by John Conroe
The chant continued and the girl held up her right hand, still clutching the boy’s left.
The body on the floor jerked, dragging Aaron’s horror-filled eyes back to it in time to see it jerk again. Then both arms moved, pressing the hands against the floor. Clark’s body pressed up in a grotesque parody of a push-up. The knees folded and the body came up to a kneeling position. Then it stood, black pants covered in chalk dust, white shirt drenched in red.
Clark turned and Aaron’s hand came up to his mouth as he almost puked. The neck was still twisted almost all the way around.
“Dragan, would you fix his neck please?” Lou asked, her eyes open and studying the giant with a pleased look.
The boy took two quick steps across the floor, placed his right foot easily on the body’s kneecap, plucked once on the loose material of the shirt with his bloody left hand, which pulled him up into the air and even with the head. Both hands flicked out and spun Clark’s face forward before the upward momentum of his climb pushed him back and away from the body to land lightly on his toes. It was an effortless, unnaturally athletic maneuver that was inhuman and horrific.
“Perfect. Now, Aaron, we have much to do. Listen closely,” she said and began to talk to him of plans and details.
Unnoticed on the big mahogany desk, a small green LED lit up on his phone, right next to the speaker symbol.
The End
Author’s Note:
I hope you enjoyed my side journey into Stacia’s world. It seemed like time for her to be out and about a bit.
From here the path is pretty clear isn’t it? Or is it? We’ll see in the next book, Snake Eyes. I think Chris will tell that one. About time for him to take back the narration, don’t you think? Yeah, me too.
