them were awake. And that was OK with Shaw.
You all lie there and be afraid now; you think about Romeo and Romeo’s sickness and Romeo’s bloodlust while I tap into the
power and get the ground settled under me. You think about fighting back, all of you. Go ahead. I’m ready for blood whenever
you want.
Mitch kept rehearsing in his mind what he’d do if he heard any sound from his daughter’s room. Supposing Shaw tried to sneak in
there? Mitch didn’t have his pistol anymore — Shaw McBride had confiscated it — but he could still jump out of bed, grab the
letter opener off the rolltop desk, and rush into her room and with luck get in there before he could take aim. Go in low.
Swing underhand, with
all
my strength, and twist as I pull out. Grab his gun arm with my left hand, and with my right stab and twist, stab and
twist
.
Or should I wait?
Till when? Till he’s
in the act of raping my daughter?
Maybe. Because he’ll be more vulnerable then.
But the
price.
And what if he makes her go on top, uses her as a shield, keeps his gun in his hand and his eye on the door while he forces
her to whatever. Oh my Lord Jesus.
Maybe should I wait till he’s done? Till he’s sleepy after his business?
Oh my Lord. How can I
wait
?
Help me, my Lord. Guide me.
Maybe he’s asleep by now? The bastard had looked exhausted when he lay down. Must be asleep. Kill him in his sleep?
The rush, the terror in McBride’s eyes, me stabbing the knife and be sure to twist it so the blood will
fly
out of him and remember to clench tightly so my hand won’t slip even with his blood all over me, and keep
plunging
it and
plunging
it, and the blood
flying,
my Lord.
But then there’s that other guy. The guy out on the road, the madman.
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?
Next to him, Patsy slept. Amazing to him that she could sleep. But she was pretty drunk. The fumes curled from her nostrils
when she breathed out. While Mitch just kept rehearsing the rush, over and over, a thousand times: the stabbing, the blood,
the making ribbons out of that son of a bitch. Killing him all night long.
Shaw got up and went into the bathroom and pissed. He left the door slightly ajar, and when he was done he stopped to listen for
a moment. Stillness came pouring through that door. It struck him as an aggressive stillness — rebellious. He flushed, and
went out and stood before the door to Mitch and Patsy’s room.
“Mitch?” he said quietly.
Naturally there was no answer.
“Mitch, I know you’re awake. Say something before I get annoyed.”
That earned a soft croak: “Yes.”
“I just want you to know, Mitch, I’m not going to rape your daughter or anything, unless you’re planning to fuss with me.
You’re not planning to fuss with me, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. If you do I’ll rape her and cut her tongue out so she’ll never be able to tell you how much she blames you, but you’ll
see it in her face every day for the rest of your long shitty life. But if you cooperate with me, I’ll treat her like a princess,
and no harm will befall her. Or you, or anyone else you love. All right?”
A long wait. “Yes.”
“OK. Get some sleep.”
Shaw went through the house and out the back door, into the panting night. He stood on the wooden deck and waited, and at
exactly 2:00 a.m., Romeo called.
“Hey, Romeo.”
“How’d I do?
“With Tara? I think you did well. She’s scared.”
A silence, then Romeo said, “I feel like I fucked up.”
“You got to seem like you’re batshit. Like you’ve got the killings all planned out in your head. Like you’re ready to blow,
like you’re just waiting for the spark.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you now?”
“Riding around Brunswick.”
“You finding everybody’s house OK? You find the grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Clio’s? Uncle Shelby’s?”
“I found ’em. But
You all lie there and be afraid now; you think about Romeo and Romeo’s sickness and Romeo’s bloodlust while I tap into the
power and get the ground settled under me. You think about fighting back, all of you. Go ahead. I’m ready for blood whenever
you want.
Mitch kept rehearsing in his mind what he’d do if he heard any sound from his daughter’s room. Supposing Shaw tried to sneak in
there? Mitch didn’t have his pistol anymore — Shaw McBride had confiscated it — but he could still jump out of bed, grab the
letter opener off the rolltop desk, and rush into her room and with luck get in there before he could take aim. Go in low.
Swing underhand, with
all
my strength, and twist as I pull out. Grab his gun arm with my left hand, and with my right stab and twist, stab and
twist
.
Or should I wait?
Till when? Till he’s
in the act of raping my daughter?
Maybe. Because he’ll be more vulnerable then.
But the
price.
And what if he makes her go on top, uses her as a shield, keeps his gun in his hand and his eye on the door while he forces
her to whatever. Oh my Lord Jesus.
Maybe should I wait till he’s done? Till he’s sleepy after his business?
Oh my Lord. How can I
wait
?
Help me, my Lord. Guide me.
Maybe he’s asleep by now? The bastard had looked exhausted when he lay down. Must be asleep. Kill him in his sleep?
The rush, the terror in McBride’s eyes, me stabbing the knife and be sure to twist it so the blood will
fly
out of him and remember to clench tightly so my hand won’t slip even with his blood all over me, and keep
plunging
it and
plunging
it, and the blood
flying,
my Lord.
But then there’s that other guy. The guy out on the road, the madman.
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? Why art thou so far from helping me, and from the words of my roaring?
Next to him, Patsy slept. Amazing to him that she could sleep. But she was pretty drunk. The fumes curled from her nostrils
when she breathed out. While Mitch just kept rehearsing the rush, over and over, a thousand times: the stabbing, the blood,
the making ribbons out of that son of a bitch. Killing him all night long.
Shaw got up and went into the bathroom and pissed. He left the door slightly ajar, and when he was done he stopped to listen for
a moment. Stillness came pouring through that door. It struck him as an aggressive stillness — rebellious. He flushed, and
went out and stood before the door to Mitch and Patsy’s room.
“Mitch?” he said quietly.
Naturally there was no answer.
“Mitch, I know you’re awake. Say something before I get annoyed.”
That earned a soft croak: “Yes.”
“I just want you to know, Mitch, I’m not going to rape your daughter or anything, unless you’re planning to fuss with me.
You’re not planning to fuss with me, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. If you do I’ll rape her and cut her tongue out so she’ll never be able to tell you how much she blames you, but you’ll
see it in her face every day for the rest of your long shitty life. But if you cooperate with me, I’ll treat her like a princess,
and no harm will befall her. Or you, or anyone else you love. All right?”
A long wait. “Yes.”
“OK. Get some sleep.”
Shaw went through the house and out the back door, into the panting night. He stood on the wooden deck and waited, and at
exactly 2:00 a.m., Romeo called.
“Hey, Romeo.”
“How’d I do?
“With Tara? I think you did well. She’s scared.”
A silence, then Romeo said, “I feel like I fucked up.”
“You got to seem like you’re batshit. Like you’ve got the killings all planned out in your head. Like you’re ready to blow,
like you’re just waiting for the spark.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you now?”
“Riding around Brunswick.”
“You finding everybody’s house OK? You find the grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Clio’s? Uncle Shelby’s?”
“I found ’em. But
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