Page 52 of Grave Possession (Grave #2)

Chapter Forty-two

Mallory

S itting outside of what is obviously a drug house, I try to gather my wits enough to go to the door.

Once Randy finally sent me the address, I made the trek into the city.

There’s another larger city beyond this one through the mountains, but I never have any reason to go there.

Corpsewood has everything I need that I can’t get in Crystal Creek.

I’m not what you’d call a people person. I don’t like crowds, and the amount of arrogance and stupidity you encounter by simply leaving the house is infuriating. So, I tend to stick as close to home as possible.

My phone beeps from my pocket. It’s Nox again, growing concerned from my lingering silence.

He calls, and I wait for the ringing to end before shutting off my phone.

As I swipe to turn off, I see his name illuminate the screen once more before the backlight goes out.

I’m such a piece of shit. He doesn’t deserve this.

Stuffing back the tears that threaten to overflow my ducts, I try to compose myself .

The front door swings open. Randy must be impatient to make a sale or annoyed by the lingering car in front of his house. I put my phone in the glove box then exit the vehicle, locking the doors behind me.

I pass through the house’s entranceway, closing the door behind me.

The layout is eerily similar to my parents’ house: living room to the right, kitchen straight ahead, and bedrooms to the left down the hallway, I assume.

Randy sits on a worn, brown, leather couch in the living room, his greasy brown mullet trailing down the back of his head and hanging over the rear of the couch.

“Come on over here and tell me what you want, I ain’t got all night,” he rudely snaps, a little too loudly for how close I am.

Moving towards him, I see the coffee table between us is covered in drugs.

White powder, rocks, pills of every colour, vials of clear fluid, and bags of weed in multiple sizes.

I definitely called the right guy to hook me up for whatever I want if the weed doesn’t help.

“How much for one of those?” I ask, pointing to a very tiny bag.

“Fifty,” he grumbles. Fifty dollars? Is he kidding?

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am,” his swamp coloured eyes narrow, assessing me from where he sits.

“I wish you had told me prices before I drove all the way here.”

“You didn’t ask.” He isn’t wrong, but I didn’t expect something that small to be that expensive.

“Well, sorry for wasting your time.” I say, making my way to the door .

“Booking you in cost me another sale, and now you’re not going to buy anything?

” His snarling voice injects fear into my veins, and I ponder for a millisecond over whether to lunge for the door or not.

I weave my keys in between the fingers on my left hand, giving myself some semblance of protection.

“Either buy something or I’ll get something from you that will make all of this worth my time. ”

His threat slams into me, throwing me back into my time with Johnson. All these fucking men are the same. “Fine. I’ll take the fifty dollar bag,” I snap, anything to get me out of here faster.

Randy stands, leaning over the table to snatch up the smallest ziplock bag on the planet. I reach into my pocket to pull out the cash while he comes to stand in front of me. I feel like I’m in a stand-off, a terribly precarious position that won’t end in my favour.

Randall extends his hand, and I slap the bill into his meaty palm. With the speed of a pit viper he grabs my wrist, pulling me toward him, then pushing me down over the back of the couch. My keys fly out of my hand as I brace myself for impact. Shit.

Not again.

Not fucking again.

“I think I’ll take what I want anyway, you know…for the headache you’ve caused me.” he snarls, leaning over me.

“Go fuck yourself,” I growl. Snapping my body up with as much force as I can muster, I slam the back of my head into his face.

The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking fills my ears as he staggers back, wailing in pain and calling me a “fucking bitch”.

Over my dead body will I let another man touch me without my consent.

I take off towards the kitchen since his swaying form is blocking the door.

He’s hot on my heels though, and he manages to grip the end of my ponytail, pulling me back against him as strands rip free from my scalp.

I struggle against him, stomping on his bare foot, and connecting my elbow with his scruffy cheek.

He pushes me away with such unrestrained anger, I crash into the kitchen counter, the force knocking the wind right out of me.

Randy takes advantage of that small moment in time where I’m at a disadvantage, wincing in pain, gasping for breath, and hunched over the countertop.

He twists my right arm up behind my back, ripping a scream from my throat as the joint threatens to dislocate.

“You know…Dennis always promised me a night with you before he disappeared. Guess he’s delivering on his word from beyond the grave now, since it was his phone that brought you to me.” Randy whispers in my ear.

“My parents aren’t dead,” I grunt as his weight presses down on my back. “There’s no proof. They just abandoned me, like my real father did.” I don’t know why it matters, Randall is probably right, but maybe by disagreeing with him I’ll find out more information on their disappearance.

“Dennis wouldn’t have left you, you were his meal ticket.”

