Page 44 of Are You Scared, Krowe?
Jackson's unconscious when Spade drops him onto the ground alongside his best friend, which is perfect. Krowe's too traumatized to do anything yet; he stares up at me as I smirk down at him, thoroughly enjoying the terror on his face.
"Are you scared, Krowe?" I tease, keeping my voice intentionally soft... soothing and mocking all at once.
I already know the answer. He's more than scared. He stepped into me out in the field, and in doing so, he surrendered himself. He felt my pain, my rage, my terror, my sickness and rot and death... and now he knows exactly what awaits him.
His voice is small when he answers, "Yes."
"You should be."
The fire is already spilling through town, devouring everything in its path. It had to be done, and so it is. The town itself was sick— tainted by the legacy of death and injustice, cruelty and violence disguised as harmless fun. Guilt leaves a film on people's souls, gauzy and tacky like a sticker that's been peeled off, but the residue remains, catching everything, dirtying it. Those who hadn't yet sullied their souls with cruelty and violence? Those ones we sent to the house, for Natalie and Hal to lead to a better place... an escape from this town, which devours everything. Or, at least, itdid.
Now, the fire is devouring everything.
The flames ring everyone in; the house is surrounded, and the cornfield has no open exit. I watched Jackson’s father, the mayor, burn to death as he tried to escape the flames by running through them. But there is no escape—not for any of them. Half the town is already dead, flesh and muscle and fat melted into the dirt so that their bodies can sow the earth.
It's coming closer with every second, every one of Krowe's panicked heartbeats. Nobody who was here tonight celebrating a legacy of death with fucking carnival games is getting out alive. Violence has a price, and so does silence... Christine found that out firsthand, and now she's probably already turned to ash in the very cornfield where she made the choice not to stop the cruelty against Aiden.
I'll admit, I was a little afraid that he may somehow disappear after we killed Christine. I worried that with John and Christine both dead, the architects of his death, he might suddenly find his spirit capable of moving on. I'm not sure if that's really a thing, but I am grateful that he's still here with me.
When he comes back, it's with a smile on his face and supplies in hand... a butcher knife, a meat cleaver, various little implements tucked in his hands.
His eyes seek mine and the smile deepens, until it disappears when I grip him by the back of his neck, dragging his mouth to mine.
Spade devours me, and just like earlier, I lose everything. Time, space, feeling.
In his kiss, the whole world ceases to exist.
I don't stop kissing him until I feel something else... like ants crawling on my skin but not biting.
Spade pulls away, and together we face the two men trying to get past the path we're blocking... one of whom is holding a small, very old-looking box.
"Did you just… did you just throw salt at us?" I ask Jackson, laughing as he takes a step back in horror.
"I..." Jackson turns to Krowe. "I thought it would work!"
"I'm not sure what you thought it might do, but it's probably for the best. You may want some salt for your last meal."
Jackson still looks ready to fight; Krowe, on the other hand, seems resigned to the reality that this is the end. He trembles, but he doesn't try to flee as I pounce on him.
I take him to the ground easily, and he fights me, realizing that this is the end for him.
Once I've got him on his back, I accept one of the knifes Spade hands me, plunging it through Krowe's hand, admiring the scream when blood spurts out around the point of impact.
It tames his fight, the pain keeping him in place, since every movement seems to pull against the knife, the wound, tearing through skin and sinew.
Spade neutralizes Jackson as he tries to run, dragging him back to stand next to me, so that he can watch what I'm about to do to his best friend.
"Oh, Krowe." I moan, because his fear is fucking delicious. His tears are feeding my soul.
Is this why they did what they did to me? Was it fun for them to be cruel? Did it make them feel powerful for once in their lives?
I feel powerful in my death; I drag another knife down his shirt, letting it fall open into two halves to expose his heaving chest. It's covered in sweat, and blood in the spots where I didn't pick the knife up enough, and when I do the same to his jeans, splitting right down the center, he tenses.
"Careful!" He screams when the blade drops too close to flesh, nicking him just above his dick.
"Silly boy." I laugh. "That's the least of your worries."
He doesn't ask what I mean by that, and I don't bother explaining. Instead, I show him.
