summary: Bo Sinclair was a confusing person, he always has been. Recently he has been shutting you out, his cruelty taking hold in your conversations. You wanted to figure out what his issue was before it ruined your friendship entirely.
story tags: No use of Y/N, Dialogue heavy, Flashbacks, Canon typical violence, Set before the events of the 2005 movie, Possibly OOC, Reader is not a good person, Reader is a willing participant, Slight misogyny (usage of 'bitch' in a derogatory way), Nicotine consumption, Angst, Anger issues, Threats of violence, Bo Sinclair lacking emotional maturity (surprise surprise), Slow burn, A very fucked up slice of life, Childhood best friends trope, Swearing like sailors, Brief mentions of child abuse, Comparing humans to animals, Manipulation, Non-consensual drugging (to victim - not sexual), Mentions of murder but no actual descriptions, Violence against tourists, Everyone needs to go to therapy
(future warnings will be added accordingly)
a/n: Here's the masterlist for the story! It is also being cross-posted on A03 if you guys would rather read it there. Completely up to you! Enjoy <3
summary: Bo Sinclair was a confusing person, he always has been. Recently he has been shutting you out, his cruelty taking hold in your conversations. You wanted to figure out what his issue was before it ruined your friendship entirely.
story tags: No use of Y/N, Dialogue heavy, Flashbacks, Canon typical violence, Set before the events of the 2005 movie, Possibly OOC, Reader is not a good person, Reader is a willing participant, Slight misogyny (usage of 'bitch' in a derogatory way), Nicotine consumption, Angst, Anger issues, Threats of violence, Bo Sinclair lacking emotional maturity (surprise surprise), Slow burn, A very fucked up slice of life, Childhood best friends trope, Swearing like sailors, Brief mentions of child abuse, Comparing humans to animals, Manipulation, Non-consensual drugging (to victim - not sexual), Mentions of murder but no actual descriptions, Violence against tourists, Everyone needs to go to therapy
wc: 12.7k
a/n: Well well well. Here I come once again, crawling back into old habits. I should've known I wouldn't be able to stay away from my dear slashers for long. So here's a new story to satisfy the beast inside. I hope you guys enjoy!
As one would expect, this is going to be a dark story. It's a slasher story, so please read with caution.
Also at first I did not really plan on this being a multi-parter but this is already long enough, I feel like by the end it'll be like 20k+ because I still have a lot to say.
fic playlist - story masterlist
“So he seriously hasn’t talked to you?” You ask Vincent, eyeing him from where you lay on his bed, “Like, about.. Anything?”
He had his back to you, shoulders shrugging as he worked, delicately pushing at the warm wax. His wordless response just makes you deflate further into the mattress, fingers drumming against your stomach with a quiet sigh.
“I just don’t get it.” You push the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids, “I tried askin’ Lester about it but he’s just as clueless as I am.”
There was a rusty creak as Vincent turned on his stool, back now facing his project. The masked twin tilts his head a fraction, taking a closer look at you before shrugging again.
“Did you think he hates me or somethin’?” You ask, lifting your head from the blankets so you can get a better look at him.
The man shook his head, waving his hand dismissively with a scoff that was muffled by wax.
He was right. If Bo hated you, it certainly wouldn’t be a secret. He probably would have just killed you. The man wasn’t exactly good at concealing his negative emotions towards people.
The bed dips as Jonesy jumps up, her wet nose brushing against your palm in a desperate attempt to get some attention. You let out a quiet chuckle as the dog plops down against you, resting her head on your stomach.
“Maybe I should try talking to him again.” You say towards the ceiling, fingers gently scratching through Jonesy’s fur. “Or I could just forget about it and go hunting with Lester… Ugh- I don’t know. He’s so fuckin’ confusing sometimes.” A groan slips from your lips as you try to think.
The twin just shrugs for a third time, his body language portraying something a little more sympathetic this time.
Out of all people, Vincent knew what it was like to be iced out by his twin brother. And there were moments where you’ve dealt with it too, particularly after Trudy passed away. But even then, it certainly was not to this extent. Not for this long.
There was a quiet whine that came from Jonesy, the sound filling the basement. You glance down at the mutt with a raised brow.
“Alright. Well, I’m gonna take Jonesy on a walk. Clear my head or some shit.” You tell Vincent, to which he nods and turns around to continue his work.
You stand from the bed, listening to the click of the dog’s paws on the floor as she walks closely behind.
Maybe you could try and find Lester. See if he has anything else to add from your conversation last night, which was unlikely, but you needed someone to talk to. Not that Vincent wasn’t any help, he was just busy, and clearly had his mind on other things.
You walked up the stairs, fingertips brushing against the waxy faces that led towards the door.
The floorboards creaked and groaned as you walked through the museum, eyeing the frozen faces of tourists. Admiring Vincent’s beautiful craftsmanship.
You noted the dust that was beginning to build up on their shoulders, a reminder that you should probably clean up around town soon. That would be a good distraction.
Jonesy’s nose bumped into the back of your hand as you opened one of the double doors, trotting ahead into the empty town. The dog looked around a few times before turning back to you, waiting on the sidewalk for you to catch up.
The humidity embraced you into a sticky hug, making your mood worsen as you suppressed an uncomfortable grunt. It was barely ten in the morning and the sun was already hanging high in the sky, tormenting you with an oppressive heat that mingled with the moisture of nearby creeks.
“Come on stinker, let’s go see where Lester’s hangin’ out.” You say to the Jonesy, petting the top of her head.
The two of you walked along the empty streets, your eyes lazily looking over the old storefronts. Silently wondering what you should clean first.
Maybe the dentist office. It’s been a while since you’ve been in there. You were sure there was a nice layer of dust that would have you sneezing for days.
Or maybe you could start with the church. It would be nice to pay Mrs. Sinclair a visit and vent your current issues to the older woman. Not that you would get a response, but either way it might lift the weight off your chest.
In the distance you could hear the occasional metallic drop of tools, making you glance towards the gas station. You were sure Bo was in there working on one of the cars from the old sugar mill.
Even though it was tempting, you weren’t going to risk walking in and trying to start up a conversation. Not after last week.
“Bo can you help me with something?” You ask as you walk under the large garage door, eyeing his legs under his truck.
