Chapter 7 – Reunion
"Do it on your own free time," rumbled Dutch over the phone. "I have to admit the whole business is odd. Since when has Revy turned into a humanitarian? I would advise caution but the two of you are too simpleminded to listen to common sense. The duffle-bag the girl made off with was a money transfer to Lee Kwan. Then the Wo Triad's on the hunt."
"Understood," said Rock wearily. Revy had changed her mind and mood last night and before he could leave, she had dragged him back down onto the bed. Nothing more had been said. "Revy just left, I don't think she slept at all last night. she'll meet you at the boat. We'll see you when you get back from Bangkok."
"Our trip to Bangkok was postponed," said Dutch. "Since Revy feels free to make busy work for you, I'll make her swab the decks. Later."
Rock rolled off the bed and pulled on his shirt. He picked up the clear plastic bag on the side table. There was an assortment of brightly colored yaba tablets. Rock frowned.
Rock went into the bathroom. The tablets left colored trails in the water as he flushed.
--
"Well, fuck that!" snapped Revy, her lip twisting down. "If we're not going to Bangkok, then there's no job – and I don't clean. Make Benny do it. Catch y'later."
She slammed the phone down and stepped out of the phone booth.
Revy lit a cigarette. Looked both ways. There was always the Ripoff Church, but Eda was always asking questions and looking for information – and Revy owed her money from the last poker game. The Yellow Flag was still closed, so there was no dark corner to crawl into with a bottle of Bacardi. She couldn't go randomly strolling about even in Roanapur – if she went down to the canal and the floating market, the vendors would probably organize a lynch mob.
Rock was with Balalaika. She frowned. Scratched her arms. Felt like bugs were crawling all over, under her shirt, in her hair - fucking yaba...
--
Boris and the other man were speaking in Russian, in the bluff fraternal tones that fighting men took with each other. Rock tried to ignore them.
"Right when we pulled up to the General Staff building in Kabul, we heard a shot! Not knowing the situation, our entire company returned fire. What we didn't know was that we were firing on Rozin and his boys from subgroup Zenith. Yevgeny, we almost wiped those sons of bitches out."
"Isn't that the way it always was?" Yevgeny shook his head in disgust. "The damned Chekists were always so damned worried about security, we'd end up getting into firefights with our own cause they wouldn't tell us they'd sent someone else in. Remember Vasily?"
"Poor bastard," Boris shook his head.
"Remember how enthusiastic he was during training? He'd see an officer, any officer, and he'd puff out his chest and shout..." Yevgeny paused and took a deep breath so he could shout.
"I serve the Soviet Union!"
Both men laughed cynically. Rock shuffled the papers.
"What about this Japanese guy?" said Yevgeny after a pause. "Two-hands used to be a lot more entertaining before he showed up. What does the Captain see in him?"
Boris coughed, "He's trustworthy, that's what the Captain sees in him. Let's step out. I have to stretch my legs."
Rock's ears burned. Obviously Yevgeny had no idea that Rock understood Russian. The men stepped out of Balalaika's office, leaving Rock alone at the desk. He was able to turn his full attention on the shipping manifests and the error soon became apparent. Despite himself, he was pleased. He leaned back in the chair with a creak and closed his eyes. He had to have a talk with Revy, something wasn't right....
"I take it you found the error then," Balalaika said in English. Rock almost started out of the chair. She had entered the office silently and stood before the desk. The military greatcoat flared out in a manner that added menace to the stance. The Russian tilted her face in such a way that the badly burnt side remained shadowed in the dimly lit, windowless room.
"The difference is here." Rock spoke rapidly pointing at the detail, he never felt comfortable under the scrutiny of Balalaika's controlled stare. "There's a difference of ten containers on the Amur being transferred between Novcomflot and FESCO on this date. However, both documents appear to be authentic. But, if you knew there was a discrepancy to begin with, why did you need me to find it?"
"I am a soldier - not an accountant, Mr. Okajima," said Balalaika. She opened the lid of the desktop humidor. "I needed confirmation. Nothing else needs to be discussed. Tell Dutch I am pleased. We will continue this arrangement when necessary."
Rock nodded neutrally, though inwardly he shrank. Somehow the thought of returning to a deskjob, in this case for the Russian Mafia, had the same lack of attractiveness as his past life at Asahi Industries. Nothing matched the freedom of the Black Lagoon on the South China Seas.
