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“He drugged the girl with doctored champagne and put her dog in the freezer to die,” Da
The champagne, the peace offering from Da
Da
“Hidden your light under a bushel too long, brother?” Marshall asked.
Da
When he told Dylan how sorry he was that Phil Maris got booted. “Polly, why did you come back tonight? Why did you bring Emma and Gracie home?” Marshall demanded suddenly.
“Da
“Why did you bring my wife and daughters here tonight?” Marshall asked his brother. This time he did stand, but the way Da
“I was afraid for them, Dyl, afraid you intended to do what you’d done before, clean house, kill everybody but your brother.” He smiled his old crooked smile and carefully, gently placed one hand on Gracie’s hair. It could have been a caress, but Marshall knew it wasn’t.
Da
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“I’ve had enough of this,” Polly hissed. “Come on girls; let’s let Uncle Da
Marshall watched helplessly as she turned and walked toward the bedroom door. “Polly… ” he began, but what could he say? It’s not what you think it is? Better she should leave. He prayed his brother would let Gracie go.
Da
“Come on, Gracie,” Polly said. Emma tugged her mother to a halt. “Not now, honey.” Again Emma tugged, and Polly leaned down to catch a whispered confidence.
I’m scared. Daddy’s crazy. Was that what his elfin daughter was saying?
Polly lifted her head and looked at Da
“Da
Da
“Sure thing. I’d rather you weren’t alone. It’s just not safe.” He winked at Marshall and backed toward the door, Gracie moving awkwardly with him. Before he turned and followed Polly out through the kitchen, he smiled at Marshall and stroked Gracie’s hair. “You wait here,” he said.
Marshall knew precisely what he meant.
Then they were gone; he heard the door to the backstairs close behind them.
He could call 911, but if the police came, sirens blazing, Da
If he did nothing, it would happen all over again.
Twitches wracked his body, a seizure of conflicting orders. Shaking, he took one step, then another. From overhead, he heard a faint thump-his kitchen door shutting. Footsteps whispered on the backstairs.
Was Da
Marshall moved again, softly this time, careful to make no sound on the hardwood floor. In the kitchen, he stopped and listened. Silence was not reassuring. The uneasy twitching of his hands worsened. Marshall was more frightened than he’d been since his parents were killed. He’d grown unaccustomed to physical fear. One of the perks of being a stone-cold killer was that one didn’t worry much about other predators. He wasn’t afraid for himself, but fear for his family was a solid thing, an entity, pumping so much adrenaline into his body he couldn’t stay still.
A crash sounded overhead, and he was out the kitchen door and halfway up the stairs. A noise from below, from the cellar, turned him around. Black and panting, a troll’s shape rushed upward.
“Da
“Put it down,” Marshall said. His voice shook as badly as his hands.
“It’s necessary, brother. You made it necessary. I’m just here to clean up after you. Like always. It’s me and you, the Marchand brothers. I told you not to fuck that up. Now you’ve done it. You’ve killed them again.”
The Marchand brothers, identical twins, dead at birth. Marshall took a step down toward Da
“No sense in it, brother,” Da
All Marshall heard was, “They’re dead.” With the howl of an injured animal, he hurled himself at his brother. The blade of the axe cut into his cheek. He felt the force but not the pain. Before Da
Blood poured from Marshall ’s cheek, onto the back of his hand, leaking onto the axe handle, making the wood slick. His brain burned. His body was a machine gone amok. Another cry burst from him, and he heaved upward with all his strength. Surprise registered on Da
Sudden and complete silence filled the space. Then came a whisper, no more than a breath of sound.
“Dylan?”
Axe still in hand, Marshall slowly descended the stairs.
“Rich?” Time folded in on itself. Mack the Giant was but a few minutes away. Rich was crumpled at the bottom of the flight of stairs, his head propped up against the wall at the corner. Light from the window didn’t penetrate far enough that Marshall could read his face.
“Help me, Dyl.”
Marshall crouched down beside his brother, the space so tight his butt hit one wall and the head of the axe the opposite. “Are you hurt?” It wasn’t Marshall asking, it was Dylan. Marshall heard the concern in his voice and hated it.
Dylan loved his brother.
“I broke something. You made me a fucking cripple.” Da
Marshall rose and ran up the stairs toward his apartment, the staccato laughs following him in a poisonous swarm.