He didn’t answer you, continuing to tinker on the undercarriage. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes in annoyance, foot coming to kick at his boot.
“Jesus Christ, woman.” His voice echoed from underneath the vehicle, he rolled out just enough to glare at you, “Can’t you see I’m fuckin’ busy?”
“Okay? I’m sure you can spare a few minutes of your precious time, asshole.” You cross your arms, crouching down to be more eye level with the man. “Truck’s not goin’ anywhere.”
He just huffed out a scoff, rolling himself back under the truck.
“Stop bein’a fuckin’ pain in my ass.” He replied after a moment of silence passed, continuing his work.
This wasn’t entirely unusual. Bo wasn’t really the type to jump to his feet and offer a helping hand. But you were stubborn, as he very well knew.
All you wanted was his help getting a heavy paint bucket off the top shelf in your workshop. Already knowing that if you tried to use the rickety ladder in your house you’d probably end up with a head injury.
“Your brothers are busy, man. I just need your help for one second.” You tell him, gently nudging into boot with your fingertips.
Even the softest touch seemed to set him off completely. More than you would have expected.
“You wanna die, bitch?” He seethed, roughly rolling himself out from under the truck and sitting up with a quickness. He points the oily wrench at you with a fiery glare. “Get the fuck outta my hair. Now. I ain’t playin’ this game with you right now.”
You hold your hands up in defense, rolling your eyes as you stand. “Jesus, Bo. What’s your damn problem?” You mirrored his glare, not letting his empty threat intimidate you.
“I just ain’t your fuckin’ errand boy.” He replied angrily, standing just so he can tower over you, “Always fuckin’ nagging me about some shit. Now get the fuck out before I throw you outta here myself.” He pushed harshly at your shoulder, his eyes narrowing when you stumbled backwards and almost lost your footing.
You threw your hand up before he could shove you again, smacking his arm away.
“Whatever dude. Go back to workin’ on your piece of shit. If I get my skull caved in by a paint bucket, it’s on you.” You spit, “And you don’t need to be such a fuckin’ asshole to me.”
That day rattled something inside you, whether you wanted to admit it or not. It wasn’t fear, it was just pure confusion.
Sure, Bo has been a defensive dickhead to you many, many times. He’s cursed at you, yelled at you, but he never put his hands on you when he was angry. And deep down you knew it was hurt that mingled with everything else.
You haven’t even tried to speak to him since that morning. And he’s made an equal amount of effort, actively avoiding you whenever you’re around his brothers. Acting as if you were an ex in the grocery store instead of his childhood best friend.
With a sigh you kept walking down the street aimlessly. Trailing close behind Jonesy as she sniffed at the ground, occasionally pawing at a random stick or dead bug.
There were two small bluebirds play-fighting in the grass just ahead of you, being disturbed by the dog barreling towards them. The sight made you chuckle, shaking your head when Jonsey looked back at you with her tongue sticking out.
“Come on, girl.” You say, walking towards the beat up truck at the end of the street.
A whistle echoed in the distance, Lester giving you a wide wave. He smiled like a kid in the candy store as Jonesy ran up to him, the dog jumping excitedly before pushing her side fully into the younger brother’s shins.
You gave him a half-assed smile in return. You tried to push down the urge to spill your thoughts before he could get a word in. At least get the ‘hello’s’ out of the way before diving head first into your personal woes.
“Hey there sunshine. Don’t look too happy t’see me now!” Lester jokes, playfully slapping his hand against Jonsey’s side a few times before standing straighter.
Your head dips as you grimace, “Do you think your brother hates me?” Screw the greetings, you needed to get this out of the way.
A humored snort comes from Lester, “Please, I don’t think Bo has it in’em to hate you.” He answered easily, always the positive one.
“He say somethin’ to’ya?” He asks, leaning back against the door of his truck before spitting onto the asphalt.
There’s a sweeping breeze as you shake your head, crossing your arms loosely.
Bo didn’t need to say anything when that look in his eyes kept replaying over and over like a skipping VHS tape. That seething tone in his voice cutting through your thoughts like glass. The memory of his rough hand pushing against your shoulder. It forced you to really sit and think about some things.
“Nah, couldn’t sleep last night.” You tell him softly, bowing your head again to look at your shoes, “Uh- have you noticed that he’s been actin’ weird towards me for like a month now?”
Lester purses his lips before shaking his head, glancing over your shoulder and direction of the gas station.
“Not really. Seemed like the same ol’ Bo t’me.” That wasn’t a total lie. His older brother’s usual pissy demeanor clung to him like a bad stench.
“Why?”
You walked over to stand next to him, the sweet smell of decaying deer filling your nose as you leaned against the pick-up.
Jonesy took the opportunity to wedge her butt between your feet, sitting in front of you like an oversized penguin egg. Your fingers gently scratch her head as you shrug, looking at Lester briefly.
“Just been doin’ a lot of thinking.” You murmur.
“Be careful doing all that now, don’t need you poppin’ a blood vessel on us.” Lester jabs his elbow into your side, forcing a snort from your nose, ”What’s been keepin’ you up?”
Leaves rush across the asphalt as you try to formulate your thoughts into words, “I don’t know… I just realized that he’s barely said a thing to me in a really long time.” There’s a chirp of a bird overhead, filling the brief silence.
Your fingernails pick at a scab on your forearm, trying to soothe yourself, “And any time he does say something it’s like he’s tryin’ to start a fight with me. Like last week; tried to start some shit just ‘cause I asked for his help.” You roll your eyes as you thought, “Like… we used to have movie nights every Saturday. Or I’d come over and eat dinner with y’all. But now I can’t even stand in the same room without him getting that fuckin’ look on his face. Like he’s just itching to say some stupid shit that’ll piss me off.” You bring a hand to rub against your cheek, wiping away the buildup of sweat.
The younger brother lets your words absorb into his skin before he attempts to reply, humming softly as he crosses his arms. He sucks on his teeth before shaking his head, a telltale sign that whatever he was going to say wasn’t going to be something you would like.
Lester moved so his side was pressed to the door, looking at you fully now.
“Have you tried talkin’ to him about it? Like an actual heart-to-heart kinda talk.”
