Haley Thistle
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Uncovered Project: I'm Your Boogeyman: Part Three
🕑 Added 2020-09-04 20:00:02 +0000 UTCI was really into Dexter at the time of writing this story, so yeah, it's heavily influenced by that. My mom was also really into true crime, still is, so everything that was here was stuff that I had read or seen from spending time with her.
Chapter Three: Stuart Mason
Stuart had never been a remarkable child growing up. There were the few spelling bee victories and science fair ribbons, but otherwise he never much stood out. He was a short, stocky boy with hair so blonde it looked white. He also had poor eyesight, so he had to wear rather large, thick glasses. And, as it were, children were especially cruel.
He had a normal family life. His father was a WWII veteran, one from a handful of heroes from their small home town in Massachusetts. His mother was a homemaker, even though she was horrible at it, having been raised a spoiled rich girl most of her life. His mother was also abusive. She wasn’t above calling Stuart names or slapping him around when she was miffed. It was a habit she picked up herself as a child and her parents said it was alright for her to take out her frustrations on the maids.
It was during one such event, after having had a fight with his father, she was looking for an outlet to her rage. She was having a game of cards with the other ladies of the neighborhood later and she wanted to be as ladylike as possible. Luckily for her Stuart came in and tracked mud on the linoleum.
“Stuart Eugene Mason!” She screeched.
Stuart froze. He knew something bad was about to happen. Whenever she used his full name like that, it always meant something really bad. He turned and looked up at her. He hated it when she was angry. He face scrunched up and got red. Her lips twisted up, making her flaming red lipstick smudge just enough to remind him of the blood on Dracula’s lips.
“Yes Mama?” He squeaked softly.
She raised her arm, and Stuart flinched, expecting her palm to smack across his left cheek like always. Not this time.
This time, she pulled his glasses off and laid them on the countertop. Stuart held his breath and stared at the blur above him that was his glasses reflecting the skylight. To him, it looked like a fairy dancing.
It was this distraction that caused him to miss his mother swinging her fist at him. She knocked him sideways and into the wall. The side of his head throbbed. He had no clue women could throw punches. He knew his mother could slap, but he never expected her to ball up that small, white hand and swing it like the bullies at school. But the worst thing was that his mother liked to wear big, chunky rings.
“Mama!” Stuart cried and she swung again.
This time Stuart slammed into the wall and crumbled onto the floor.
“I just cleaned that floor you little, fat pig!” She hissed and kicked him in the stomach. “Do you not appreciate everything I do for you? It breaks my heart that you don’t think about me!” She slapped the back of his head.
“I’m sorry, Mama!” Stuart cried, bringing himself into a ball and covering his bleeding ear. “I’m sorry, Mama!” He cried.
“Damn right you’re sorry!” She reached across the table top and plucked up her smoldering cigarette.
She would later explain Stuart’s injuries as him having been smoking on the top of the stairs in the basement and when she caught him, he fell. Stuart would always remember it as the worst beating of his life. And the first time his mother discovered her favorite torture device.
When Stuart was ten, his father disappeared. His mother never said anything about it, but Stuart figured out some years later his father had run off with another woman. Afterwards, Stuart’s mother remarried and they moved to Rochester, New York where his mother was originally from.
He spent some time with his grandparents. But he learned early on they used him more as a decoration than anything else. So when he was forced to stay at their place, he would spend more time with the hired help than anything else.
He found that his favorite place was the kitchen. The cook was a colored woman who adored Stuart and Stuart adored her back. It was also in the kitchen that Stuart discovered his secret hobby. There were mouse traps all over the place, and often Stuart would find them with mice writhing under the metal traps.
At first, Stuart would take the mice with the intent of letting them go outside. But with one mouse, it wouldn’t move, so he thought it had died. Curiosity grips any child, and Stuart was just learning in school about anatomy and biology.
He snuck a knife from the kitchen and came back to mouse. He sliced it open. He found this so satisfying he sliced into it again and again and again.
