Page 61 of Hollow

“You are a very silly man.”

“And you are still so suave for a beast,” a sinister voice said, slithering into Dimitri’s ear with a haunting familiarity. “To think, something as simple-minded as you managed to retain some knowledge of the opulence which surrounded you. Fascinating.”

Every muscle in Dimitri’s body flexed, time itself froze, and he considered a thousand different ways to flee. But he remained fixed in his seat, too stunned to move.

The old man stood beside their table, a smile on his face. He appeared harmless. Quite a feat for such a threatening foe.

Dimitri’s chest tightened, his mind whirled with all the horrors he’d endured. His throat tightened, and he struggled to breathe, to think, to anything… The head of the Hearst family had shown up. The patriarch had come to reclaim Dimitri. He couldn’t fathom what was happening.

“Releasing the flavors truly does wonders.” The old man grabbed Jack’s glass and swirled the wine around a bit. The twirly straw clinked against the glass, and the wine swished about. “Here, try a sip now. You’ll taste such a difference in refinement.”

“Excuse me, who are you?”

“I am Gordon Hearst.” The old man invited himself to their table, taking a seat. “You’re Jack Whoa Lantern, correct?”

Jack’s shadowy expression flickered momentarily, perhaps hiding the shock on his face. Dimitri couldn’t be certain. He couldn’t be certain of anything right now.

“In some circles.” Jack eyed Gordon cautiously, keeping his gaze focused on his presence, but flitted his attention to Dimitri, who barely processed what was unfolding.

“I’d like to discuss my property, which you’re currently in possession of.” Gordon’s unflinching smile sent a shiver of fear piercing through Dimitri’s insides.

His foolish fantasy of living a happy life had come to an end. Fate would keep him bound and trapped by the Hearst family. There was no escaping their wicked grasp.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The air in the restaurant had gone stale and stiff, carrying the weight of all Dimitri’s fears. Jack struggled to breathe, watching Dimitri still himself as his body trembled. Terror oozed off Dimitri, becoming palpable, and Jack wanted nothing more than to behead this monstrous human man who dared approach them.

He wasn’t a particularly powerful-looking human. Gordon Hearst was a fat and decrepit old man, with shaky hands and a ragged wheeze as he took heavy breaths. Still, he held himself calmly, unfazed by the presence of monsters.

“I could end you here, and now, so I suggest⁠—”

“In front of an audience?” Gordon scoffed. “I highly doubt that. Everything I’ve researched on you suggests you prefer discretion, despite throwing yourself in the public eye.”

“I’m not worried about an audience.”

“Fascinating. Hmph.” Gordon squinted his dark brown eyes, the heavy creases of his wrinkled face locked in on Jack. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were stupid enough to cause a scene, but my marksman over there will blow that hollow pumpkin head of yours clean off if you make the wrong move.”

“It wouldn’t harm me,” Jack scoffed.

“It would harm your reputation, though,” Gordon said with this aggravating lilt. “You can’t exactly play a pretend monster once they realize you’re the real deal.”

Jack turned to see Ted. Theodore Ackley, the man they stumbled upon in the woods, the one Dimitri believed was stalking them, the very same man who cried and pissed his pants to convince them he was harmless. The sheer lengths he went to in order to throw Jack off, and he fell for it like a fool. Jack balled his fists, desiring to rip Ted’s intestines out and stuff them down his lying throat.

The marksman, Ted, sat at a table with a woman. Both were dressed elegantly for the evening, with their eyes fixed on Jack and Dimitri.

Gordon grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He grinned, wicked and arrogant and filled with this smug superiority.

“I believe that’s why you move with such discretion, a way to maintain your public image. Wouldn’t want the town to think you’re an actual monster, now, would you?”

Jack glared, his shadowy expression twisting into something feral and sinister. It took everything he had not to lunge forward and rip this man’s throat out. But Gordon had a point. Jack preferred people to think it was all an act, a show, because it allowed him to wander the world as himself. If he started slaughtering evil bastards in front of witnesses, he’d have had a lot of explaining to do.

“Hmm.” Gordon grimaced, smacking his lips at the sweetness of the wine. “Foul and cheap, but I can’t be too surprised.”

Jack scanned the room, seeing whose eyes fell to them, and did a head count on the packed restaurant. Shadows crept from his stitches and slid beneath the table, coiling around Gordon’s legs.

Gordon didn’t even react as the shadows slithered over his flesh. Jack knew how to move his shadows with precision. If he wanted them to go unnoticed, they would. But Jack let the eerie pin prickles strike, hopefully to elicit some fear. Gordon proved unflinching, which was disappointing.

“Something tells me I can get rid of you before a single person blinks.” Jack leaned closer, staring Gordon down. “And your marksman. Neither would be able to get a scream before drowning in the darkness of my shadows. No one the wiser.”