It was the same question he asked last night, only slightly modified for your current conversation. Hearing it made your irritation spike yesterday, and even more now. He couldn’t be serious.
As if he could sense your growing annoyance, he raised a hand in defense, “I’m just sayin’ I ain’t no mind reader. I can’t tell ya why a cow goes moo much less why my brother’s been an asshole to’ya. It’s just in his nature.”
His words make your shoulders deflate, leaning your head back against his truck.
“I mean shit, Bo’s probably just pissed that he hasn’t gotten laid in a while. You know how he gets when he ain’t had pussy in a few months.”
His crude words make your lips curl into a small smile, a silent laugh pushing through your nose as you shake your head.
Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe it was his lack of late-night rendezvous that made him into a total dick. It’s happened before, who’s to say it can’t happen again… and again… and again. A vicious cycle that you stopped keeping track of a long, long time ago.
But, even with that in mind, something inside of you doubted Lester’s sentiment. Only because any other time this would happen, Bo didn’t treat you like this. He didn’t act like you were a frustrating thorn in his side. A nuisance that he couldn’t wait to get rid of.
Back then, even through his clipped responses and aggravated sighs, you would at least be able to tell it wasn’t directed towards you.
But now? He looked at you like he hated you.
“I don’t know too much about that.” You see him make a face in your peripheral, “I mean usually, if that were the case, he’d be takin’ it out on the other people in town. Or the tourists.”
The man beside you nods, “Yeah, sure, but there ain’t been people in this town for a really long time. Tourists or otherwise. So nobody to really get mad at ‘cept us, I guess.”
“But has he been acting like this to y’all?” You ask suddenly, feeling the frustration begin to rise inside your chest, “Like yellin’ at you and throwin’ a borderline temper tantrum? I mean shit, I can’t breathe without him huffin’ and puffin’.”
Lester gives himself a moment to really think, brows furrowing as he internally combed through the last few months. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he let out a deep sigh, shaking his head softly before sucking on his teeth again.
“Not more than he usually does.” The man answers finally, “Yellin’, sure, but he’s always got some shit to yell about.” He had a point.
There’s a flick of a lighter next to you, cigarette smoke immediately masking the smell of roadkill. He handed it to you, which you gratefully accepted, inhaling just enough to feel the tingle in the back of your throat.
As the smoke exhaled through your nose, Lester piped up once again, “How ‘bout I talk to him?” He offers, taking the cigarette from your fingers, “Can’t hurt nothin’, right?”
The thought of the youngest brother talking to Bo brought very little comfort. Not that you didn’t trust Lester per se, he just had a bad habit of spilling the beans when it came to his older brothers. He couldn’t speak in half-truths to save his life, not when Bo fixes him with a glare, telling him to ‘get to the damn point’. And get to the point Lester would, details and all.
To think that could happen again… Yeah, no. You would rather stew in Bo’s cold shoulder if it meant you could avoid yet another senseless argument. Save yourself from the stress.
“I appreciate the offer Lester. But I think I’ll pass on that.” You tell him, tone bordering on something a little more teasing, “I think I’ll just tough it out.”
“Hey, maybe he’ll snap out of it. You know how he is sometimes.” The man offered hopefully, softly nudging his hand against your shoulder with the cigarette pinched between his fingers, “But anyway! The day’s still young, how’s about we go on a little drive?”
The two of you ride along the empty backroads, the radio singing over the wind that filtered through the open windows. The sun beamed down onto Jonesy’s head, which was sticking out the passenger side window. Her front paws pressed painfully into your thigh as she excitedly lapped at the air with her floppy tongue.
The gentle rumble of the pick-up lulled you into a sense of peace. Driving away from your troubles and replacing them with passing trees that flanked either side of the truck.
You relaxed against the old upholstery, chin resting on your palm as greens and browns blend together. The heavy burden of your emotions begins to lessen into a gentle weight inside your chest, your heart beating a steady rhythm. And as you got closer to your favorite clearing, it was like you could finally breathe again.
The truck pulled to a stop on the side of the road, your eyes taking in the sight of wildflowers and tall grass. There were some trees scattered here and there, low branches that you used to dare the brothers to climb.
The field was small, but soaked with nostalgia.
A creaking groan filled the silence as you opened the door, Jonesy quickly jumping out. Lester and you follow close behind, his closing door rocked the truck before he shoots you a smile through the cranked down windows.
“So you haven’t seen anyone recently?” You ask as he rounds the car, “That’s kinda weird, don’t you think?”
“Ain’t really tourist season just yet.” He shrugs, “Saw a few cars last week but none of ‘em really stopped and asked questions.”
“Lucky them.” You snort bitterly, feeling that familiar itch in the back of your mind as your thoughts wandered, “Maybe that’s what Bo’s issue is.”
Jonesy barks in the distance, drawing your attention to her head peeking up from the grass.
The younger Sinclair starts to hum a tune, following as you carefully step through the tall grass towards one of the lone dogwood trees.
You were thankful that you decided to wear boots and pants today. A feasting tick was the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.
Jonesy barks again as she speeds towards you, nearly knocking you down as she barrels past your legs. You laugh as the mutt throws herself to the ground, rolling around on her back before standing and running back over to you.
Leaves rustle above as you step beneath the tree. Carved into the bark were crudely drawn initials; L.S, V.S, B.S, and yours. You thumb at the fading marks, the tree healing itself of the scars. A small smile lifts the corners of your lips, fond memories of the four of you taking turns with Lester’s knife flashing through your mind. An unspoken promise etched into the trunk.
It was a simpler time. When you were all younger and dumber. Four rebellious kids that didn’t have respect for anyone but each other. Teenage angst subdued by weed, petty theft, and sneaking out with Mr. Sinclair’s keys tucked away in Bo’s back pocket.
This dogwood tree has heard it all; arguments, panic attacks, first kisses, hearty laughter, drunken ramblings. Everything you could think of when it came to the Sinclair brothers, it’s been done here. In a field where you didn’t have to worry about the prying eyes of Ambrose residents.
Your knife clicked when you pulled it from your pants pocket. The blade reflected against the beaming sun as you raised it towards the healing initials. You drag the blade through the indents, the pale insides of the tree forcefully exposed to the morning air. In that moment, you felt like your teenage self again.
