Page 60 of Requiem & Reverie

I know about the ruthless gang that operates out of Chicago. Unfortunately for him, I give as much of a shit about the Devil’s Disciples as he probably does that his zipper is down right now.

“You kill me, and they’ll be on your ass like flies on shit.”

“Well …” My gaze lowers to his name tag and back. “Duane. I’ll take my chances with the Devil’s Disciples.” Dragging him back through the garage, I feel him clawing at my arm to get away. A car with no tires sits cockeyed, hoisted up on a hydraulic jack, whose arm is stuck out from the side behind the front wheel bearing.

I push him beneath the car, and he wriggles his upper body to get away, his legs completely useless.

“No! No!”

“Talk.” With my shoe pressed against his chest, I hold him still and keep my hand on the jack. “Hold still now. Wouldn’t want to jostle my hand.”

He planks beneath me. “Okay! Okay. Guy’s name is Simon Jeffries. He rents the Michael’s pole barn out on Adler Road.”

“Who the fuck is the Michaels?”

“They own the surrounding farmland. Simon does his taxidermy work there.”

“And what part in this did you play?”

“Simon said a chick would be stopping by tonight, looking for him. He paid us a hundred bucks each to keep her here until he arrived. Said she might try to drive off, if she got wise to him.”

“So, you knew he was trying to abduct a girl, and you helped him, anyway.”

“I-I-I don’t know about all that. Didn’t get into the details. He asked us for a favor, and we did it. We didn’t touch her, or nothing. Never laid a hand on her, at all.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Duane?”

“N-n-no way, man. No fucking way I’d lie to you.”

“Good. Because if I find out you’re lying, I’ll come back and finish you off.”

He exhales a shaky breath. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”

“Excellent. But just in case.” I push the handle of the jack, and the car comes slamming down on top of him.

Blood and bits of bone spatter out from beneath, like I cracked open a watermelon. His arms and legs stiffen for one second before going completely still.

“Lying prick,” I say, making my way back through the front of the building.

22

Nola

Nausea gurgles in my stomach, as the overwhelming scent of plastic fills my sinuses. The incessant tug at my throat begs for air, and I suck in a sharp breath that fails to fully fill my lungs, opening my eyes to a strange room.

Blinding light blasts my eyes, and I flinch at the chasing throb inside my skull. A naked bulb forms a halo around me, but I can just make out eyes staring back at me from stuffed animals set out around the room.

The weight of exhaustion feels like a heavy blanket, clawing at me to return to the nothingness from before.

A monotonous hum of what sounds like some kind of fan is nothing but white noise to the sound of my pulse hammering inside my ears. Confusion sticking to my brain, I mentally cut through the fog to the last memory I have, which is sitting in Simon’s car.

Oh, God.

My breaths are labored, and I realize there’s a long, black tube sticking out from my face.

Pressure against my chest draws my attention to the fact that my limbs refuse to move at my will. I’m somehow upright, even though my feet aren’t touching the ground, and I angle my gaze just low enough to see I’m completely encased in some kind of plastic. A whimper escapes me, as I attempt to twist my arm, only to find it won’t move. I grunt and groan through the futile effort of wriggling myself free, but the material holding me is like a sticky web, and it seems the more I fight to get loose, the more it constricts around me. Breath whooshes out of me, the plastic material clinging to my nose on a sharp inhale, stirring the hysteria working its way through my bones.

Panic crystalizes inside my chest, turning my insides cold, as I search my surroundings for Simon.