Hideaway (Devil’s Night Book 2)

Overgrown grass covered the soft earth as he stepped quietly through the headstones. A sea of plots lay beyond, over the hill to the left and behind him, spanning out as far as he could see. It really was the most peaceful place he’d ever been.

People were quiet here. Solemn expressions were as expected as angry ones, and talking to yourself was perfectly acceptable in a cemetery. Although, he could scream right now and no one would notice. No one else was here.

He looked up at the full moon, seeing the glow of a ring circling it and casting its faint light over the land. The granite headstone he looked for appeared ahead, and he approached it, a growing heat coursing through his veins as he fisted his cold fingers.

Coming to a stop, he let his eyes fall on the marker and then to his shoes and the land they stood on. And what was underneath.

He closed his eyes, letting everything wash over him.

Everyone thought he was inhuman. Incapable of feeling. Resistant to emotion. Sick. Unwell. A machine.

No.

He felt everything. He never shunned an emotion. Not one. He knew that letting it run its course was the only way to get rid of it.

Shame.

Fear.

Anger.

Love.

Worry.

Sadness.

Betrayal.

Guilt.

He owned every single one.

It sank through his eyelids and into his lungs through the crisp air, filling him up as tears sprang to the backs of his eyes.

But he didn’t cry.

It soon coursed down his arms and hummed through his fingertips, before sinking into his stomach, the tight knots hardening into bricks and then molding to him, becoming part of him. They were there. They were his.

And then everything turned softer, fluttering its way past his groin and down his long legs and through his feet, cementing him to the ground.

I am here. I am me.

This is me.

He opened his eyes and stared at the headstone. And he felt nothing anymore.

Pulling his cigarette case from his breast pocket, he took one out and tapped the end of it on the tin. He stuck it between his lips and reached into his pants’ pocket for his lighter. Lighting the end, he inhaled a puff and blew out the smoke, putting everything back into his pocket again.

He took another puff and then pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. “You can thank Little Sister for this,” he told the headstone. “It was her idea.”

Banks was as clever as he was. If only she’d been as loyal.

“It could’ve gone other ways,” he said to the grave. “Cleaner ways.”

He took another drag, the flavor mixed with the cold air tasting good on his tongue.

“Universities use industrial digesters to get rid of cadavers,” he continued, feeling amused. “They look like huge pressure cookers. You mix seventy gallons of water with a little lye and cook it until it’s the right temperature and consistency. A body can dissolve in a matter of hours.” He took another puff, pinching the butt between his fingers. “And then you can just…pour the body down the drain. Gone. Nothing.”

The wind picked up, rustling in the trees.

“But it doesn’t dissolve everything, unfortunately. Some pieces of bone and teeth survive, so those have to be crushed,” he went on. “Now, sulfuric acid, although more dangerous than lye, can completely dissolve human remains. The downside is it does take longer. About two days.” He nodded, dropping the cigarette on the plot and grinding it out with his shoe. “And that’s inconvenient.”

He’d lied to Kai. His mother’s body wasn’t gone. It was less than three miles from their houses. Right here in Thunder Bay.

Maybe he should’ve gotten rid of it.

“I just couldn’t do it, though.” His eyes fell on the headstone, his breathing turning shallow and his voice growing quiet. “I want you to exist,” he whispered. “I want to never forget that the world is a bad place, that you were real, and that every day you’re rotting under my feet.”

He flexed his jaw and tipped his chin up, trying to feel taller. Remembering the pleasure of dumping her in this grave and not taking any care to place her body or wrap her up from the elements.

Unzipping his fly, he took out her favorite part of him and glared at the stone as he pissed all over the ground.

He wouldn’t be back again. He was done with her.

But there was another who still very much deserved what was coming to her and who still needed to be dealt with. She was next.

Finishing, he tucked himself back into his pants and fastened them up again, taking one last, long look.

“Hey,” someone called out behind him. “Cemetery’s closed. What are you doing here?”

A caretaker.

He exhaled a sigh, not turning around. “Just paying my respects to my mother.”

The glow of a flashlight behind him shone on the headstone in front of him. “Your mother? But that’s Edward McClanahan’s grave.”

“Oh, is it?” he said, holding back his smile.

He heard the man’s footsteps grow closer. “If you come back in the morning, I can help you find your mother’s plot. What’s her name?”

But he just shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll be quite busy after tonight.” And he turned, meeting the man’s hazel eyes under gray brows. “I’ll leave. Happy Halloween.”

And then he walked away, back the way he came.

“Yeah, you, too,” the caretaker called after him.

Indeed.