“Shit, got company.” Lester nudges your back with his elbow, jolting you from your thoughts.
Your head snaps up like a deer startled by a sudden sound, eyes immediately zeroing in on the bright red car that was parked in front of Lester’s truck. There was a girl handing half-way out the driver’s side window, waving her arm as she tried to get your attention.
“Hey! Hi! Sorry to bother you guys but- uh, we could really use some help!” She called out with a nervous laugh, “We’re kinda lost!”
There’s a shared look between both Lester and you. A nearly silent, disbelieving laugh pushes from your lips. Maybe your luck was finally turning around.
You click the blade closed, tucking it safely back into your front pocket before walking forward. Jonesy stayed right at your side, cautious as the three of you approached the vehicle.
“Should I put on my sweet southern girl act?” You mutter to Lester, listening to him snort.
“Hell yeah.”
A few seconds pass before you’re finally at the side of the woman’s car, your face twisting in faux concern as you eye her. You place your hand on your hip, tacking on your warmest expression and kindest smile.
“Y’all doin’ okay?” You ask sweetly, pitching your accent up, making you sound like a sweet southern angel.
The woman visibly relaxes before smiling kindly, her wary eyes occasionally flicking towards Lester. She leans back into her seat, allowing you to see the three passengers inside. Two guys in the back seat and one girl in the passenger seat. Perfect.
“Yes ma’am.” She replies back with an equal amount of sweetness, “We’re supposed to be headed to Baton Rouge, but I think we took a wrong turn. Now we’re lost.” The girl laughs sheepishly at her mistake, furrowing her brows innocently.
“Well, seems it’s yer lucky day, Miss…” You trail off, hoping she would fill the blank.
“Julie.”
“That’s a beautiful name, Miss. Julie.” You beam, “Anyway, there’s a small town just down that road there. Should lead you right towards the highway if you cut on through it.” The lie leaves your lips as easily as the breath leaves your lungs, exaggerated kindness not wavering.
You felt like a wolf luring in prey with a feigned limp. Making them think you’re some weak, feeble-minded, country bumpkin that can’t tell her feet from her hands. It was an easy act that worked almost every single time.
“It’s a common mistake, miss, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that one bit.” You assure softly with a giggle, petting Jonesy’s head as you coo down at her, “Ain’t that right buddy?”
“Oh… He’s so cute.” Julie says softly, her eyes melting as she looks down towards the the mutt, “I love dogs.” She tells you like it mattered.
The dog walks closer towards the window, which prompts Julie to lean forward just enough to allow Jonesy to sniff at her fingers. The pitbull sneezes a few times, her tail wagging playfully as she licks at the flesh. The gesture makes the woman giggle, her long fingernails scratching softly at his brows.
“She loves new people.” You tell her, watching Jonesy pant excitedly as she nudges the girl's wrist.
“Man, I miss my dog.” She muses quietly, finally leaning back and shooting you another bright smile, “Thank you so much, you’re a life-saver, truly. I was so scared we wouldn’t make it to this concert.”
“Oh well, it ain’t no sweat off my back, sweetheart.” You giggle softly, taking a step back from the woman’s car, “Y’all better get goin’ then! Nice meetin’ ya!”
“Same to you! Thank you again!” She grins, giving you a small wave before placing her hands back on the steering wheel.
The car drove off soon after, and your tacked on smile drops instantly.
“Dumb bitch.” You whisper, your voice going back to normal the second she was far enough away, “‘No sweat off my back’, who the hell am I? My mother?” You mock yourself with a quiet laugh, turning towards Lester.
He just blows a laugh from his nose. Silently gesturing towards the truck, walking towards the driver’s side.
“Damn that felt pretty good.” You tell him while settling against the leather seat, “Shit.” Excitement swells in your chest as your mind races.
You fish out your cell phone, quickly dialing the number to the gas station with the intention of calling the eldest Sinclair. The trilling ring drones on as you await his answer.
“Mornin’ sunshine.” You greet when he picks up, hearing a scoff on the other line.
“The fuck you want? I’m busy.” His tone was bordering on venomous, the encounter from the previous week immediately flooding your mind. You decide to ignore it.
“It’s huntin’ time.” You tell him simply, knowing that he would catch your implication.
The line goes dead almost instantly, Bo hanging up so he can prepare himself. It was his turn to play his part.
You wondered what his plan would be this time around. Maybe he would be the grieving son who unexpectedly lost his mother. Or the nervous gas station clerk that stutters over his words. Perhaps he would do your personal favorite, the shy doe-eyed country boy that blushes at the simplest touch, voice honey-sweet as he rattles off false directions.
That one always made you laugh your ass off. Seeing such a soft look on his usually hardened features.
If you didn’t know any better, you would easily fall for whatever role he played. He was undoubtedly charming. The southern hospitality Trudy tried so hard to drill into him easily dripped from his smirking lips like it was instinct. Bo was good at disarming people, not giving them a second to acknowledge the alarm bells ringing in the backs of their minds.
The signs that lead towards Ambrose beckon you closer, causing your heart to thump an anticipatory rhythm against your ribcage. This was the calm before the storm, a moment to get your head on straight.
Lester leaned down, eyes still trained on the road as his hand pawed at the carpet under his seat. A silver revolver was revealed seconds later, the weapon being handed over to you.
“S’it loaded?” He asks, glancing to the side as you open the chamber to three out of six rounds inside. “We got more at the house.”
The truck rumbles and rattles as Lester speeds up.
You silently wondered if Julie was as dumb as she looked. Hoping she wouldn’t notice the washed out road just outside of Ambrose.
Last time you checked, it was still flooded with leftover rain water. Which would leave them effectively stuck in place, forcing the group to seek out another soul in the ghost town.
The thought sent an electrifying shiver up your spine, your fingers tightening around the gun.
A small part of you could acknowledge how messed up it all was. How horrible you were for finding joy from something so morally wrong. Killing people. Fracturing your own psyche for the hell of it, using it as a form of stress relief.
But you rationalized it in your mind long ago. Your whys and hows, what made you into this. You’ve come to terms with the bloodlusting wolf that hibernates inside you, accepted it, fed its desires.