It wasn’t before long that animals and pets started disappearing around his neighborhood.
When Stuart was eighteen he was drafted to fight in Vietnam. Needless to say what that did for an already twisting young man’s psyche. With a gun in one hand, and a knife in the other, Stuart made sure his target was dead. He also made sure they knew it before it happened.
Stuart had perfected a system there much like someone would use the bait a catch. First, he’d shoot his target somewhere on the body he’d know they’d fall. He’d then come upon them and disable them further. That’s when his knife would come out and he’d do as pleased. He’d take a tooth as a trophy. All his buddies thought this was amazing of Stuart. It would be until years later they’d think twice about it. Let alone what danger they were in underneath Stuart’s ever growing shadowing.
One of his buddies laughed over a beer. “Now they’ll know who is boss!” He cheered, raising his mug to Stuart. “Thanks to ole’ Chainsaw here!”
That’s what they called Stuart, Chainsaw. They called him this because he’d cut through anything with cold merciless precision. Once again, what did they know?
“How many teeth ya got, Chainsaw?” Another one asked.
Stuart never really learned their names. He only knew them by certain trademarks and facial ticks. He only knew them by nicknames and codenames. They didn’t know how impersonal he really was.
“Fourteen.” Stuart replied with a forced laugh. He didn’t include his body count in Vietnam with his record now. It was war, and in war you sometimes kill. There were no real victories in these deaths he concluded.
“Damn!” Another crowed. “I only got five. How come you got so many?”
Stuart shrugged. “Lucky?”
They all broke into peeling laughter. Years later that laughter would turn into peeling sobs, as half those boys, would later admit they’d have to laugh, or they’d die. The other half did die.
When Stuart was in college, he took a class, in which, he got to assist doctors in autopsies. But to his utter disappointment, it didn’t hold the same effect as cutting open a wriggling like Yorkshire terrier or Viet Cong solider. But he kept at it and soon became a specialist in death, in diagnosing it that is.
As a doctor he was adequate at treatment, but it was the symptoms he was good at. He soon went to work in the morgue where his autopsies were never wrong, or, second guessed.
It wouldn’t be until Stuart was thirty-four that he would be the cause.
Stuart was substituting for a doctor friend one night and came across a woman in a coma. She had been there for several years and her friends and family had stopped visiting all together. She was in her modifies and everyone knew there was no way that she was going to wake up.
Stuart took her and moved her down to the morgue. There he desiccated her while she was still very much alive. He would then cover himself, saying she had died in the middle of the night and that he had noticed something very odd about her breathing. It was lucky for her that she had several tumors in his lungs.
At first, Stuart went after the elderly. They were the easiest to come by and the easiest to lie about dying suddenly.
It was around this time, some new neighbors moved in next door to Stuart. They’d have five kids. Two boys and three girls. They also had a Yorkshire terrier named Giggles.
One day, one of the boys came over to Stuart’s house, asking if could get his ball out of Stuart’s back yard.
“Does anyone know you’re over here?” Stuart asked.
The boy shook his head. “No sir. Mom thinks I’m over at Billy McGurski’s house.” He explained. “I came home the back way and I threw my new baseball for Giggles to chase.” He swallowed. “If I broke anything I can work it off!” He suddenly pleaded.
Stuart smiled and held the door open for him. “I’m Stuart by the way.”
“Connor.” The boy answered and walked inside.
That night the boy’s parents came knocking on Stuart’s door. Connor hadn’t come home from Billy McGurski’s. No one had seen him. Stuart hadn’t either.
Authorities would later discover Connor’s skeleton in shallow grave near the reservoir along with fourteen other bodies of young children fifteen years later. Some of the bodies were fresh. But all of them had been put through the same rigorous torture as the last.
Coroners stated that some of the children may have been alive for years, some a few hours. Some of the damage was so extensive that they couldn’t identify some of the more decomposed bodies. A year went by before anyone was arrested. Stuart was one of five who were suspected. But Stuart confessed to all the crimes. He even went so far as to identify each and every child specifically in the order he had killed them and they age he had killed them.
