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Attie reaches for the zipper on his jeans and pulls it down.
“Get on the goddamn bed, pedo! Now!” Attie bellows.
Cash startles and quickly climbs onto the bed as he's forced into compliance. He sits as far away from my mother’s body as possible.
“Lie down,” Attie demands.
“No—” Cash starts.
Attie intervenes, deepening his voice in a commanding growl and pointing at the bed, “I said, lie down. Do you need your ears cleaned out so you can hear better, or do I need to talk to you like a toddler? I can provide either service.”
He grins.
Cash scowls and lies down on the bed apprehensively.
Attie unties my mother’s corpse and instead places the ropes on Cash, binding his wrists and ankles. Cash lies there whimpering, and I frown at the sham fear. Once he’s restrained, Attie takes me by the hand and leads me out of the room. He stops between the kitchen and the living room, and I nudge him closer to the door.
Once outside, Attie leaves the door cracked, and I give him a questioning look.
“I don’t want them to hear us, but I want to be able to hear them, just in case.” He says and I nod. “I tied Cash up pretty well. We should be fine.”
He gives me a half smile.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, a little impatiently.
I fidget. The weight of everything suddenly burdens me, crushing me beneath it.
“I don’t know what came over me in there. I thought I couldn’t handle being near him, but I could—”
“I know,” he jumps in. “You’re doing amazing, princess. Can we go back in now or….?”
I can see he’s getting antsy, and I don’t want to waste any more time so I spill it.
Attie flinches as “no” rolls off my tongue more abruptly than I mean.
“I’m sorry. I just mean, I don’t know what I’m doing. I know I’m supposed to be leading the way, but—”
A whirl of sand kicks up from the ground, forming a miniature tornado. A gush of wind bursts from the middle, and standing before us is the Grim Reaper.
My mouth hangs open at the sight in front of me, and before I can get a word out, Attie goes first.
“Who the hell are you?” he interrogates.
A billowing black cloak stands before us, and a rough, skeletal hand protrudes from the armhole, holding an ancient scythe. I can’t make out what’s inside the cloak, but from the pit I feel in my stomach every time I try, I get the intuition that I’m not supposed to be looking.
“Now why would you ask such a foolish question? I know you know who I am.” It points to me, “She does.”
I mewl at its acknowledgment.
“Okay, then why are you here?” Attie demands.
The reaper approaches him slowly, touching its scythe to the section between Attie’s neck and shoulder.
“You ask more questions than you have answers to. You are not worthy.” It slides the scythe along the crook of his neck before directing it at me.
“I’m here for… her.”
CHAPTER 40