You were a hunter and Julie’s group was a sixteen point buck just waiting to be shot down. Which you would gladly do, more than once if it meant you could feel that euphoric release of emotion.
With the way you saw things, it was the fault of the tourists who willingly caught themselves in your web. All they had to do was be kind and be on their way, but unfortunately for them, their curiosity oftentimes outweighed rational thought. They would wander through town, sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. They would be rude when caught, even accusatory at times. Too nosey for their own good.
You always caught the judgmental glances, heard their whispered mockery.
To them, the four of you were beneath them. Living in a small southern town where you couldn’t rely on a fancy trust fund to keep your heads high, didn’t have a cushy job where rich sounding laughter echoed off marble.
They would talk about Ambrose like it was a freakshow. Like you were clowns for their entertainment. And you played the part of the clown well, making an ass of yourself if it meant you could have the final laugh.
You thrive in the power of it all. You loved putting them in their place, toying with their minds before crushing their fragile spirit beneath the heel of your boot. You enjoyed hearing that last breath rattle from their lungs.
Over the past few months you’ve been stewing in your dissatisfaction. Anger festering in your ribcage, a constant gnawing feeling worsened after your last conversation with Bo. And with the lack of tourists, you haven’t had a proper outlet to vent your frustrations. The onslaught of emotions was beginning to wear you down. You needed to feel like you were in control of something again.
Just ahead was the red car, pathetically stuck in the washed out road just as you predicted. Julie and her three passengers were standing around the vehicle with differing expressions of irritation.
A guy in a blue shirt threw his hands up, his head tilting back before whipping around to point at Julie angrily.
A chuckle filters through the cabin of Lester’s truck, your eyes narrowing at Julie’s devastation. She looked like a kicked puppy, her head bowing as she nodded sadly. Poor thing, she did seem really nice.
“I call dibs on the driver.” You tell Lester, tucking the gun in the back of your pants, hiding it behind your shirt before tacking on your innocent smile, “Well, come on now! Let’s go on and help these poor folks out Mr. Sinclair!” You tell him in the same voice you used on Julie, it earned a snorting laugh from the man.
“Yee-hoo! Let's get ‘em boys!” Lester howls out, making you cackle.
You let Jonesy leave the truck first, watching as she ran up to the group to excitedly greet her new friends. It made you huff quietly, she was always such a sucker for attention.
“Hi puppy!” The girl that was sitting beside Julie said in a high pitched baby voice.
“Great. The cousin fuckers followed us here.” You heard one of the guys say, too stupid to lower his voice. Julie’s hand came up to smack his chest, which only made the guy roll his eyes and turn his back towards Lester and you.
Cousin fuckers? You had to suppress the scoff. It’s been a while since you’ve heard that one.
“Changed my mind.” You tell Lester quietly, slowly making your way towards the red vehicle, “Leave blue shirt to me.” You just see him nod out of the corner of your eye.
“Hi again!” Julie laughs nervously, you could see the sparkle of crocodile tears in the corners of her eyes, “Sorry! We’re totally blocking the road- but our car. It’s… stuck.” She bows her head from the embarrassment, glancing up to see your kind smile.
“Well, I can see that much.” You joke, your exaggerated twang making you cringe inwardly, “I forgot to tell y'all that the road’s washed out! We don’t really get many people ‘round these parts, so it completely slipped my mind.”
You heard the guy in the blue shirt scoff, watching his eyes roll yet again. Your annoyance spiked, squinting as he crossed his arms and muttered something under his breath.
“Somethin’ wrong?” You ask innocently, giving him your best doe-eyed look.
The man takes a step forward, squaring his shoulders.
“Um.. Yeah?” He replied with a peeved tone, looking at you as if you were stupid, “I’m hungry, I’m hot, and now we’re stuck in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere.” He glares at the back of Julie’s head before shifting on his feet.
Oh, he’s perfect. You thought to yourself.
You smile wide, “Well, no need to huff and puff about it, sweetheart! You’re in good hands! Lester, why don’t we take these kind folks down to see Bo.” You say with a sickeningly sweet voice, “He can help y’all get unstuck and back on the road in a jiffy. And I could even whip up some lunch for your troubles!”
The guy's shoulders seemed to stiffen, as if the offer itself was a knife to his throat.
“Oh, no. We already ate. But thank you.” Julie replied, waving her hands in front of her, “My brother just has a black hole for a stomach, so he’s cranky.” She glares over her shoulder at that, her kind demeanor slipping for a moment.
“I really don’t mind makin’ something for him, honest. It’s the least I can do after getting y’all int’a this mess.” You insist, patting the side of your thigh, “Come on Jonesy!”
The dog pranced back up, and you made a show to rub at her floppy ears while cooing down at her with your best baby voice. You straightened your back after a second, walking past the group while motioning for them to follow, which they hesitantly did.
Lester lit up another cigarette, taking slow drags as you led them up the gravel road towards Ambrose.
Buildings slowly came into view, abandoned cars parked along the cracked sidewalks to give off the appearance of a population. You pass the town hall slowly, allowing them to soak up the sites of your empty home. Their eyes swept from the hardware store, to the old club, then down the street towards the bowling alley.
Dry leaves and pine straw scatter haphazardly along the asphalt, crunching quietly under your boot. You could hear Julie speaking in a hushed tone a few feet behind you, her words lost in the wind that carried nature's debris.
The other girl jogged up beside you, her hand reaching down to pet Jonesy again. She looked a little younger than the rest of the group, maybe college-aged, genuine innocence still gleaming in her eyes. She was probably the only one you would feel bad about killing.
“Where is everyone?” The guy in the blue shirt asks, sounding slightly suspicious as you guide them down the sidewalk.
He’s already looking when you glance over your shoulder, “Few towns over, probably. Lots’a families here in Ambrose go to the local farmers market to sell on the weekends.” You lie, “We were just headed there, actually! But then I remembered the road… And- well, I didn’t feel right not comin’ back to check on y’all.”
“Well I’m glad you guys did.” The girl next to you says, “Sandra.” Her hand juts out for you to shake, to which you accept.