Connor Lionel, age ten. Emily Radcliff, age nine. Joseph March, age five. Lonny Bridges, age twelve. Sarah Lewis, age six. Jessica Goldenberg, age ten. Natalie Freeman, age seven. Doug Mitchell, age eleven. Sophie Solomon, age eight. Mack Fisher, age ten. Jenny Forrester, age thirteen. Bobby Willis, age twelve. Jon Porter, age six. Laurie Mundy, age five. Tyler Green, age seven.
His trail made history. A lot of his buddies from Vietnam testified as character witnesses against him.
“I never thought of it twice back then.” One said. “We were all doing what we was told to do. Ya know?” He looked across the court room at Stuart, realizing that nothing about him had changed except for age.
“Stuart was just better at it.” He took a hallow breath. “I didn’t know he was better at it because he wanted to be.”
Chapter Four: The Contents Inside
The door buckled and collapsed under William’s shoulder like a sheet of glass meeting a flying brick. William stepped back, first assessing his handy work, then he looked to Cecy expectantly.
Cecy stood still. She stood aside the door, barely glancing inside. The smell poured from the room and everyone stood away. Lana ran into the living room and coughed and gagged. Adam covered her face, pulling his shirt up over his nose and clasping his hand around the muzzle of his face over the shirt.
“Ever heard of knocking?” Stuart snarled from inside.
“We did.” Cecy answered. “Didn’t you hear Lana whining about the smell?”
Stuart stepped out into the hallway and looked from side to side. “So you decide to break down my door?” He frowned down at Cecy.
“If something smells that bad.” Adam spoke up.
Stuart looked sideways at him. “I don’t smell anything.”
Cecy went to move into his room but Stuart shoved her, knocking her backwards into Adam. Her hand braced against his chest. And the sudden expansion of her opening fingers and the force reopened the cut running across her palm.
William swung, punching Stuart in the jaw, making him crash into the doorframe and slumping there in the hall. Cecy pushed off of Adam, smearing blood across the front of his shirt. She stepped into Stuart’s room and quit breathing or else the smell of the ammonia from the urine might make her faint. Her eyes watered and she fumbled with turning on the light.
It was there, laying halfway in his room and the hallway, Stuart realized how much he missed his large expansive basement with sound proof walls and a concrete floor that had a drain in the center of the floor and along the corners in the walls. He remembered how easy it was to clean the floor simply by spraying the house and there… Everything went down the drains.
He also missed deadbolts and air fresheners. And it seemed odd to him that he would miss the most unimpressive things. Those little things we use everyday and take for granted, never realizing their full effect on us until they are gone, or, we are about to be gone.
Stuart wanted to take all that back.
Well, he thought, what about now?
Cecy stood before Stuart’s wardrobe and swallowed, which meant she had to take a quick breath. She swallowed again to keep her stomach down. She reached up and opened up the wardrobe. From the thin sheet of light that came in through the crack she saw grayish-white skin tightly pulled over a quivering ribcage.
“My god…” Cecy whispered.
“Cecy!” William bellowed.
Cecy’s head smacked against the opened door of the wardrobe slamming it shut and reverberating back open. Stuart sat on top of her and reached inside.
“I am so gonna enjoy this.” He seethed, grinning from ear to ear.
From inside the wardrobe a long, sickly hand gripped onto Stuart’s wrist.
“Let me go!” Stuart roared.
“N-no.” Zeke croaked from inside.
Cecy slid out from underneath Stuart and stood over him. Cecy reached with her good hand into the waistband of her pants and pulled out the mirror. Stuart easily broke from Zeke’s limp grip and lunged at Cecy.
Cecy whipped her arm out, slicing her mirror across Stuart’s face. His glasses flew through the air and cracked against the Van Gogh hanging on the wall.
Stuart howled and held his bleeding cheek in his hand. “You little-”
“Better be glad you were wearing your glasses.” Cecy breathed. She had never liked being charged at, especially by someone as big as Stuart. Big people were always harder to stop in a full tackle. Especially when one was as small built as Cecy.
