Page 9 of The Reveal
“I do have some concerns about the full moon,” Savi chimes in. “As long as we all reach an agreement of acceptable behavior, I’m not opposed. Necessarily.”
“Great,” I say, like that was a full-throated agreement, and wave them toward the house with my gun. “It’s like we’re a happy family already.”
And after they leave, having signed my makeshift lease agreements and ponied up some cash, I go and check on Gran again. I’m happy to see she’s still snoring and decide that the smart move is not to sit around with this much cash on hand.
There are at least three people who know that I have piles of cash on me right now. That’s three too many, and more, it’s asking for an ambush.
I fire up the truck and head back down the hill into town.
It’s crowded again, and I can’t help but find that comforting. Likenormalmight be a possibility again someday. If I squint, maybe having to pay the mortgage is almost normal too? But I can’t quite get there. I wave a hand at folks I recognize and then park my truck in front of the bank. I grit my teeth and go inside, feeling more resentful with every step.
This place is part museum, part bank, because that’s how this town rolls. And no one works here except Franklin Hendry himself, that asshole.
“Come to cry uncle, Winter?” he asks, his smarmy voice filling the airless room, ricocheting in and out of the pioneer exhibit in the window.
I find it more satisfying than it should be to march up to his massive desk, look him in the eye, and slam that pile of cash down in front of his jowly face.
“I’ll need a written receipt for this portion of the mortgage payment,” I tell him. “Just to keep us both honest.”
He squints up at me in that same way he always does. Patronizing. Condescending.Pitying.The dick.
“It’s like trying to plug up a leak with chewing gum, Winter,” he says sorrowfully.
I wish for a moment that I had a pair of fangs at my disposal, but I don’t.
“A written receipt, please,” I say, and I hope it sounds like I think he’s a liar and a cheat, because I do.
I keep standing there, refusing to give him the satisfaction of sitting down, or looking cowed, or doing anything but staring back at him impassively as he takes his sweet time counting the bills. He licks his finger between each one, which disgusts me. I’m not sure if it’s because he keeps fondling the filthy money itself, or if it’s simply that fleshyslurphe takes off his finger each time.
Both, I decide. This is a man who’s gotten fat and rich while the world lies in ruins around him. He’s gross.
He pulls out an enormous ledger and ostentatiously marks the amount I gave him in it. Then he swivels it around so I can see how much I have left to go.
I already know. It’s a lot.
“You might want to face reality sooner rather than later,” he tells me. “There’s no shame in it. You’re just a young girl, and these aren’t even your debts.”
“I don’t need to be given permission to fail by the guy personifying predatory lending, thanks.” I do not call him “Mr. Hendry,” as he’s repeatedly requested. I think it’s a gift that I don’t call him the colorful names my father liked to use when talking about him.
He shakes his head at me as if I am a great disappointment to him—not a surprise—and detaches the receipt part of the page to hand it to me. “I can’t say that I appreciate your attitude, Winter. I’ve been nothing but accommodating. And you are only extending the agony. Losing that house is inevitable, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe you missed the part where monsters rose from the dark shadows, ripped the world apart, and left us nothing but trouble, ruin, and imminent death.” I laugh. “You or I could be torn apart by zombies at any moment, but sure, let’s talk about the inevitability of defaulting on a mortgage payment when I’m pretty sure there are norealfinancial institutions left.”
We stare at each other, maybe both contemplating the injustice of this—but we both also know there’s not much I can do about it. Who is there to complain to? Franklin Hendry doesn’t scare me in and of himself, but I know he has his goons on hand to take care of the people he considers squatters. I can’t have them roughing up Gran the way they did the family that lived in a fifth wheel that Franklin had his eye on last fall. He claimed they owed him money, they refused to pay, and next thing you know they’re all beat into little more than bruises. No one’s seen the father since.
Franklin has his own crew of monsters. They just happen to be human.
If it were just me, I’d tell him to go fuck himself and take my chances with his minions, but it’s not just me.
We both know he’s got me.
“Halloween, Winter,” he says softly.
I feel sick to my stomach, because there’s nothing I can do. Because I feel helpless, and I hate feeling helpless. Not that anyonelikesit, but it reminds me of too many things, only some of them monster related.
Watching my parents get worse and worse before finally taking off. Watching Augie follow that same path, telling lie after lie until it was easier, somehow, for him to simply disappear.
This almost feels worse, because Franklin Hendry doesn’thaveto do this. He’s notcompelledby forces outside his control to be a dick. Hewantsto bully people he thinks are weak and have no recourse.