“Dorthy.” The fake name slips from your lips easily. The pseudonym wasn’t necessary in the slightest, none of the Sinclairs used one, you just thought it was funny. It was like you were fleshing out a character that would never see the silver screen.
The gas station comes into view faster than you would have liked. Reluctantly, you walk past the old video store and under the gas station’s canopy. You swallow the sour taste in the back of your throat, internalizing a groan when you see the shadowy figure inside.
The bell hanging above the door jingles, quiet rock music filtering from the small radio on the glass counter. Behind it stood Bo, who looked up from a hunting magazine that he was pretending to read. His eyes locked onto you immediately, narrowing only slightly.
“Welcome in. How can I help you ladies?” He greets kindly, leaning forward with his arms folding atop the counter.
You took a few steps, offering a forced smile as you gestured towards the two girls behind you. Noticing that the boys stayed outside with Lester, who was laughing at one of his own jokes.
“These poor girls got stuck just outside’a town.” You told him, “Mind givin’em a hand? They got a concert to get to.”
“That so?” Bo asks, feigning interest as he rounds the counter, “Well, hopefully I can be of service.”
The girls didn’t even try to hide their stare, looking shy when he was close enough to smell his cologne. Their infatuation made you want to roll your eyes and laugh, but you refrained from such an action.
Julie went on to explain their situation, her demeanor more nervous as Bo nodded thoughtfully at her words. A smile curved his lips, something that could have easily been confused for kindness instead of eagerness.
He placed a gentle hand on Julie’s bicep, “Well how’s about we check out this car, yeah?” His voice lowered in an almost seductive way, which really did make you roll your eyes this time, thankfully not caught by anyone but Bo.
“Yes sir.” Julie replied politely with a blush blooming across her cheeks, it made Bo raise a brow.
“Sir? Come on now, sweetheart, you’re makin’ me feel old.” He chuckles, leading the girls towards the door. “So, where y’all comin’ from?”
“Virginia.” Sandra answers.
“Long drive just for a concert.” Bo says, pulling the door open for the ladies, walking out behind them instead of holding it for you too. The blatant disrespect made you glare at his back, your lip curving upwards angrily.
Asshole.
“Yeah.” Sandra giggles, “Feels like we’ve been cramped in that car for days. But it’ll be so worth it when Fred Durst comes on stage.”
“What band’s he in again?” Bo asks curiously.
You trail away from the conversation and make your way towards Lester and the two guys. You sidle up to your friend with a smile on your lips, locking eyes with Julie’s brother.
It was easier to get a closer look at him now. Noticing the defiance and irritation that swam in his bright green eyes. He had short dirty blonde hair, tiny freckles sprinkled across his cheekbones, and a tooth gap that would have been endearing if he was being looked at by anyone else.
He looked strong too, his biceps stretching against the sleeves of his t-shirt. It wasn’t hard to imagine him fighting back, especially in his already irritable state.
A small, sick part of you hoped he would. It would certainly make things more fun for you. You always reveled in the adrenaline of a good fight. It made all your troubles slip into the back of your mind as the heartbeat of pain pulsed through you. Deep bruises being a reminder of your resilience.
He looked at you with furrowed brows, “What?” He asks, “Something on my face?” His teasing tone surprised you, but you played into it smoothly.
Your lips curved shyly, “Sorry.” You reply quietly, innocently, “You’re just…” You inhale nervously, shaking your head, “Nevermind. You still hungry?”
There was a prickle in the back of your neck, which you ignored, continuing to look at the guy with hopeful eyes. He tilted his head, failing to hide his smirk as eyes flick behind you, nodding a second later.
“Yeah.”
With one last glance over your shoulder, you parted from the group with a wave and a promise to be right back. Lester just nods, briefly turning his attention to his brother, who seemed much less pleased.
You knew Bo hated when you went off alone with a tourist, especially the men. Of course he knew that you could handle yourself, but there was still that instinctive protectiveness he had, even if he seemingly hated you at the moment.
“She makes a killer sandwich, man! You’re in good hands!” Lester calls after the two of you, making you let out a giggle as you walk towards the opposite sidewalk.
The breeze sweeps past you, carrying your sigh with it. You tried to ignore the sweat dripping from your hairline, building up beneath your shirt along your spine, a disgusting residue that could only be relieved by a shower.
You could barely hold your excitement as you guided the man towards the house across the street. Fidgeting with your fingers, and occasionally glancing towards him when you knew he was already looking.
“So, have you lived here long?” He asks finally, earning a small nod in return, “Damn. I mean, personally, I don’t know if I’d be able to stay in a town like this. It’s too small for me, no offense.”
“None taken.” You smile, eyes glittering when his lips curve, “It ain’t as cramped as you’d believe.” He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Got any family here? Or is it just you and your boyfriend?”
His words almost make you choke on your spit, eyes widening when you bark out a laugh. There’s no way he was asking that.
“Who, Lester?” He nods, “Oh no, no. We ain’t together.” The words are encased in another set of giggles, unable to contain them at the mere idea.
You loved Lester, but you could never see him like that.
That simple bit of information drew him closer, his arm almost brushing against yours as you stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of your home. The gate squeaks as you push it open, stepping to the side so you could click the lock back in place.
You glanced up just in time to see his bottom lip disappear between his teeth, the same smirk from earlier rising in the corners.
“It’s a very… green house.” He jokes, walking up the small steps and stopping next to the white door. His fingers brush against the rough texture next to the door frame, chuckling softly.
A snort comes from you, “I’ll admit it ain’t the prettiest color. But my mama loved it, so I can’t complain too much.” You crouch down to fish the key out from underneath the welcome mat.
The smell of your lilac air freshener pours out into the morning air, wrapping around you the second you step through the threshold of your front door. The man walks in behind you, closing the door with a deafening click that sealed his fate.
Sunlight filters through the lace curtains hanging from the bay windows, casting a glowing shadow onto the carpet just in front of your couch. There were some magazines scattered along the cushions, and a blanket bunched up on the floor. A result of your late night thinking.
“I just realized somethin’.” You spoke suddenly, turning your head as you walked past the coffee table and towards the kitchen.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” He asks, taking it upon himself to wander around your living room.
“You never told me yer name!” You called out, pulling a plate from the cabinet. The old fridge hums when you open it, “You a fan of PB&J?”