“But…” Cecy whispered as she took a cautious step towards Stuart. “You have Zeke in the wardrobe. God knows what you’ve done to him.” She licked her lips and stared down at him, her eyes black in the shadows.
“You also just tried to attack me.” Her cut hand whipped out and grabbed Stuart by his thinning hair. “Never good.”
From behind in the hallway, Lana leaned in between Adam and William. Her hands looped around Adam’s arm and she took a shivering breath.
“What’s she doing?” She whispered. “Is she going to-” Her words were cut off in the same instant as Cecy cut into Stuart’s thick, middle-aged neck.
Lana screamed and turned running back to her room. The door slammed and the Van Gogh fell from the wall and on top of Stuart’s glasses.
She laid him face down on the bed as he gurgled and drooled blood. Cecy then turned back to the wardrobe and opened it up. Her eyes flashed blue and she touched Zeke’s face.
“Lets get you outta here.” She turned back around. “William, come help me get him outta this mess.”
William walked in, barely glancing at Stuart’s rasping corpse. Inside the wardrobe he saw Zeke, strung up by coat hangers piercing through his thin, boney arms. There was a fork between his ribs. Another laying under his cut thigh. He looked like a skeleton who could bleed through his desecrated bones.
His hollow eyes rose and met Cecy’s. “Thank you…” He managed to speak, using a grinding, rusty voice.
Cecy nodded. “You’re welcome.” She turned and watched as William dipped down, slowly removing coat hangers. As he lifted Zeke slowly, more instruments fell out from Zeke but no one looked.
“Adam, go look in the bathroom for any antiseptic or anything!” Cecy barked and ran ahead of William towards Zeke’s room.
Left alone in Stuart’s room, Adam stood for a moment then turned and looked down at Stuart. He moved around to the other side of the bed and rolled Stuart over. His breath caught in his throat as he stared down at the corpse.
Adam’s fist clinched over his groin as he stared down at Stuart’s neck. The wide, eye opening wound brought back images in his mind and he felt a thirst curl up and down his throat.
“Oh god…” Adam groaned. He quickly ran from the room and blindly slammed into the bathroom door. Inside he heard Lana throwing up everything she had inside her. He thanked God briefly for that, it was a real turn off. He then dodged and ran to the bathroom at the very end of the hall and flung open the medicine cabinet mirror. Inside her found hydrogen peroxide, rubbing alcohol, and an ancient bottle of iodine that was remarkably still brand new. As her further inspected the room he found gauze and antiseptic wipes underneath the sink along with what looked like a year’s supply of tampons and panty liners.
Looking at those he was once again reminded of his foster mother and all the things she kept, not just in her bathroom, but his bathroom as well. Adam felt like throwing up himself but he quickly turned and went back out into the hallway.
It struck him then how remarkably odd it was that three killers were trying to save the life of another while a fifth one lay dead in a room not but two doors down. How extraordinarily crazy was it that homicidal psychopaths were trying to save a life at all? The mere idea of it made Adam chuckle. But that was an unfortunate gesture on his part.
“What the fuck is so damned funny?” Cecy growled at him as he ripped the supplies he had gathered from his hands. The bottle of iodine fell from both their hands and rolled under the bed as it hit the floor.
“Sorry.” Adam muttered as he came closer to the bed side. Poor Zeke. The thought couldn’t help but permeate Adam’s thoughts as he looked down at the nearly mummified body laying on the bed. Adam hadn’t thought it possible before considering how frail and tiny Zeke was, but the poor boy looked like half of himself.
There was a sickening squelching sound and then Zeke groaning a quiet scream. William examined the wire hanger he had just pulled from Zeke’s side and huffed.
“No more wire hangers.” He sighed as he tossed the hanger aside.
“What?” Cecy hissed.
Adam swallowed. “Joan Crawford.” He muttered then quickly turned back to Zeke. “You need anything?”
