Chapter 25
I’m going to kill that witch.
Mark drove like a lunatic down the road, swerving and cutting off other vehicles. He didn’t give a fuck. He flipped them off, rage fueling his vehicle. If the engine stopped on this death drive, he had so much fury he could just pack the truck on his back and take it with him. He was superhumanly angry.
He was going to get his rifle.
And he was going to shoot the shit out of that stupid bitch. That bitch. Broke her ankle, and then… no, not that bitch. The witch. His eyes blurred a moment, and he took a breath. The curse wants him to kill the bitch, but he wants to kill the witch. It took effort to keep it straight. The tires screeched as he stopped the truck. He barely slammed on the brakes in time. The front bumper of his red truck dinged the garage door. He didn’t give a fuck.
The hair on the back of his neck was standing tall, like soldiers at war. His breath was fast and bursting from his chest in angry waves. And he could not hardly wait. The gun was calling him. He opened the door and slammed it with such force that the entire house let out a scream of pain. The same scream that bitch will yell. Witch, that witch. He stomped up the stairs and slowly spun the dial, opening his gun safe. He had three rifles in there, one for him, one for his wife, and one for his girls. They went hunting at least once a year, and at the bottom of the gun case was a nice large pile of bullets.
He grabbed his camo hunting jacket from the closet and he loaded up with bullets and he grabbed his gun. He held it up to his eye and adjusted the shot just a smidge, making sure that the scope was clean and ready to go. The rage inside him was so overwhelming he almost pulled the trigger just to hear the boom. So his ears would ricochet from the pain of the bullet leaving the gun. He felt so angry he could snap this gun in half with his two bare hands. With a smirk, he turned and stomped out of his bedroom and started to head down the stairs. And then he saw it – the dollhouse.
He felt the blood drain away from his face. It sat in the living room, perfectly unharmed. He remembered exploding it with the sledgehammer. Had there been pieces in the driveway when he drove up? Anger clouded his judgment, and he couldn’t remember. Had he even looked? His attempt to beat the shit out of it with a sledgehammer was ineffective.
The tiniest flicker buzzed inside his brain, maybe he was angry because it was one of the stages. But he shook it off and stomped his self down the stairs and he lifted the rifle to his face and he aimed at the dollhouse ready to blow it to smithereens. Not because he thought it would work, but because he wanted to shoot something right now, he wasn’t sure he could wait another second. And as he got that perfectly tiny shingled roof in his sight, he felt a huge wave of relief run across his body. It was like… It was like he had just orgasmed. It was like that very first time he kissed Kelly in the back of his truck. It was dirty, she was crass, and it was the most fun he’d ever had in his entire world. The relief, like a splinter was finally removed, sweet relief of the thing causing him pain suddenly slipping out of his flesh. He felt… Happy.
And he lowered the gun and he dreamily grinned.