But Balalaika was clapping her hands in delight, her eyes drooping. "Do you know what these are, Rockuro?" she said dropping the formality. "These are Grand Reserve cigars! They are infused with Louis XIII cognac. There are none finer in the world. Mr. Chang has outdone himself again. There are advantages to crime."
Rock sourly noted that she did not offer him one as she lit up with a self-satisfied look of ecstasy. Boris came back in and stood at attention at the door.
"Revy has asked me to look into a matter – something personal I believe," he blurted out. Balalaika cocked an eyebrow through the cloud of smoke that enveloped her head.
"Ah, Two-hands," Balalaika almost smirked. A childish, petulant tone crept into the Russian's tone. "Or is that one-hand these days. How is she doing? And what does she want?"
"Revy's doing better," said Rock determinedly. "I'm not quite sure of the details, but she's trying to find a crippled Russian girl who's been known to preach on the streets. We're trying to recover..."
"Sergeant," said Balalaika interrupting, suddenly rigid. "Escort Mr. Okajiama out of the building. I have more important things to do."
--
"Yevgeny and I were talking about her father back there," Boris spoke suddenly in the elevator. "His name was Vasily. He served with the 688th north of Kabul. A brave man. He got religion after the war."
"I see," said Rock. He was trying his best not to panic. One did not beard the Russians in their own den. Boris usually barely noticed his existence, and now he was talking.
"There is no truth to the story that Balalaika had the girl crippled," said Boris staring straight ahead. "We tried to send her home, but she refused and look what happened. We're a stubborn people, we Russians, too much so for our own good."
"I knew nothing about the girl until yesterday," said Rock digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.
"She has refused, indeed she spurned our offers of assistance," said Boris with a steely tone. "But there are those among us who would take it amiss if something else happened to Gaavrila Kazakhova. We would make Two-hands' death a story never forgotten in this Asian piss-hole. There is always the bridge."
Rock swallowed. "You're wrong. Two-hands wants to get Gaavrilla out of the city before the Triads hunt her and another child down. I can't quite explain her concern, but it matters. A matter of stolen money from Lee Kwan."
The elevator door opened on the lobby, but Boris didn't stir, the scarred face impassive.
"There is a man named Dr. Chiet," Boris said finally. He reached into his pocket. "I will write down the address. You must go to the back entry, ring the bell and say it is Bougainvillea business. He knows where Kazakhova's daughter can be found."
Relieved Rock took the proffered scrap. He walked out through the lobby and out onto the street. Blinking in the fading sunlight, he didn't notice the slouched figure who was leaning up against a lamp post until she spoke.
"Hey," Revy said. "I'm bored."
--
The sky overhead tinted a deep blood red, a haunting wind blew through an area filled with nothing but dust and hideously dilapidated buildings. By far one of the most poorly maintained sections of the city, it came as no surprise that it was one of the more vacant areas in Roanapur. Even the most hardened of villains refused to take up residence there, if not for the poor real estate, then most certainly for the eerie presence of the large meatpacking plant. It was a building that stood out from the other structures, not quite as damaged as the rest of the area, appearing to have some level of maintenance applied, but the mere sight of it would immediately send shivers down the spines of many criminals. A creepy structure with an infamous history of bloodshed and terror, the frightening aura that radiated from the abattoir was ranked among those of the castles that were once inhabited by Elizabeth Bathory and H. H. Holmes.
But the plant did not always have that reputation. There was a time when it was simply known to people as just another empty building, a site where a failed business stood. For quite a long time, the structure had been uninhabited, abandoned. Until one day, out of the blue, the front of the plant had been adorned with an odd emblem of a quirky, decapitated pig's head on a plate and the words "U.G. Pork" underneath it. In the beginning, only a small group of criminals had known that a ghost woman had taken up residence at the formerly abandoned building. Over time, more and more people had grown aware of the ghost's presence, telling terrible tales of bloodshed and horror, spreading stories of death and dismemberment, speaking of what torrid fate awaited the poor, unfortunate souls that were sent to the slaughterhouse.
What seemed to have scared people even more was whenever they heard the loud rumble of the U.G. Pork van cruising along at night, the sound of a roaring chainsaw following soon after, a sure sign that the ghost woman was drifting about the shady streets and collecting bodies to drag into the underworld.