“I’m a fan of a lot of things.” The man attempts to joke, which earns him a forced laugh, “And my name’s Jackson.”
“Well now, Mr. Jackson,” Your tone was more teasing now, walking away from the fridge just in time to see him pick up the picture frame on your side table, “Do ya’like grape or strawberry? ‘Cause I got both.”
There was an attempt to keep your tone even as he examined your belongings. You watched with narrowed eyes as his fingers ran along the shelf hanging above your box television. A chuckle coming from him before picking up one of your moms old knick-knacks, a porcelain bunny holding a balloon. He sat it back down in the wrong spot before moving to look at the pictures hanging on your wall.
Your fingers twitch against your thigh, suppressing the urge to clear your throat and harden your tone like you would have with the brothers.
Kindness is the key to a successful hunt, you have to remind yourself. Your back straightens, and you say Jackson’s name softly to get his attention.
“Grape or strawberry?” You ask with a sweet voice, wishing you could launch yourself across the room the second he picks up one of Vincent’s small wax sculptures, “And… I don’t wanna be rude or anythin’ but… Can you not touch my stuff, please?”
God, this act was beginning to slowly suffocate you. You weren’t sure how much longer you can keep it up, especially if he doesn’t learn how to mind his manners.
Who the hell snoops around in a stranger's house anyway? Especially when the owner is standing just a few feet away. You couldn’t fathom doing it yourself, so what the hell urged these people to do it?
City folk, your mind supplies.
“Oh, yeah sorry.” He sets the sculpture down as he says it, not really seeming genuine in his apology, “Grape is fine.”
You draw in a deep breath as you turn your back once again, your skin heating up from the bubbling irritation. The disgusted sound you make is quiet enough that only you could hear it. It was surprising that your eyes didn’t pop out with how harshly you rolled them, your face twisting as you mockingly whispered his response.
“Grape is fine.” You snatch the bottle from the fridge, “Yeah, it fuckin’ better be.”
After rifling through your cabinets once again, you found an old bag of bread that you forgot to throw away. There were dark green spots dotting along one side of the slices you pulled out, making you grimace slightly. At least you weren’t going to be the one eating it.
The plate rattles quietly against the counter as you slap the two pieces down, grabbing the peanut butter once you situated them properly. You make sure to slather a thick layer on the moldy side. The grape jelly was next, thick chunks fighting against you as you try to flatten them across the white bread with a butter knife.
Then, you remembered the orange pill bottle that was sitting above your stove. Old pain pills that almost knocked you on your ass the first time you took them, leaving you disoriented for hours on end.
You hoped Jackson’s curious nature didn’t draw him towards the kitchen as you unscrewed the bottle. Two capsules drop into your palm, your fingers working quickly to pop them open.
Jelly seeps out the sides and onto the plate as you smash the slices together. The sandwich was pathetic looking, slightly lumpy, but you figured he wouldn’t really care that much.
You could hear the man walking around in your living room, no doubt ignoring your request to keep his hands to himself. That idea made whatever sympathy you had left slip away instantly.
As expected, Jackson was holding one of your wet specimens when you reemerged from the kitchen. Eyes reflecting his disgust as he lightly shakes the jar, rattling the small cat fetus sealed inside. Your eyes pinched at the sight, your heart lurching against your ribs.
“What is this?” He asks, not even attempting to mask his repulsion as he shakes the jar again, as if you couldn’t see it clear as day.
“It’s something you need to put down.” You reply, voice tight in your throat as you carefully watch his movements.
Jackson places the jar on your coffee table instead of its rightful place next to your other oddities. His brows were furrowed, grimacing as he turned towards the shelf again, eyeing the bones and small figurines sitting atop the dusty surface.
“Never thought you’d be the type of girl to collect this kind of… stuff.” He chuckles to himself, “No offense. Again.” You want to slap that stupid grin off his face.
Patience. You need to be patient.
“Most of ‘em are gifts.” You tell him, jaw clenching, your act was starting to slip, “Here’s your sandwich.”
Jackson takes the plate gratefully, plopping himself on your couch like he lived there. You fight the smirk as he chews his first bite, watching his brows shoot up to his hairline.
“Shit.” He says around the mouthful, “This is pretty damn good! Is this jelly from that farmers market you were telling us about earlier?”
“Mhm.” You hum with an innocent smile. It was from the grocery store, nearing its expiration date.
The mold thankfully went unnoticed as he took another bite, a soft squish filtering from his mouth as he chewed. The sickening sound of his tongue and teeth smacking against the bread made you want to snap. Instead of doing that, you busied yourself with picking up the magazines scattered across your couch, placing them neatly on the coffee table.
It was hard to ignore the way his eyes burn into you when you crouch down to pick up the blanket. He watched your every step, shifting in his seat every so often. It was clear he had something on his mind, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what, not when his eyes lingered on your clothed breasts a second too long.
Disgust twists in the depths of your stomach, teeth grinding when you turn away from his searing gaze.
The nauseating anger you felt when it came to ogling tourists was immeasurable. While it wasn’t often, it still happened more than you would have liked. They would act as if you were the first woman they’ve seen in years, even if their wives or girlfriends were standing just behind them.
Maybe it was the innocent front you put on. Making yourself out to be dumb for the sake of an easy kill. It was more effective than any other act you’ve tried. So you just kept doing it.
Unfortunately, though, it drew a lot of unwanted attention. Men who assumed you would simply fall to your knees because you didn’t know any better, that you wouldn’t say no.
You hated men like Jackson far more than the disrespectful ones.
Their leering eyes needed to be gouged out, their tongues ripped from between their smirking lips, their hands skinned so they would never be able to feel a woman’s body ever again. In your mind, you were doing the world a service by getting rid of these bastards.
“So,” He starts talking again much to your dismay, sandwich now completely devoured, “What do you usually do for fun? Like, what’s there to do around here?”
You look at him with a sideways glance as you put everything he’s misplaced back in their original spots, offering him the mock of a thoughtful hum, “I like goin’ hunting with Lester and his brothers.” You shrug, “Or sometimes we’ll go down to the bar and get some drinks, or the bowling alley. Nothin’ too crazy.”
