How dare they kill Wormwood.
Granville lounged in his long wooden sink, combing his slicked back hair. How dare they.
If Cromley did feel guilty, hopefully it lay on his conscience for a long, long time.
When they were finished off, it'd be time to move on to the high and mighty Godmother. Harrison.
Granville stared at the broken clock. Even it told the right time twice a day.
Melt their bodies with the sun. Give them a taste of their own medicine.
Could have his dead wife do it. She seemed to be around a lot, these days.
Granville scrubbed away the rash of hard skin on his back with the brush. If only that had been Harrison, who thought she was in-bloody-vincible.
Granville had a plan. A brilliant plan.