It became something of a twisted joke among the citizens of Roanapur. "Oh, you're thinking of going down to that part of town, are you? U.G. Pork? You're fucking insane! There's a ghost haunting that place! She'll probably rip out your soooooouulll!" Uproarious laughter would normally be heard afterwards, only for an awkward silence to follow shortly, those who had dared to laugh knowing full well that the "joke" was most likely true.
Ever since the ghost woman had appeared, the plant seemed to be draped in shadows. Regardless of whatever time of night or day it was, the clock was always set at midnight. Only a choice few willingly chose to enter the terrifying structure and dared to face the ghost within. Those who ventured into the ghost woman's domain were considered to be brave, bold, fearless...
Or, in the case of the one-eyed Texan walking in the halls, a complete jackass.
--
Having changed out of her surgeon's scrubs and into her gothic attire several minutes ago, Sawyer the Cleaner adjusted the long striped sleeves over her scarred wrists and surveyed her surroundings. Old lockers aligned against the wall, a variety of small manual saws supported on a tool board, a rectangular mirror with packed rust and mildew around the corners mounted above the sink, visible pipelines and the like running up the walls and across the ceiling, florescent lights above, the white tiles of the room were stained with blood from her previous jobs. She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Her sapphire eyes drifting towards the large chainsaw resting upon a table in the corner of the room, she sighed. It had been quite a long while since she had heard from Mr. Chang. Because of the lack of requests from the Triad boss, work had been rather boring for the past several weeks. No live executions, no "special deliveries," just simple dismemberment and disposal.
Turning the faucet on the sink and running her hands underneath the flow of water, she sighed again. Work wasn't the only thing that had become monotonous. Her personal life had gotten rather bland as of late. Her companions had left about a week or so earlier when they both agreed to take a hunting job outside of the city. Shenhua had wanted to get back into the field the very moment her leg fully healed from the events of the "maid fiasco." Rotton, always eager to work and prove himself with a dramatic entrance whenever the opportunity presented itself, had agreed to accompany her. Sawyer wished she could have gone along with them, but the ghost woman had reminded herself that she was a cleaner first and a hunter second. The demand for her specialty was constant in Roanapur, and she could only afford to take hunting jobs within the city during her free time so that she would easily be able to fall back into cleaning when she was back on the clock.
Absentmindedly washing her hands, Sawyer pouted. Rotton and Shenhua, the only two people the normally cold, apathetic woman dared to show any trace of emotion in front of, the only people she cared about, Sawyer truly did miss them. Assuming nothing terrible happened to them while they were gone, Shenhua and Rotton were due to come back into the city in a day or two. She hoped she would see them soon.
An indifferent expression on her ghostly white face, Sawyer jerked her head up and stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink as the sound of running water filled the room, thinking she had heard a small shuffle somewhere in the hall outside of the door. Strange, once she had finished with disposing of the bodies, she had scanned the plant and was certain it was empty. What seemed to be even more odd to her was the searing sensation that had run up her spine and the air around her that increasingly felt as though it was slowly becoming stagnant, toxic. She didn't recall ever experiencing such an unnerving feeling, except since...
Slowly shaking her head from side to side, she tore her eyes away from the mirror in front of her and ignored the feeling. No, it couldn't be that. Her mind was probably just playing tricks on her after a long day of work. Set on going home and resting for the night, a small squeak was heard as Sawyer turned off the faucet, looking down as she dried her hands. The lights emitted small buzzing sounds as they began to flicker erratically, the shadows appearing more and more and the light appearing less and less. A small click was heard as the fluorescent bulbs gave out to complete darkness. Sawyer slightly tilted her head upwards in reaction to the sudden change of lighting, or lack thereof. Before she could ask herself what had happened, the room was illuminated once more.
The first thing the ghost woman saw was a reflection of her cold blue eyes, which widened by at least a millimeter when she realized there was someone staring at her in the corner of the mirror.
An ugly, miserable form of a man, an ill-advised mullet of greasy, matted, stringy black hair, a jagged scar along an abnormally sharp chin, a mouth of decayed teeth filling a twisted grin, his left eye seemed to sink into his face as an eye patch covered where his right eye should have been. Refusing to turn around, still looking at the reflection of the demon in the mirror, the dark blue eyes of the ghost woman narrowed, feeling a sudden unrelenting hatred, as well as a spark of a deeply rooted fear. It was her cousin, Gunnar "Gunny" Tom Sawyer.
Gunny Tom whistled as he stared at the small ghost woman.
