Eve had made little effort to remain silent but any commotion Pate and Davis had heard was passed off as standard fair. They were both stood in the kitchen looking over one of the broken windows.

Davis looked on at his brother as he stared past the broken shards of the window into seemingly nothing, though with his lips pursing into a smile it was clear that wherever his mind had wandered off to, it must have been a happy place. As amusing as it often was to watch Pate blink in and out of reality, Davis wasn’t going to ignore the Matter at hand, “Pate, quit fucking around.” he called out.

Pate said nothing; he just continued his silent stare.

“Wake up,” Davis barked as he whipped his hand across the back of pate’s head.

In turn Pate swung his arm out behind him catching Davis sharply around the ear, “Don’t smack me, I’m not blanking out, I’m thinking.”

Davis rubbed his throbbing ear as his mind wavered into thoughts of violent retaliation, but in light of the broken windows he maintained his frail composure, “Hit me again and I’ll pike you in the stem.”

Pate turned to shoot Barry a smirk, “You come at me with one of your sharp sticks and I’ll cut your other ball off.”

Davis collected himself as he was overcome with the sudden urge to put a bullet through his brother’s foot, for now he would have to remain content with the thought alone, as the fact that windows don’t break themselves was still a more pressing concern, “Just wait here, I’ma go check on Barry.”

“Sure,” Pate said as his attention returned to the broken window, “I’ll wait here.” He stood there for half a minute as his eyes traced the remnants of broken glass that still hung to the sides of the window frame.

The glass around the frame had caught a slight glisten in the glow of the sun and Pate unlike his brother wasn’t blind to the wavering shadow that dulled the subtle gleam as it passed by.

“He’s gone, you can come out,” Pate whispered, though the pretense of his friendly invitation was rendered transparent by his inability to mask the sinister nature of his voice, but still he hoped for some kind of response, “I know you’re there.”

Stepping closer Pate reached out to pluck a slither of glass from the base of the window, he rolled it lightly between finger and thumb, smiling again as the sharp tickle rolled across his skin. As he flicked the small shard out the window he called out, “Come on now, it’ll be ok.”

Marcus Bastiel stood at six foot and five inches and weighed in at a little over one hundred and eighty pounds, and as he stepped out into Pate’s view he watched as fear scrubbed the glee of anticipation from his face. In the shadow of Bastiel’s towering figure Pate quivered much in the way a Labrador might if confronted by a wolf.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Pate watched as Bastiel’s hands shot in through the window, one grabbed his collar as the other locked tight around his throat. As he tried to dig his fingers under Bastiels palm he felt his feet leave the ground as he was torn through the window, then he felt hard soil thud against his chest as he crashed into the ground.

Spinning gawkily onto his back he recoiled as Bastiel turned and moved towards him, “Please I…” his words caught in his throat as he was again grabbed by the collar and pulled to his feet.

Bastiel unsheathed an eight-inch combat knife and sunk just below Pates bottom rib as he clamped a hand over his mouth, feeling the desperate breathing lap at his palm as he twisted the knife a little deeper, “look at me,” he said catching Pates eyes in his glare.

Pate heard himself whimper as the knife left his flesh with a wet squelch.

“I want to show you something,” Bastiel said as he kicked Pate’s legs out from under him and began dragging him across the dirt.

In the house, Davis shook in disbelief as he looked down at Barry’s body as blood still pooled around the broken remains of his skull, his face transformed to an unrecognizable mass of wet red pulp. Davis felt his stomach churn as butterflies danced below his ribcage, the shock, rage and horror crashing over him all at once culminated in the screaming of, “Bitch!”

Running from the room he scrambled down the stairs calling out “Pate, Pate, he’s dead!” He crashed into the kitchen, disbelief still swimming through his head, “That bitch, she killed him!” His eyes darted back and forth wildly, “Pate, where the fuck are you?!” Staggering backwards he made for the front door, tearing it open he ran outside as thoughts of violent vindication filled his head. Dust kicked up behind him as he came to a stop at the sight of his brother knelt down fifty yards away.

Pate tried to call out but his voice was weak, barely audible. Struggling to keep his focus, his eyes strained as he watched Davis break into a run, “Davis wa…” Before his warning finished gurgling its way from his lips Davis’s chest exploded into a red cloud as flesh and blood erupted from the shattered splinters of his ribcage before pattering softly indo the ground around him. Pate winced as Davis’s corpse crumpled limply into the dirt.

Johnathan was laid on his front three hundred yards away nestled amongst the tall blades of glass, his left eye staring through the scope of a high caliber rifle as he shifted his aim to the back of Pate’s head, he took in a deep breath, then on the exhale he pulled the trigger, the bullet exploded out of the barrel as the butt of the rifle kicked back into his shoulder, through the scope he watched as Barry’s head flew to pieces as the round smashed through his skull and ripped its way through the soft tissue beneath. As the hunks of flesh and bone smacked into the soil around Pate’s body Johnathan softly whispered, “Pop,” and with that he got to his feet, then shouldering his rifle he took a slow walk towards the house.

Reaching the top of the stairs Bastiel moved through the hallway, as Eve came into view through one of the doorways the two of them exchanged a look, she was once again sat in the chair across from Barry’s body as she pulled in slow breath after slow breath.

“Messy,” Bastiel said as he stepped into the room and took a glance at the Barry’s corpse.

“You think,” she said back as she gestured to the walls stained with years’ worth of dried blood.

“I guess not.”

Eve stood and stepped over the body, brushing past Bastiel she moved into the hallway, “I need a shower; I’ve got that guy all over me.”

“Hey, are you ok.”

Eve stopped, Turning back she said, “It’s just…” even as the residual spikes of fear and aggression had begun to fade, she had no way of verbalizing her feelings, so instead she decided to dismiss the question, “I’m fine, I just need a minute.”