SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 60.8

"I'll block you."

I laughed. "Goodnight." I slipped out of the vehicle and shut the door after me. I walked towards Trevor's house as the granite-grey clouds above me grumbled and a second later, the ground was slick and wet with heavy droplets of rain. The downpour drenched my hair and shoulders and I knocked impatiently on the front door. "What took you so long?" I grumbled, wiping my feet on the Welcome Home! mat.

Trevor frowned at me. "I was cleaning up after myself."

Quickly, I interjected. "That's all I need to know, Trev. Why don't you go watch some TV? We'll call you when it's over."

I closed the living room door so as not to disturb him and then left for the kitchen. Irvin was closing his laptop and he pulled on his paintball mask, tone acidic and sour. "You done with your bullshit relationship problems or do I have to act as a therapist now?"

"What the hell is up your ass?" I reached for my own mask, shooting him a look.

"I hate having to be a babysitter for that fucking freak." He groused, heavy brows tugged down over a cross expression. "He pulled down his trousers and showed me a spot on his dick. He wanted to know my opinion on it. I feel queasy. It was dark and bulbous and inflamed and I definitely think he needs to go to the doctor. He squeezed it and pus came out."

I screwed my expression up, my stomach twisting like a hand at a cleaning rag. "Was it necessary to tell me that? Maybe it's acne."

"Acne on his cock? It's probably cancer. I hope it's cancer."

"That's harsh. I like Trevor. He's alright."

"He becomes aroused at the sight and thought of blood. He has sexual urges and fantasies based on the suffering and anguish of others. He jerks off to murder and the sounds people make when they're dying. He's anything but 'alright'."

"Don't kink shame him."

"Shay?"

"What?"

"Never speak to me again."

"OK," I covered up with the mask, choosing to remain in black jeans and a sweatshirt rather than change into the combat boots and trousers. "Shall we get this interrogation over and done with? I'm tired as hell and I want to go to bed."

"Sure," he followed after me down the stone steps of the basement. "We're sticking to the script, right?"

"Like always," I confirmed.

The basement was a rectangular room. Stone grey walls and dusty floor. Bare of any furnishing aside from a single chair rooted to the ground and a dog cage that was rumoured to be there from hundreds of years ago. Story goes a werewolf family used to sleep, wake and eat in the four walls of this house and a rebellious and feral cub often spent her childhood locked up in the cage. Of course it was fantasy. One of Trevor's stupid stories he told to pass the time.

Chained, gagged and bound to the chair was our great friend, Arnold Pearce. He was awake, sightless (one of Trevor's ties had been used to rob him of his sight) and whimpering quietly. "Please, please, whoever you are, I have money. I'll give you whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."

Silence slithered down the stairs and curved around his body, choking him violently. He didn't do well with silence. He panicked. "Let me go, please! I won't tell anyone."

I spoke lowly, voice gruff, almost unrecognisable by the speaker in the mask. "Here's how this is going to go, Mr. Pearce. I'm going to ask you three questions. You have thirty seconds to answer each question. Answer truthfully and you will leave unharmed. Lie or avoid answering and you'll be roasted over a fire and then shot. Do you understand?"