"Goddamn, Fred-Fred! Is that you?" he drawled obnoxiously, "Baww, look at ya, all grown up!"
The glare in Frederica Sawyer's eyes became more intense, finally turning around to face the demon from her past. Gunnar seemed completely unaffected by her deadly gaze.
"Hey, Fred-Fred, the hell you lookin' at me like that for?" he asked with crooked grin, "That ain't very nice, considerin' we haven't seen each other in so long. Only a couple a days after that fuckin' retard daddy of yours drowned in the bog, me an' the whole family found out you packed up your shit in the attic and ran away! Hell, I never thought I'd see you again. I figured you'd end up bein' some little crackwhore torchin' people's houses in the countryside and endin' up in juvie! But who would'a thought that cousin Fred-Fred would end up all the way on the other side of the world and be the boss of her very own business!"
The ghost woman's expression did not change. She detested every single word that spewed from his rotten mouth. She was not at all amused at what Gunny Tom figured her life would have turned out to be, nor was she fond of the reminder of how her father had passed away.
"What are... you... doing here?" she asked, purposefully delaying the time around the words that were on either side of the word "you" for emphasis. Gunny Tom stupidly cocked his lips to the side and his left eye blinked at hearing the sound of the augmented voice. It was then that he realized the small, speaker-like device that was strapped to her neck, located slightly below a telltale scar. The gross demon of a man wheezed as he laughed.
"Well, goddamn, will ya look at that! Poor little Fred-Fred ran away from home and got her throat cut open! Git yourself a wheelchair and you'd be just like Mama!"
Sawyer's shoulders slowly moved up, then down as she took a deep breath. Having contempt for her entire family ever since childhood, she did not appreciate Gunnar's comparison to her laryngectomee grandmother. Her sense of loathing for her cousin also increased at seeing his great amusement with her traumatic injury.
"Answer the question," she seethed. Once Gunny Tom stopped wheezing and caught his breath. An unnatural gleam in his remaining eye, he smirked.
"I'm here because I'm huntin'."
"... Hunting?" Sawyer repeated. Thanks to her family of sadists, it was a term she had become familiar with even before she had run away from the ranch and eventually came to Roanapur. Whenever the term "hunting" was used, she knew right away that they prey was not going to be an animal, but a person. It wasn't at all surprising that Gunnar was involved with such an activity, but what Sawyer wanted to know was what the disgusting man standing only several feel in front of her was doing hunting in Roanapur.
"Yeah, huntin'," confirmed Gunny Tom with a huff.
"Hunting... whom?" the gothic woman pressed. She did not particularly enjoy where the conversation was going, much less having a conversation with the one man — no, creature she detested more than any other thing on the planet. Her eyes trained on Gunnar, her mind calmly wandered to her chainsaw, which was inconveniently lying on the table she had set up in the corner. As the demonic man opened his mouth to speak, the ghost woman silently concocted his demise.
"It's a real easy job," Gunny Tom began with a chuckle, "I was hired by this China man, one of those boss types, the leader of a 'Wo Triad' or somethin' like that..."
Sawyer raised an eyebrow. The Wo Triad? The subordinate group to Mr. Chang's 14K? What use could they have possibly had for an idiot like Gunny Tom?
"The fucker lost 100 grand," Gunnar continued, "Some young little thing got up and stole the bag that had the money, is prob'ly hangin' around with a gang of street kids..."
"You are hunting... children?"
"Damn right."
"And just what purpose... does sneaking... into my plant serve?"
"I figured you'd offer me a little bit of help, Fred-Fred."
"Why would I... ever... help you?" The ghost woman's disgust was clearly shown in her normally apathetic eyes. The mere thought of working side by side with her cousin Gunnar made her sick, and the fact alone that his targets were a gang of children repulsed her.
"C'mon now, Fred-Fred," Gunnar began, "I'm not gonna like tellin' you this, but... Fred-Fred, your daddy ain't the only one who is dead. Mama, Uncle Charlie, Chop-Top, everyone, even ol' Grandpa. They either got picked off by old age or... Well, accidents happen." Sawyer resisted the urge to scoff. "Accidents happen"? Was that his eloquent way of saying he killed those members himself?
"Fred-Fred," Gunnar continued, "The whole family is dead. You and me... We're the only ones left. We're the only family we got." Gunny Tom uttered a dramatic, pitiful sigh in an attempt to get Sawyer to sympathize with him, but the act only served to irritate her.
