here.
“It’s only a dream,” I remind myself and ignore the flow of ice that rolls over my body and how every hair on my body stands on end as I remember my mother’s words. They’re going to pay for that.
I’m not crazy, but I feel like I am. Crossing my arms over my chest, I feel my blunt nails dig in and remind myself that I’m alive.
The night after my mom died, I had the same type of dreams. The ones where she felt so real, following me even when I woke up.
“Please, go away,” I beg her as I fall to the floor, sitting on the steps and wishing the wave of coldness that keeps coming over me would go away. Go away forever.
I told you, I hear my mother’s voice, but I know it’s just a memory.
She’s not real. This isn’t real.
The dead don’t stay away for long. And they’ll pay. Every single one of them will pay.
SEBASTIAN
It’s been three years since Romano gave me this job. The knife slams down on the cutting board as the thought hits me. I grab the carved meat and put it in the tub with the rest of the chunks.
I’m the butcher of a shop that rides the line of his territory. When Romano hired me to work here at Paul’s Butcher Shop, I thought it meant something different. I thought it meant he was hiring me to be a part of his crew.
Now I know better; he just wanted to watch me. Train me, or maybe mentor me if he ever needed someone like me. The line of customers coming in for their packages distracts me and I glance up for a moment. Eddie, Paul’s son, rings them up one by one. I stay in the back with a few other guys, processing all the orders and occasionally we have to stay here later, after closing hours.
Like when Romano has a special order.
Picking up the butcher knife, I slam it down with my teeth gritting together. This isn’t his turf, but I’m not ready to start a war or gather an army against him. There’s no one here to recruit, just the addicts who camp out behind the line of the highway that separates his area from Crescent Hills.
Most of the meat here is shipped off to God knows where. This place sees plenty of money come in and go out, but the numbers don’t actually add up. We’re just doing his bidding.
Still, I cut the fucking carcass up like I’m told, and stay on the right side of a would-be enemy while I have to.
I vaguely wonder how long that’ll be. And when the time comes, which side I’ll be on.
The bells hanging over the front door bells, two cheap bells that ding and then ding again as the door is open and closed quickly.
My gaze rises and goes back down, only to rise again with an unsettled feeling flashing through me, to take another look.
Chloe’s not dressed to be out in public. She’s in pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt with sneakers that aren’t even laced like she couldn’t get out of the house fast enough. Her hair’s down and windblown.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I mutter beneath my breath and drop the knife on the cutting board. Before I can even wipe my hands off, she’s brushing past Eddie, ignoring him completely. She doesn’t hesitate to go around the counter and make her way back here. “Sebastian,” she gasps my name with a mix of relief and desperation.
My heart pounds harder as every man and woman in this place watches us. I can feel all their eyes on me as I keep my shoulders straight and head to the sink to wash my hands. I’m trying not to let her or anyone else see what I’m feeling deep down in my gut. This isn’t a good look.