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“You don’t want me to go looking for another bottle of bleach. Do you?”

Cash pipes up, “Cut the shit, Lyric. You and I both know that if you didn’t kill your mother, I would have. That bitch has been grating on my nerves for years⁠—”

“You drunk piece of shit. How fucking dare you! After everything? Really?” Her mother’s voice booms throughout the space.

Not like Cash can see or hear her. She’s a newbie, it’ll take time for her to figure that out. Lyr ignores her and cuts Cash off.

“Speaking of grating, would you do the honor, Attie?” She gestures toward the air conditioner.

Her mother wanders over to our side of the room and looms over her fresh corpse. Kristine attempts to brush her own hair out of her face and instead slips, half of her body disappearing into her flesh. She screams, pulling herself out and stumbles back when I catch her.

“Don’t move.” I’m firm with her as I place her by the wall and she nods.

“I ain’t.” Cash replies snottily.

There’s no point in responding to him. I’ll let him have the last word since he doesn’t have many left.

I don’t mind getting the air conditioner started for Lyr, but I definitely don’t want to be the one to carry out her plan. She needs to be the one to do it. I don’t know if any of this will work, otherwise. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t go home after Jake died. Shit.

I don’t want to think about that anymore. We have a plan… sort of. Well, we did have a plan until I tossed it out the window. It’s in Lyr’s best interest. I think. I leave Cash and Kristine and walk to the opposing wall to gather the cord off the floor and plug the machine in. Who knows if it’ll even turn on after sitting in the window for a winter.

I hit the button to get it going, and the machine roars to life, making a noisy and rhythmic rattling. This is exactly what Lyr wanted.

“Get up,” she demands from Cash.

He moves at a snail’s pace, and I know he’s doing this on purpose. He should know better than to delay the inevitable. When he reaches Lyr, she begins speaking again.

“I don’t need to go over everything you did to me. You and I both know the truth, Cash. You are one sick fuck and I am going to thoroughly enjoy this.”

She smiles sinfully, grabbing Cash by the wrist and forcing his hand into the damaged grate. Before he has a chance to register what’s happening, his right hand is being shredded like a bag of cheese inside the A/C. He screeches painfully loud, and Lyr bellows over the sound.

“This is the hand that abused me. This hand was used to assist in raping me, beating me, drugging me, and starving me. And since you wanted it touching me so much, I figured it’s time that I claim it. It’s officially mine!”

She laughs maniacally as blood spurts everywhere, coating Cash and everything within a few feet of her, chunks of his hand landing in random spots in the near vicinity. Cash passes out from the loss of it or the sight of it. I don’t know or care. Either way, my girl is successful in her endeavor.

She powers down the machine and unplugs it. I look over at Kristine to see her with a petrified look on her face, holding her hand over her mouth. I hope she realizes that this is their doing. Lyr is going off the rails because of them.

I feel arms wrap around me, and I look down to see Lyr gripping onto me as she nuzzles her face into my chest. My poor girl. This must be a lot for her. I almost feel bad that her outburst is making me hard, but goddamn, whoever this new Lyr is‌ is confident, unstoppable, and fueled by rage. The urge to claim her—to own her—as Cash watches, grows and I work to deescalate the swelling in my jeans.

I lean into her, holding her close.

“You did great, princess. I’m so proud of you,” is all I can muster as I stroke her hair before planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Out of anyone I’ve ever encountered, ghost or not, this is the woman to break me. This is the one I won’t survive without.

She smiles weakly up at me, and I escort her to the end of the bed where I place her to sit.

“I’ll be right back. I just wanna help Cash wake up.”

She bobs her head, and I find a shirt on the floor and tear it into pieces. I wrap Cash’s hand, securing the fabric with a tight knot, and grab him by his small feet before retreating out of the room. He grunts and groans as I inch him down the hall and into the only visible bathroom. It’s a tight squeeze, but I get him inside and begin adjusting his body for how I need it.

I prop him up and over the toilet, his head hanging into the bowl. The fact that there’s a large shit inside was highly anticipated, but not certain; so, this makes it even better. I push his head into the turd and flush the toilet. Cash pops up, gagging and choking on the shit water.

My voice comes out monotone when I say, “You’re wanted. Bedroom. Now.”

Cash looks at me, a skidmark smeared across his forehead, and it takes everything in me not to break out in a belly laugh. I cough as I try to contain the giggles bubbling up my throat. He just stares at me, unmoving. I stand to my full height and point at the door.

“I said, move.” I growl.