"So what?" said the ghost woman callously. Her cousin exhibited a dimwitted gawk.
"'So what'? 'So what'?! Whad'ya mean by 'So what'?!"
"What I mean is... I don't care," stated Sawyer grimly, making sure the final three words sank in. "So what... if the rest... of the family... is dead? You honestly thought... that you were going... to convince me to help you... with a sob story? You want to... hunt down street children? Do it yourself... You somehow managed... to find your way... into Roanapur... and you somehow managed... to find your way... to my abattoir. You should be able... to find your way... to the street kids... on your own. Do not expect... any help from me."
In addition to her resentment, Sawyer never trusted Gunny Tom. She did indeed believe that he took a job that involved hunting down a gang of children, –he certainly was despicable enough to do such a thing– but she had a feeling that wasn't telling the whole truth. Gunny Tom suddenly arrives in Roanapur, gets a job, and then, despite having absolutely no knowledge of the city, figures out she was working as a cleaner at U.G. Pork, locates the plant and then asks her to help him to track down his "prey"? It was all a little too convenient...
At those words, Gunnar's face contorted in a snarl, losing his temper.
"Damn it, Fred-Fred! I'm not from this city! You have to help me track down those kids! We're cousins, we're family! You have an obligation to the Sawyer clan!"
"An... obligation?" the ghost woman said, now amused in her contempt, "I owe you... nothing. And even if I did... follow such a... foolish thing... I still would not... help you." Her sapphire blue eyes now filled with a chilling hatred, a sordid smile found its way into the ghost woman's face.
"You are not... family to me... We have... nothing in common... and we are... nothing alike... All I see... All you are... is a degenerate cretin!"
With those words, Sawyer dashed towards her chainsaw, which was only a good five or so sprinting-steps away. The ghost woman knew that the distance could easily be covered. All she had needed to do was disorient her cousin enough and ignite that poorly controlled temper of his, his boiling blood clouding his judgment and slowing down his reaction time. By the time he realized where Sawyer was heading and made a move to chase her, it would be too late. She would have already grabbed the chainsaw off of the table and pulled the ripcord, quickly cutting away at Gunny Tom's flesh and blood.
That was how the plan was supposed to go.
Unfortunately, when her hands had been mere inches away from her chainsaw, a lasso had wrapped itself around her neck, jerking her backwards and forcing her to land on her back. Sawyer had been so focused on how to kill Gunny Tom, and in an ironic twist had been clouded by her own bitter feelings towards the wicked man, that she had completely failed to notice that he had been hiding one of his hands behind his back the entire time, holding onto a coiled rope.
Yelling out obscenities, Gunnar quickly pulled Sawyer towards himself and kicked her in the stomach. She gasped as the wind was knocked out of her, instinctively curling into a ball. Gripping her by the neck, Gunny Tom lifted Sawyer off of the ground and slammed her against the wall, holding her in place several inches off of the ground. He moved his free hand back, forming it into a fist, intending to punch the small cleaner. But upon noticing her wide, almost fearful eyes, he lowered and loosened his free hand, bringing it up alongside Sawyer's face as his wrathful expression transformed into something disturbingly, deceitfully happy. He cackled madly.
"Fred-Fred, Fred-Fred..." He harshly patted the side of her face, not hard enough to be considered a slap or cause injury, but forceful enough to cause irritation and discomfort. "Now, don't go thinkin' just because I lassoed you and kicked you while you were down means I'm angry at you for callin' me a cretin, whatever that is..."
His dark left eye, his only eye, staring into both of Sawyer's dark blue eyes, Gunnar displayed a wretched smirk.
"But I didn't take kindly to that 'We have nothing alike' comment," he sneered. Sawyer's body was rigid as he held her against the wall by her scarred neck, her teeth clenched together, her eyes wide, frozen in place.
"You little cunt," Gunnar started, a wicked smile still prominent, "You think we have nothin' in common? You're full of shit. I look around this room and y'know what I see? Blood, lots of it. You wanna know why that is, Fred-Fred? Because you like the blood. You want to know why you like the blood, Fred-Fred? Because you like to chop people up. And you wanna why you like to chop people up, Fred-Fred? Because you like death. And you wanna know why you like death, Fred-Fred? You know why, you know why?!" His grip on her neck tightened, shaking her slightly as he did so. Sawyer winced in pain. Closing her eyes to the point of slits, she found Gunny Tom looking her straight in the eye.
