Page 87 of Below The Surface
Hayden snorts and taps the wheel just before the turn signal starts to bing.
“Casey is the best friend a gal can have,” Kendra starts. “I’m so fucking mad at him for lying to me, though.” She fiddles with her hands in her lap. “But I understand why he did it. Dorian was our sun, and we were pieces of grass looking for his warmth. When Dorian...” She stops to take a breath and looks to the ceiling before continuing. “Casey took it as a personal failure. He wassoyoung and after that, he did anything he could to make sure we were fed, clothed, and sheltered. I just didn’t think he’d ever sell himself after what happened to Dorian.” Kendra throwsher head back and presses her fingers to her eyes. “He’s probably so hypersexual to cope with everything that’s happened. To take back his power or something. I thought it was just Casey being Casey. Fuck. Wereallyneed therapy.”
Hayden snorts. “I think he kills bad guys to cope with everything that’s happened.”
That makes Kendra laugh, and I join in.
“You two are good guys. If you weren’t, I’d have to stuff you in storage and deal with you later.”
28
CASEY
I don’t need silence, I need bass. Music blares so loud it almost makes my head hurt.Almost.But it feels so good. With my hands behind my head, I stare at the ceiling, unblinking until my eyes hurt.
Why the hell did I tell Kendra about David? I told myself I’d go to my grave with that secret, but it was eating me alive. And I don’t generally get eaten alive by secrets I keep. If I did, I’d probably be in jail.
It’s always weird to be laying in bed while the RV rolls on. Sun streams through the windows, making the small room brighter than I want right now, but it’s fine.
Everything is fine. Especially since Charles will be dead soon.
I sit up and push to my knees slowly to reach into the cabinet above me to grab my sketch pad and crayons. There’s something about drawing out a plan with crayons that I love. Oh, and glitter pens! I grab my stash and hope they aren’t all dried up. That would be a tragedy.
I spread out the colors in rainbow order. There’s a fuck ton, so it takes me a bit of time. Having every shade available means I can add subtle details that only I notice.
I pull up the blueprint of the convention center and start plotting Charles’s murder. Probably should have done this earlier, but I wasn’t ready. Sure, he knocked up my mom, but that doesn’t make him anything to me. Not even my god anymore.
So why the hell have I been hesitating? Taking him out will save countless lives. Save countless children from the life we lived or worse. Maybe we should have gone after him as soon as we learned who he was from Darla. Our spies said the man didn’t have a kid with him as far as they could tell and he never met up with any.
All of the evidence points that he’s either stopped or he’s much more sophisticated than he used to be. I wouldn’t doubt it. Charles was always adapting. Always finding ways to punish the servants if we didn’t do what he wanted. It didn’t matter that I was his blood. I think he hated me.
I kick my legs as I draw and scheme while laying on my tummy in the twin bed. Charles has several panels and appearances scheduled. We already have our assigned parking spots in the lot for RVs so I could get him there. Thankfully, he won’t beanywherenear our tank. I don’t want him touching our baby. That fucker cost a pretty penny.
The RV moves to the right and decelerates. We must be switching drivers. I should probably join everyone again, but I’m not done with my plans.
I could snipe Charles from the roof. Kendra would be able to kill the security cams for a bit of time. But that just feels too easy for Charles. No, I want him to suffer. Suffer hard. I want him to hurt. I want to watch the light drain from his eyes. I want my audience to tell me how to kill him. I want to waterboard him and pull off his fingernails.
A frustrated growl leaves my lips. Then I go back to flipping through the blueprints. Maybe I can find a nice soundproofroom no one goes to and I can set up a Nightmare show. I haven’t told my little freaks there won’t be a show this week, but maybe there will be.
I spread my work out on both twin beds and stare at the possibilities. So many.
The big problem is going to be getting him alone. I have ideas, but I hate every single one of them.
There’s a soft knock and the accordion door slides open slowly.
“Hey,” Kendra says, even though she knows I can’t hear her.
I slide the headphones around my neck.
“We’re grabbing some lunch. Want to come with us? Some local fast food place.”
My stomach rumbles and I nod.
“Doing better?” She looks at my art and laughs at the one I labeled Die Hard with a stick figure falling off the roof of the convention center. “Love it. Can I help you push him off?”
I nod and get to my feet. The art stays where it’s at and I follow her through the RV and out into the parking lot.
The place is called Cluck Cluck Box, so I’m guessing chicken.
