Page 151 of On Edge

I freeze. Richard. My father?

A wet, hacking cough is his only answer.

Troy sighs and reaches into his pocket for something long and metallic-looking. Another knife? But as he moves behind the man in the chair, I see it clearer. A razor in his hands glinting in the low light before he smoothly lays the edge across the man’s neck.

And then I see the man’s face.

Darrow. My father’s right-hand man.

Troy pulls back violently. Darrow gives a strangled grunt, fighting against him and the bonds that strap him to the chair. Blood sprays in an arc.

I shove my hand over my mouth.

Silence.

Only the sound of my breath coming in short gasps and my heart beating erratically echoes loudly in my ears.

As Troy inhales deeply, seeming to savor the moment, he then releases Darrow’s hair, and the dead man’s head falls back. Humming, Troy leans over to clean the razor on the dead man’s chest. There’s a sound like popping a cork, and Darrow’s head rolls off, and a fountain of blood gushes out.

Suddenly, I feel sick again.

I grip the wall and wait for nausea to pass. But it doesn’t. It gets worse. Something thick and syrupy runs under the gap in the door, over the uneven stone, slipping beneath the soles of my heels.

I don’t dare look down.

I really am going to throw up.

But if I throw up, Troy will hear me, and the last thing I need is for him to find me here. I need to leave this place,now!

Quickly, I look to make sure he’s not coming into this room. But then I can’t help but stare as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket, mops the gore from his hands and face, and then strips off his bloodied shirt. It drops to the ground with a wet sucking sound.

The flickering light casts sharp, jagged shadows over his body, causing his muscles to shift beneath ink and scars as he turns to a record player placed on an old barrel.

He drops the needle.

A heavy beat thumps to life.

It screams through the damp air. Then, he casually and unhurriedly turns around…

And walks straight toward me.

Move.

The command screeches through my head, but my limbs don’t obey. Not until he’s almost through the door. A low whimper scratches my throat as I shove myself backward, pressing against the far side of the barber chair.

Footsteps come closer, slow and measured. The shadow on the wall stretches taller as Troy steps into the front room and switches on a lamp, lighting the place I’m trapped in with a dusty glare.

I don’t move. I don’t even think I’m breathing.

Not when he moves past where I’m hiding. As there’s the sound of him striding up to one of the cabinets against the wall,I manage to peek around. He rifles through a drawer, humming softly.

Crawl out now.Go.

But he turns in my direction.

I jump back. A scream burns in my chest, but I bite my tongue instead, swallowing the horror down like poison.

Troy pauses beside the chair, so close I can smell the metal stench of death on him.