"That's because you got the Sawyer blood in ya," he hissed demoniacally, "Death and dismemberment is a family thing, Fred-Fred. It ties the clan together. You and me? We ain't no different. That blood runs through both our veins. We're exactly the same..." The words echoed in her head. Sawyer the Cleaner was well aware of her presence as a cold entity in Roanapur, well aware of her role as a villain, but her cousin Gunny Tom possessed a level of bloodlust and amorality that even she found to be utterly atrocious. It may have been tainted, but Sawyer still had a soul, whereas Gunny Tom never had one to begin with. She grimaced. The fact that she was connected to this demonic man by blood was a fact the ghost woman despised.
"Hell, I can even remember way back when..." Gunny Tom mused, "I dragged that China bitch at the ranch all those years ago! You remember that, Fred-Fred?! Yeah, I know you remember that. A hell of a lot happened that day. That little gangbanger got loose, I got stabbed with a pitchfork and had my goddamn eye torn out..." His tone of voice hinted that he was bitter at the affair.
"You came home with a damn near broken jaw, no doubt you got socked in the face and was prob'ly knocked out for some time while your daddy drowned...." Sawyer's eyes flashed a small glimmer of sorrow during the small pause that was taken after the mention of her father's death. Gunny Tom continued with his bitter reminiscing.
"And I remember when you came into the shed and saw me stuck to the wall, screamin' and cursin'. Hell, I was sufferin'. You ran off to get Uncle Charlie, but I also remember, right before you left to get 'im... you smiled." The Cleaner's eyes widened as she saw Gunny Tom reach behind his back with his free hand.
"You had turned around so quick, you thought I didn't see it? Oh, yeah, I sure as hell did, Fred-Fred. I saw that little smile of yours," he snarled as he took out a large bowie knife and held it centimeters from Sawyer's right eye. "You thought that was real funny, didn't ya? Seein' your cousin Gunny Tom pinned to the wall, screamin' and pissin' himself while his guts poured out all over the place with a missing eyeball! You thought it was funny! A Texan with a missin' eye! You thought it was real fuckin' funny!"
The large blade held to her eye, she stared at Gunny Tom's face, the features of a demon. Her blood red lips trembled, her ghastly flesh beginning to break into a cold sweat, sapphire blue eyes filling with all of the fright and dread she had felt when she was a child, mingling with and overpowering the hatred and contempt she harbored for the hellish male.
It was then that Gunny Tom pulled the knife away and laughed maniacally into Sawyer's face, forcing her to inhale a hideous stench of rotting flesh and cheap alcohol. He smiled, trying to create a kind facade, but it only served to show an even more lurid expression.
"Ha ha ha! Goddamn, Fred-Fred! I knew it all along. Here you were tryin' to act like you were some tough shit," he ran his thumb across the Cleaner's cheek, causing her to flinch, "But yer still just a little pale-faced brat that's scared of her ol' cousin, Gunny Tom." He loosened his grip on Sawyer's neck and allowed her to slide down the wall until her feet touched the ground. He then removed the lasso, but Sawyer did not relax as Gunnar moved the hand that had been on her throat to her shoulder.
"Well, that sure was fun," he grinned stupidly, "But it's time for business. Them street kids ain't going to hunt themselves. Now why don't you be a good girl and help cousin Gunny look for 'em?" He emphasized his point by squeezing her shoulder painfully. Looking away and wincing, the Cleaner nodded miserably.
"Atta girl! Now git your toy off'a that table. I got a good guess you take after your daddy and won't wanna leave without it, so go on." Gunnar gestured to her chainsaw. Sawyer quickly ran over to her beloved weapon and gripped it tightly, as though she drew a sense of comfort and ease from it. Her backed turned towards her cousin, her hand drifted to the ripcord, momentarily grabbing it. She was tempted to pull it and contemplated digging the carbide teeth of her chainsaw into the hideous creature that stood only a couple of feet away, but a sudden sense of fear and anxiety racked her senses and she sadly released the ripcord.
She slowly walked back over to Gunny Tom, who was standing by an open door. He now held a sawed-off shotgun.
"You get to lead, little lady," he gestured with the barrel of the shotgun. "Give your cousin a grand tour of the big city!"
Holding her head down solemnly and her sapphire eyes filled with grief, the ghost drifted down the halls of her domain, haunted by the demon that followed behind her.