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He pauses, eyes widening while he looks down. The entirety of the metal is plunged into his stomach, and the slick, hot feeling of his blood coating my hands has vomit threatening to spew from my mouth.
It feels so familiar. Just like when I had sunk that knife in Kev’s throat, red bubbling from the wounds and covering my hand and face in it.
I never wanted to take a life. Yet, here I am, claiming another.
He snarls and grabs ahold of my wrist, squeezing it until it cracks. I cry out, releasing the handle instinctively.
“That was just stupid of ya,” he growls, his face twisted with both pain and fury.
Before I can react further, his fist is flying toward me again. This time, I’m too slow to react, and the only thing I recall is a burst of pain, then darkness.
Chapter 33
Enzo
My head is splitting into fucking pieces, and something smells putrid. I groan, gritting my teeth as sharp pain pierces behind my eyes.
Mother…fucker.
I’m having trouble remembering where the fuck I am, and what the hell happened beyond the throbbing in my skull.
Slowly, fragments filter in. Finding the beacon and then the radio. Kacey appearing, her mouth sewn shut. Sylvester breaking in, and then leaving Sawyer and Kacey upstairs. I remember opening the bookshelf door with my shotgun readied but finding no one. The only difference was the cellar door was open again.
I remember approaching the cellar cautiously and then the creak of the front door right before a shot went off behind me. My recollection is choppy from there, but I recall the bullet hitting the barrel of my gun, forcing it out of my grip. Then Sylvester storming up behind me while I scrambled for the gun again, another shot going off by my hand and destroying the weapon completely. Finally, the butt of his shotgun aiming straight for my face. And then… nothing.
Cazzo.
The rise of fury is enough to force my eyes open and get my body moving. It’s nearly pitch black, hot, and it smells dank and like… like something is decomposing.
Glancing up, I can see tiny cracks of light between the floorboards and Sylvester’s shadow as he walks through the kitchen slowly, his leg rebounding through the wood, causing dust to fall over me.
There’s a string of unintelligible words from what sounds like Sylvester. I’ve no idea if Sawyer is with him or not, but it’s enough to inject another strong dose of adrenaline into my veins.
I pat my hands all around me, feeling fine dirt and what I think is a blanket beneath me. Sitting up further, I continue searching until my hand bumps into something solid. It’s cold and hard, and after a minute, I realize it’s a shovel. I grab onto it and resume, hoping there’s something down here that can provide a light source.
It takes a few more minutes, and coming across several items, I finally find a small gas lantern. It clicks on, barely illuminating more than a couple of inches out.
I’m in a dirt hole with a wooden ladder that leads straight up.
Getting to my feet, I look around, finding myself in a cemetery. There are mounds of dirt spanning across the space, with sticks fashioned into a cross before each one.
Fucking Christ.
It’s hard to breathe as I examine just how many people Sylvester has killed. Were they all hostages? They’ve all clearly fucking died, save for Kacey. Suicide? Or did he kill them when they refused to conform?
Aside from the graves, there’s a bucket in the corner with human waste inside, a small cot with a blanket and flat pillow, a knapsack doll, a first aid kit, water bottles, and several empty plastic bags.
Sylvester must’ve kept Kacey down here at times. Since we’ve arrived, she could be heard only up in the beacon during the day, presumably because she wouldn’t be able to make her presence known as easily and guide us directly to the hatch. Where a fucking cemetery resides.
He knew the ghost stories would lead us to believe that the footsteps from above or in the hall were nothing more than restless spirits.
I shake my head, different scenarios racing through my head onwhyshe was in the hallway at night, each one more disturbing than the last. Aside from the restroom, the only other place she had to go was Sylvester’s bedroom, and there were many times when that’s exactly where she was going and coming from based on the sound of her chains.
I’m going to fucking murder him—slowly. I’d love to start by sewing his goddamn mouth shut just to make him scream. See if he can keep it closed or if he’ll rip those stitches wide open from the pain.
Using one hand, I climb up the ladder while holding on to the lantern with the other. As expected, the hatch door is locked, but I can hear the conversation more clearly.
“Stupid little bitch got me good, but yer old man got too much belly for her to hit somethin’ vital,” he grouses. “Hand me them scissors over there, sweetie.”