“Some water.” Zeke gurgled.
Adam sidestepped out of the room. “Sure.” He said quietly, eyeing Cecy as she worked with a cool, calculated precision on Zeke’s mangled corpse-like body.
Cecy wiped at Zeke’s brow with an antiseptic wipe and sighed. “I am so glad that’s out of the way.”
William glanced over at her, giving her a questioning stare.
“Stuart.” Cecy gave him a reassuring smile. “What?” She then laughed. “It was only a matter of time, correct?”
“So you were planning on it the whole time?” William whispered, glancing down at Zeke who was in a world between sleep and fevered panic.
Cecy’s catlike grin curled the corners of her lips ever so effectively. “Who am I, William? Remember that?”
William looked away from her and huffed. “Of course.”
Lana and Adam met eyes as they both came to the doorway. Lana looked at her feet first as Adam treaded on into the bedroom, a glass of cold water in his hand.
“I’d kill for a cigarette.” William huffed impatiently.
Lana yelped and Adam nearly dropped the glass of water.
Cecy looked shocked at William then threw her head back and let out a peeling laughter.
b
Clancy was walking his daughter from the school entrance when his cell phone started ringing. His daughter, Savannah, looked at his pocket then back up at her father with hopeful eyes.
“Is it Momma?” She gasped.
“No.” Clancy huffed and dug into his pocket. He brought the phone to his ear and huffed. “Hello?”
“Zeke is safe. Stuart is dead.”
Clancy let go of his daughter’s hand and turned around. “What?” He rasped breathlessly.
“Stuart had Zeke in his wardrobe, tied up, tortured and nearly dead.” Emma said on the other end. “You’re safe as long as Zeke makes it through the night.”
Clancy breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God! You don’t know how much sleep I lost over this.”
Emma chuckled. “I bet you did.”
Clancy furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”
“Daddy!” Savannah shouted behind him.
Clancy snapped the phone shut and turned around to looked back down at his daughter. “What is it, sweetie?”
“I wanna see Momma. Where is she?” She muttered, her long blonde hair dripping over her face. “Why can’t we go see her in prison?”
Clancy knelt down in front of Savannah and grabbed her by the shoulders tenderly. “Your mommy did something very bad, sweetie and they have to be punished.”
“But why do I have to be punished?” Savannah whined. “I wanna see Momma!”
Clancy stood back up and sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, honey.” He took her hand in his again. “But for now…lets go get ice cream.”
That night as Clancy left Savannah asleep under the tentative care of the nanny, he went back to the room at the end of the hall lit by bright television screens. Edgar was there of course, and he was playing cards with Emma who smiled up at him as he came into the room. Doug was there, swirling a glass of brandy in one hand and stroking his bearded face with the other.
“Bet you’re feelin’ better.” Doug chuckled as Clancy took his seat.
“I am.”
“Not as good as Emma.” Edgar laughed. “She made a nice bundle last night.” He jabbed Emma with his sharp elbow playfully.
“The money went to a good cause.” Emma mewed softly as she laid down a card.
“You gave it away?” Clancy huffed.
Emma looked up and shrugged. “I didn’t need it.” She said and picked up another card. “Money is the last thing I need.”
“Then why are you here?” Doug asked, leaning forward expectantly.
Emma looked face from face to face and shrugged. “I was bored.”
Doug leaned back and chuckled, satisfied and pleasantly surprised. “Clark didn’t take it none to well.”
“Did expect him to.” Edgar grunted. “He picked the worst one anyways. No one likes child killers.”
“Certainly not.” Emma clucked as she laid down several more cards. “Especially when have one.” She looked over at Clancy. “How is Savannah?”
“She’s fine.” Clancy sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Asking questions about her mother though.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Like I was afraid of…”
Emma looked over at Edgar. “If Edgar was in the same situation, I’d be distraught over not seeing him, let alone hearing his voice.”
Edgar sneered. “Like anyone would care about an old coot like me. Even you, darling.” He patted Emma cheek then returned to squinting down at the cards.
