Page 84 of The Dearly Departed

I only wished I could've prolonged his suffering … even if it meant spending more time vomiting afterward.

"What a mess though," I said, opening my eyes to the sight of Brandon's crushed skull and breathing beyond the urge to puke. "You too, buddy. But you didn't have this coming. You didn't deserve this.”

Tick had deserved his fate, and I assumed many of the people Gerald did business with did too. A part of me—the part I hadn’t been aware was lurking within my skin all these years—was glad they would receive their punishment. I was glad their part in the plague upon our society would be eradicated once their last breath was taken.

A part of me was even glad to watch it happen, but that was a part I wasn’t willing to put a voice to. Not yet. What I could say with certainty was that I wished I weren’t the one handing them their one-way ticket to life’s final judgment.

That, I could’ve done without.

"Anyway …" I sighed and poked at my inner cheek with the tip of my tongue, wrenching the last and biggest piece of debris from the back of his head. "With Ike, I'm afraid he'd like it too much. I'm afraid he'd … I don't know … be too stupid. Careless."

The chunk of metal was dropped into the bowl as I leaned back, sitting on my stool. I sighed again, pulling my soiled latex gloves off and tossing them on top of the collection of glass, metal, and rocks.

"I don't like it," I said. "I don't find pleasure in doing Gerald's dirty work—you know what I'm saying? But I get it done because I have to. He says I have a choice, but there's not much of a choice to make. I'm doing what I need to do while I need to do it, and when all of this is over, then … it's over. But Isaac … he wouldn't do the right thing. Let's just put it that way. No, this is better. Of the three of us, I'm the one with the level head. I can handle this and do what I have to do to set things straight. This is how it has to be, you know?"

Brandon wasn't much of a conversationalist, but that was okay.

As it turned out, he was a better listener.

"All right, well”—I reached out and patted him on the cold shoulder—"I'm going upstairs to grab something to eat. Don't go anywhere."

As expected, Brandon didn't say a word, didn't move a muscle, and I left the room, stepping into the cold basement, and headed up the stairs, where I bumped into Shawn, coming out of the storage room we'd broken into as kids, carrying a few boxes of tissues.

"Hey, how's it going down there?" he asked.

"It's going," I muttered, walking with him down the hall. "I got all the shit out of what’s left of his poor head. Now I just have to make him a new one."

"Ah, arts and crafts. Good times."

I snorted and jabbed my elbow against his arm as we reached Leonard's old office. "You want to help?"

"No, thanks.”

“Oh, okay. Next time then.”

“Unlikely, but, hey, you never know," he quipped, steering into the room and dropping the tissues onto the desk. "What are you doing for lunch?"

Leaning against the doorframe, I shrugged. "Not sure. Why? Any suggestions?"

"Do you wanna go out? There isn't much in the kitchen. I need to get to the grocery store.”

“I could go after I’m done downstairs if you want,” I offered.

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I was thinking of asking Shelby if she wanted to go with me later anyway."

I laid a hand over my heart and feigned a wistful sigh. "That's the epitome of romance right there, folks. A moonlit walk down the bread aisle."

“Nah, I know. I need to talk to her though, so I figured …”

“Well, that doesn’t sound good.”

“She’s just …” He sighed, the sound forlorn as he reached up and around to grip the back of his neck. "She's been, um … I don't know …"

I narrowed my eyes as my amusement vanished at the expression of discontent and doubt on his face. Then I jerked my head, gesturing toward the door.

"Come on. Let’s get some food," I said. "I'll buy."

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