“What?” I pant. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Like you don’t know. Stop playing innocent.

I bet every penny in my pocket that you and that cop boyfriend had somethin’ to do with Dennis and Barbra’s disappearance .

” He enunciates the word, like there’s not a chance in hell he believes it.

“He was threatening and stalking them for a while before they vanished.”

No. No. No. Lennox did not kill my parents.

He’s a killer too, more than you know, my other half said once before.

There’s no way she could’ve known that and I didn’t, she is me.

Unless I knew all along, or at least suspected it…

I did witness him subdue a stranger in my yard without an ounce of remorse or hesitation.

Did he kill that man? Could he really have murdered my parents?

They did hurt me more than anyone ever has.

My thoughts spiral, and I momentarily forget the disadvantageous position I’m in. Randy’s hips press into my backside, showing me he’s won. It’s a taunt, a reminder that I’m not strong enough. That he’s a man, who can do whatever he desires, and get away with it.

The sound of his zipper descending has panic flaring in my chest. I scour the surface before me, wishing for anything that can be used as a weapon to appear and grant me a way out of this situation.

Back and forth my sight sweeps the counter.

A knife handle peeks out from behind some kitchen utensils, and I wait for the pig behind me to be distracted with my pants before reaching for it.

Thankfully, he’s a fumbling idiot with sausage fingers who can’t manage to undo my jeans one-handed so he’s taking forever.

I slowly reach for the weapon, only to realize once it’s in my grasp, it’s broken.

There’s no blade attached. Fuck. That must be why it was cast aside, half-hidden and useless.

Annoyed and scared, I wonder what the hell I’m going to do now as my jeans are roughly tugged down over my ass.

I squeeze the knife handle in frustration, waiting for the recesses of my mind to open up and allow me in for refuge.

They don’t. I’m alone in this horrifying situation, left to face it head on instead of running to hide.

A blade shoots out from inside the grip and I’m shocked…

but also elated, and wholly ready to fuck up this man’s evening.

The wet tip of his dick touches my skin, his grip on my arm loosening as his anticipation of sinking inside of me builds.

Not fucking happening.

Get him , my other half purrs. Oh, how nice of you to finally wake up and join the party.

I lash out, bucking him back, then spinning and sinking the blade into his ear. I pull it out right before he staggers back, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

I right my pants before turning around to look down upon him.

Randy’s still breathing, shallow and fast, but the pool of blood forming on the floor around his head is growing.

His ragged breathing throws me back to the mill.

The memory of ending Ted’s life radiates through me as new energy surges within me.

I’ll make him pay for hurting me.

Dropping to my knees next to his abdomen, I observe the rise and fall of his chest. There’s no one here to stop me, watch me, or judge me for being intrigued by the inner workings of the human body, and how much torture it can withstand while already on the cusp of death.

I raise the switchblade then bring it down fast and hard at the base of his sternum.

The blade sinks into his abdomen as the pointed bone at the base of his breast bone slices through the skin on the side of my hand.

He screams, scaring the piss out of me, as I groan from the pain flaring in my hand.

Randy moves, trying to sit up, but I move faster. Pulling the knife out of his gut and sitting atop his chest, keeping him in place. His warm blood soaks into my pants, sending chills shaking through my body.

“Get off me, bitch!” he gurgles. Blood starts to colour his white teeth, and I know he isn’t much longer for this world.

I better work quickly then. Shimmying backwards so I have room to work, I slice through his cheap, sweat stained, white cotton t-shirt.

Flicking the separated pieces to the side, I make the second ‘y’ incision of my life.

The difference between this time and the last is there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in my veins.

I drag the blade deep, my hand steady, the cuts clean and precise.

Steel drags against bone, easily cutting through the fibrous tissue and muscle.

Randy isn’t screaming anymore. In fact there’s not a sound to be heard except the clattering of the knife as it falls from my grip to the floor, and the squelching of skin as I sink my fingers into his body, and pull apart his flesh.

There at the base of his sternum sits his xiphoid process, the sharp little bone that cut me.

I want to take it. A souvenir of the time I protected myself.

My first solo kill. It’s proof for myself that I don’t need anyone’s help, not Victoria, not Lennox, not anyone but me.

I’m strong, capable, and fucking dangerous.

Not wanting to slice myself again, I stand.

Wandering around the kitchen looking for some pliers so I can snap that little bone free.

Unfortunately, I don’t find anything. Moving down the hallway, I stop in the bathroom.

Crouching down to look under the sink, I spot a tool box.

Pulling it out, I start to rifle through.

Then, slicing through the silence, I hear the front door swing open.