“You haven’t told you girl about what he mommy did?” Doug asked, honestly shocked by the idea.
“No.” Clancy muttered. “How can you tell a girl her mother is a deranged maniac?” He leaned back in his chair and groaned.
“Easy.” Edgar clucked and Emma slapped his shoulder in reply.
“I’m running out of things to tell Savannah.” Clancy muttered.
Edgar scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just call her?”
Clancy furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?” He asked.
Edgar stared blankly at Clancy and muttered something offensive about him under his breath. “Call you wife.” He snorted. “Call Lana.”
Clancy sat forward. “In the house? Is that wise?”
“What can they do?” Emma asked. “And I doubt that Lana would go so far as to tell her daughter everything.”
That would be the logical thinking, but Clancy knew he couldn’t trust his ex-wife to ever be as predictable as that. He had known that several of her husbands had died before they got married. Clancy never asked Lana about it, knowing it might stir up some dormant emotions in her. Clancy was never good with dealing with emotion. Right now, he was struggling raising Savannah by himself. And he only knew it got harder from there, especially it she ever found out about her mother and everything she had done.
Seven! He shivered at the thought of it now. Seven husbands! How had he not noticed anything. Let alone not even hear a word about it. What surprised him the most was how well Lana had hid it until the night that had an unusually epic fight and she came at him with a knife, stabbing him once in the arm and twice in his leg. It was only until Lana was arrested that Clancy learned about her bloody history.
Seven! Seven husbands all dead and all killed by that beautiful seductress called Lana. His wife and mother of his only child!
It had been shock enough learning all this about Lana. And after recovering from his wounds he suddenly dawned about the idea of the Angel Cage. He had been drunk and talking to his long time friend and business associate Emma Trust. The two then started their little game, purchasing their pawns and inviting friends and other gamblers into the party.
The there came Edgar Glass. And whether or not he knew about Clancy and his ex-wife he chose Lana without a word of explanation. Clancy had tried to get Emma to tell him why Edgar had done it. Was it out of spite? Sheer irony and in Edgar’s mind absolutely hilarious? Or was it a simple mistake? Clancy didn’t think so. Not when it was Edgar Glass, King of the Freaks, Lord of the Flies.
Clancy left soon after all that had occurred. He hadn’t even bothered to read the daily briefing on all interesting and topical events that happened in the house. Once he got home he got himself a drink then went into his daughter’s room. He stood there, looking down at her and shaking at the fact that she was looking more and more like Lana every second. The soft, rippling blonde hair. The thin, heart shaped face. Her perfect, petite features like her little pointed nose. What would he do once Savannah grew up? What if the unfortunate girl grew up to look exactly like her mother? How could he face her?
He reached out and brushed the hair from Savannah’s face, catching glimpse of something in Savannah’s hand. It was shiny and metallic. He slowly eased from her grip and saw it was a picture frame. The picture inside was Lana, smiling brightly in her gorgeous Vera Wang wedding gown. And standing beside her was Clancy, smartly dressed in his tuxedo with a tie that matched Lana’s ensemble. And to Clancy’s utter surprise, he looked so utterly happy in the photo.
He then placed the photo on the side table by Savannah’s bed and sighed disheartened and left the room. What was he to do? If he let Savannah call Lana then Lana would instantly know who was behind the house. And if Lana survived then she’d make it known and would stop at nothing from finishing her original job.
But on the other hand, he couldn’t bear seeing Savannah suffer anymore. He knew how important it was for a young girl to have a mother. Sure Savannah had her nanny and Emma was always a supportive and loving guardian when he needed one. But a mother was what a girl wants. And when Lana was behind bars Clancy could see Savannah deteriorating away.
“It’s not my fault.” He told himself, taking another swig from his glass. He coughed and wiped his mouth. “It’s completely her fault.”
But by dawn he had made up his mind. He waited until Savannah went off to school and he made preparations. But first, he had to have a talk with Edgar. After all, he was the one who owned all rights to Lana at this point.
