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“Profitable.”
“Surely it doesn’t hurt to take a small break. Just till the risk lessens.”
Silence. The Bad Man thinking? The Bad Man considering?
“When will the police attention lessen?” he asks at last. There’s a tone to his voice, a silky smoothness that suddenly makes the hair stand up at the nape of my neck. I have heard that note before, in another room far, far away from here. “As you say, the town is crawling with investigators. They’ve found bodies. They’re not just going to go away.”
“We could give them what’s left of the cabin.” The mistress, less shrill, more tentative.
“No.”
“But you said... rat out the dead man.”
“It won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s here. And if she sees, she might remember. Then it won’t be about one dead man.”
“I mentioned Walt Davies.” The master again. “You know how he is. Shoots first, questions later. With any luck, they’ll fill him with lead, then we can lay all of this at his feet.”
“You idiot. Then there will be even more police in the area.”
“If we could just take a break.” The mistress pleading. “Even for a couple of weeks. Until the immediate attention dies down.”
“It doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t. But I think you’re correct.” A small rustling sound. The Bad Man shifting around the room. “The best way to get the police to leave is to provide them with the answer they seek.”
“No.” The voice is so soft this time, I’m not sure who’s spoken. A noise. I can’t place it. Then again: “No. Please no.”
“They’re looking for a monster,” the Bad Man murmurs. “Yes, absolutely. Let’s give them one.”
Fresh goose bumps. I’m in my mother’s kitchen. I’m in the basement hall. I’m a little girl. I’m a voiceless servant.
I am frozen in terror over what is going to happen next.
“No, no—”
“Shhh...”
“NO!”
A gurgle. A sob. A scrabbling sound, like claws against stone. The house shifts uncomfortably around me. I can almost hear its mournful sigh, as I step out of the shadows and force myself toward the heavy wooden doors. As I peer through the cracked opening, into the room.
The Bad Man stands tall, a terrible, hulking form.
The master cowers at his feet.
The mistress, on the other hand...
The Bad Man has moved behind her. He holds a bloodred rope in his hand. A sash, I realize, from the mistress’s embroidered silk bathrobe. He has the tie wrapped tight around her neck, lifting up, up, up, her neck at an impossible angle.
I stare at her. I watch as her face goes purple. As she twitches and shakes and trembles, the incredible strength of the Bad Man lifting her all the way off the floor. He is not human. No one who can do that can be human.
I don’t look away. I force myself to bear witness as she finally gasps. Her head sags forward. The monster releases her, and just like that her body crumples to the floor.
The master is still hunkered low, crying pitifully.
I feel a curious sense of relief. That she is gone, that the Bad Man has finally turned on one of his own. Yet I’m shivering uncontrollably.
