Page 1 of Property of Bull
Prologue
“Please, you don’t have the guts,” one of my older cousins sneers, looking down at me.
“Yeah, and I bet they have stacks of dead bodies back there,” another one chimes in, he’s probably closer to my age, but has several inches on me.
“Is she even related to us? How old are you, kid?” One of the boys, who must be in high school asks.
“I’m nearly ten. I’ll take a picture and be back,” I bite out the words, turning on my heel as I stalk toward the door that readsEmployees Only.
“That’s herbloodgrandmother.” I hear my half-cousins continue to talk behind my back.
So much for the family reunion Grandma always wanted.
Unfortunately, she had to die to get it. As much as she talked about having all of Grandpa’s kids and grandkids together at the same time, it turns out it’s just a bunch of people with almost nothing in common.
I can’t remember exactly what Dad said, but I think my granddad was married twice before Grandma and brought four other kids into the marriage. His wives keep dying on him. At least that’s what people in this room keep saying when they think no one’s listening.
Reaching out for the door handle, I’m more than a little annoyed to find it unlocked.
Shouldn’t funeral homes be more careful? Don’t they cut up and burn bodies back here? Now I have to follow through with this stupid dare.
I hold the doorknob as it slowly closes behind me and breathe a sigh of relief when that’s accomplished without making any noise and I tip-toe down the dimly lit hallway, pausing briefly at the weird noise coming from one of the closed doors. The muffled sound of someone talking has me moving again.
Peeking into one of the open doors near the far end of the hallway, it looks like something out of the TV shows my parents watch, except with just three of those metal locker doors. I open the middle one and this time, I’m beyond grateful. It is empty and the way I see it, my cousins will never know if there are bodies in the other two.
I pull out the tray and jump up on it before snapping a selfie. The tray is barely back inside the compartment when I distinctly hear someone cry out, quickly followed by a thud and a man’s voice.
It’s impossible to hear what was said, but it’s enough for me to know that I need to get the heck out of here.
Slowly leaning my head out of the door, there’s now a large man in dirty jeans and a leather vest, blocking the hallway that was empty just moments ago. He’s holding open one of the doors, his gaze is fixed on whatever is happening in the room he just stepped out of.
A loud smack followed by another groan suddenly leaves no doubt in my young mind what is taking place. Dad and I have seen every Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwartzenegger movie ever made, so I’ve heard it plenty of times.
“Let’s not forget we have a full house out there,” the man’s voice sounds as rough as he looks. “Finish him and stow him. He ain’t gonna tell us anything we don’t already know. Kid, go down the hall and get a bag and the trolley for his body. We’ll cremate him when the funeral wraps up.”
The moaning intensifies, but I can’t make out any words—I’ve completely frozen in place, my eyes locked on the metal cart that he must be talking about.
Looking around the room, even though I already know there’s no place to hide, I slide behind the door, squeezing myself against the wall as if it could swallow me up.
While I can’t see his face, the size of the man who comes into the room certainly isn’t a ‘kid’. He seems to know exactly where to find the body bag and tosses it onto the cart, it’s the noise he makes when he turns around, that tells me I’m in trouble.
He doesn’t say a word, just takes a step to put us face to face.
“Fuck,” he whispers. Then, just like I had done a few moments before, he looks around the room for a better hiding spot. Loudly exhaling, he shakes his head before continuing. “Don’t make a sound.”
When he pushes the cart out into the hallway, I turn my head to look through the tiny crack between the door and the wall and see his head turn back and forth before he mumbles under his breath. Unable to hear him, I just follow his earlier instruction and stay still.
The sound of men walking toward me, talking quietly among themselves reaches me just before I see them walking past the narrow peephole I have into the hall.
“Dumbass couldn’t have thought he’d get away with that,” a tall thin man with flaming red hair says to a shorter, thicker man with a shaved head.
“He had a steel-jaw though, my fucking knuckles are screaming,” the shorter one responds just as I hear metal groan and realize they just pushed open the back door.
For a few moments, there’s no noise except the beating of my heart, then I hear some rumbling from down the hall.
“…I got it. Don’t you have to get back out to the wake?”
“Yeah, but I doubt Benny is any lighter than he was when he was breathing.”