Inside the house, Zeke opened his eyes to a blurry world. His body ached but was relieved. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in the cold air. He opened his eyes again and rolled his eyes to see that the door was open. His eyes then moved from the doorway and up to the ceiling and back down to the other side of the room. And to his surprise, there sat Cecy, pouring over a book whose title he couldn’t read. The world was still so blurry.
Cecy’s head raised. “Your awake.” She didn’t ask, she knew so she stated.
Zeke blinked. “How long?”
“You were in there for about three days.” Cecy replied, shutting her book and setting it on the side table.
Zeke went to shake his head but was barely able to make his hair move. “No. I meant-”
“Of course.” Cecy hummed. “Asleep. About twelve hours I suppose.”
What’s she looking at to guess that? Zeke thought, noticing Cecy made no motion what so ever to look at anything.
“Are you feeling well?” Cecy asked. “Do you need me to get anything? Aspirin? Ointment?”
“Oint-?” Zeke stopped himself. “Water.”
Cecy reached over and lifted Zeke’s head up on her forearm. Zeke then felt the cold glass against his lip and the water splash up against his teeth.
“What happened?” Cecy asked as she laid him back onto his pillow.
Zeke coughed. “What?” He groaned. The coughing brought up a whole new level of pain.
“How did Stuart get you?” Cecy pushed.
He rasped. “Where is he?”
“In the furnace downstairs. But what happened.” She continued urging.
“I can’t…” Zeke swallowed. “I don’t really recall. I was in the shower…”
Cecy stood up. “Never mind.” She went to move towards the door. But with what little strength he had managed to gather, Zeke reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Why save me?”
Cecy stood there, paying no attention to his hand on her wrist, nor to even Zeke himself. The question was ringing in Cecy’s head as well. It was against her nature. Stuart was a natural and defensive kill. But saving Zeke? What was her motive?
“I don’t plan on giving Those Who Watch the satisfaction.” Cecy replied with a cold slice of an answer and walked on. Easily slipping from Zeke’s weak grasp.
As she walked out of her room she made a slight curve up, evading the thick red stain dragging itself across the floor from Stuart’s closed door.
“He awake yet?” William called from inside the living room.
“Go see for yourself.” Cecy muttered as she trooped into her room and shut the door.
Adam walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on the bottom of his shirt. He looked over at William who shrugged and went back to reading the paper that had slipped into the mail slot that morning.
“What the hell is her deal?” Adam grunted, plopping down into a chair.
William repeated his shrug. “Couldn’t say.”
Adam scoffed. “I’m gonna be cliché and say: Couldn’t? Or Wouldn’t?”
“Your right.” William turned a page then flipped the paper out. “That was cliché.” He snorted.
Suddenly a shrill high pitched tone reverberated through the air.
Adam sat up erect followed by William who folded his paper down and stood. Adam looked up at him, jaw slightly loose.
“We have a phone?” Adam asked.
William turned and went through the French doors into the pantry and saw an old fashioned rotary phone sitting on the top of a chest of drawers. He stared at it for a moment as it made it’s fourth ring. On the fifth ring, he picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Yes. This call is for Lana.”
William arched his brow and breathed. “Fine.” He turned and leaned out the door, meeting Adam’s inquisitive gaze.
“It’s for Lana.” William replied.
Adam grimaced. “What?”
William nodded. “Go get her.”
Adam reluctantly obeyed and turned down towards the hallway. Cecy was peeking out her door, watching. He moved towards Lana’s door and knocked.
“Phone call.”
“Excuse me?” Lana yelped from inside.
“You have a phone call in the pantry.” Adam replied. “I don’t know who it is.” He added. He stepped back as Lana came out the door and raced down the hallway.
Cecy scoffed indignantly and receded back into her room.
Lana went running into the pantry and ripped the phone from William’s offering hands. “Yes? Hello? Help me I’m-” She stopped and caught her breath. “Clancy? What is this?”
