Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I gazed at the floor. Large polished blocks made up the floor. On each spot, a famous writer’s name was written. “So I’m thinking they’re buried under their designated stones.”
I tapped my foot. It felt weird, traveling over the rotting bones of people who’d crafted the most amazing works of their time. Men and women that I’d read in college, devoured on lonely nights, and praised once the story had finished.
I stood on top of D.H. Lawrence’s stone and searched the other names around him—Auden and T.S. Eliot, Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear.
“Wow.” Vivian gave up with the spy precautions, turned on her phone, and took pictures of all the names that she walked on “Can you imagine how amazing it would be to stand in here, after all of the bodies are woken up?”
Troy scrunched his face together. “After all of the bodies wake up? Did I just miss something?”
“You know, when the angels blow the trumpets and the dead clamor out of their graves to welcome Christ’s return. Haven’t you ever wondered about that?”
“What?” Troy asked.
“During revelations some of the dead get their souls returned and they come back to life.”
“I doubt it will happen in our lifetime,” Troy said.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do writers have souls? That would be my question.” I traced my foot along T.S. Eliot’s name. “I read this article on how creativity can darken the soul.”
“That’s stupid. Anyway, back to revelations.” Viv pointed to one of the stones. “Can you imagine Emily Dickinson waking up and surrounded by the Bronte sisters? They’d probably have a lot to say about women’s literature and how it’s grown. Plus—”
“I’ve got an idea for how we’ll kill Benny.” Troy raised his hand. “We’ll bring him here, and have you two discuss this topic with him. Benny might commit suicide with one of these statues. I could see him banging his head into the stone over and over, just to get some peace.”
I placed my hands on my hips. “Fine. Would you like to change the topic?”
“Only if you think your life is in danger. If not, feel free to snap more pictures of the dead’s grave.” Troy didn’t even check the names that he walked by.
“Okay. Okay. No one’s around, but the occasional wandering tourist. We jumped ahead of that one tour group. We have some quiet time in here,” I pointed out. “What do you want to do?”
“We’ve got to kill him?” Troy said.
“We’ve said that already, over and over.” I blew out a long breath. “We thought up ways, and neither one of us, really has it in us.”
“My vote is still for poison.” Viv wagged her hand. “The chances of getting caught by him are low, and I damn sure don’t want any of us to be caught by him. He scares me.”
“Where are we going to get some poison?” Troy asked.
“We could make some,” she argued. “The internet provides everything to a sick enough person.”
“We would need something that he couldn’t taste or smell, that wouldn’t make him suspicious. A poison like that would be difficult to find and cost money. Besides tourist spots, it will be hard for us to get to someone who could give us that, and not be reported back to him by his guards.”
“Hmmm.” Troy placed his hands behind his back and held them. “Wait a minute. Maybe we are thinking too big. Too large scale movie shit.”
“What?” I asked.
“We could poison him,” Troy explained, “but on a low level. We could make him sick. Give him something little by little. This way, it’s not a huge immediate thing. He dies slowly.”
“How slowly?” Viv asked.
“I have no idea. You got a better plan?”
“Make him sick.” I twisted my lips to the side. “This could take forever, but it’s less violent and almost no blood.”
“But then what if he goes to the doctor?” Viv asked. “A couple of lab tests will show that someone’s messing with his food.”
“True.” He stared at Viv. “Is he allergic to anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
Troy checked with me.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s always been healthy.”
“So we don’t have anything right now?” Troy admitted.
“None at all.”
“Then I’m back to the knives,” he said. “There’s a bunch in the kitchen. We each grab one, rush into his bedroom, and stab the shit out of him.”
I interrupted. “But then we’re back to his guards racing in and killing us all.”
“We do something with the cameras in his bedroom,” Troy suggested.
“How the hell do we do that?” I asked.
“I think I can get into his security system.” Troy’s face didn’t appear as confident as his words.
“No. I say we wait a day or two and try to figure out what the hell is going on with Mom and Sherman.” I felt weird about saying the next words. “We need to call Chase again.”