“Huh.” Jackson lets out a humored huff, “You know how to use a gun? Aren’t you scared you’ll hurt yourself?” He’s talking down to you again.
The smirk on his face falters a second later, his face beginning to pale.
“You alright?” You feign concern, pouting your bottom lip with furrowed brows. That was quick.
“Yeah… Jesus.” The man whispered, placing the plate on the coffee table, “This heat’s no joke is it? I think it’s starting to finally get to me.” His hand comes up to rub against his forehead.
“Yeah. I’ve been waitin’ for someone to come fix my AC. Sorry ‘bout that.” You answer casually, pulling your phone from your back pocket, “I’m gonna make a call real quick, be right back.”
Jackson just nods, leaning back against your couch with a quiet groan that morphed into a sudden whine.
He was most likely going through the same motions you were a few months ago, albeit amplified because of how you administered the medicine. There was no gelatin capsule to cushion the blow. No food already settled in his ‘black hole’ of a stomach to help slowly digest what you’ve given him. If his occasional groaning was anything to go by, his head was probably spinning, his stomach twisting painfully, and all you could do was hope he didn’t throw up on your couch.
With the phone against your ear, you spare a glance past the doorway of the kitchen. Jackson was now laying on his side, arms wrapped around his torso with his eyes pinched shut.
“Y’ello?” Lester answers after the third ring.
“How’re our guests?” You ask, hearing Jonesy bark on the other line.
You walk back into the living room and to the bay windows, peering through the lace curtains and towards the gas station. Julie and her group were nowhere to be seen, and Bo’s yellow tow truck was missing from its usual spot.
“Oh they’re doin’ just great.” Your friend replies coolly, “Bo just took Julie and that other guy to the end of town. And, well.. I’m not too sure where that Sandra girl went.” He chuckles, “Seemed pretty curious about the wax museum, though. Wandered off when I went to fetch somethin’ from the station.”
You hum quietly, looking towards Jackson with disinterest as he drops heavily from your couch, making the items on your shelves rattle.
He lets out a loud cough, teary eyes peering at you from over your coffee table. His lips tremble as he parts them, another hacking cough forced from his lungs before he gags.
“What the f-fuck is happening to me?!”
The lace curtains sway as you step away. You sigh while meticulously placing the magazines on the floor in front of his crumbled form like he was a bad dog about to make a mess.
His trembling hand reaches for your pant leg, but you’re quick to kick your boot into his shoulder, making him recoil with a pathetic groan.
“Shut the fuck up.” You hiss, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” His eyes widen at your sudden shift, the reality of his situation suddenly dawning on him. You just give him a tight-lipped smile and walk back over towards the window..
Metallic thumps muffle from the other line, “What about yours?” Lester asks.
The man on your floor lets out another cough, followed by a gurgling retch that makes you cringe. You lean your shoulder against the wall as you watch him curl into himself, sweat dripping down his forehead.
You shrug, “Didn’t know how to listen to simple requests,” The man in question looks up with bleary eyes, narrowing to try and see past the tears, “So I made his sandwich with a little extra love.” The whine that comes from Jackson makes you chuckle.
“If that bastard tries anythin’, call Bo.” Lester tells you, which makes you roll your eyes.
“No thanks. I don’t want Bo breathin’ down my neck the whole night.” You say bitterly, “I got it handled. I don't even think this guy could stand if he tried.”
Lester just snorts in response. The sound of his boots scuffing against asphalt makes you look outside again. He’s walking down the sidewalk towards the gas station, his hat pinched between his fingers as he itches his scalp.
You could hear Jackson crawling up behind you while your back was turned, then a rough hand wrapped around your shin. You kick your foot back into his face harshly, hearing him yelp like a hurt dog.
“Fuck!” He curses loudly.
His hand comes up to claw at your leg again, trying his best to pull you down in his weakened state. Which only forces a frustrated noise from your throat. You’re quick to turn around, lifting your boot to stomp down on his shoulder blade.
Jackson looked like a cockroach as he attempted to wiggle free, hacking and coughing through his pathetic cries. He cranes his neck upwards, his eyes burning with rage and fear. You just give him a small, sweet smile, digging the heel of your boot into his shirt.
“This one’s a fighter.” Your excitement returned tenfold, sparking up your spine, “I mean shit, I don't know how the guy’s even still awake.”
“Like I said, call Bo if he gets too rowdy.” Lester’s tone resembled something of a worried mother, which makes you laugh, “I’m serious. Don’t need you gettin’ hurt.”
“Okay, mom. Scouts honor.” You reply sarcastically, pushing harder on Jackson’s back when he starts to struggle again, “Hey! Stop fuckin’ moving before I knock your ass out.”
Jackson's eyes widened a fraction before narrowing, he was snarling at you, thrashing harder against your boot. If it wasn’t for his palling completion, and the occasional gurgling cough, you might have thought he would actually break free.
“Lemme call you back.” You tell Lester, not giving him enough time to respond before hanging up. You toss the phone onto the carpet a few feet away before reaching for the gun tucked away in the back of your pants.
Once your boot is lifted from his shoulder crouch down in front of him. You weave your fingers through his dirty blonde hair with a harsh tug, forcing him to look into your narrowed eyes. The metal of the revolver was pushed against his temple as a warning, and you mock the whimper he lets out.
“Alright.” You exhale, lifting a brow, “You gonna play nice with me? Or are we gonna have a problem?”
“Yo-you’re fucking crazy!” He spits out viciously, drool collecting at the corners of his mouth, “Why are you.. doing this.” A grunt catches in his throat when you tug his head back into a more uncomfortable angle.
You hum quietly as you consider his question. What could you even say to him? You did it because you could. You did this because he was disrespectful. You did this for Bo, for his brothers, to help them finish what Trudy started. You did it because your dad was a senseless drunk who beat you every Saturday. You did it for yourself. You did it because you liked it. You did it because it was in your nature.
“Couldn’t tell’ya.” You reply after a second passes, the barrel of the gun pressed harder into his temple. “But hey! Maybe you can ask God when you meet ‘em.”
“W-What are you going to.. do to me?” He whimpers again, cowering like a dog, “Are you gonna eat me?”
The question makes you bark out a surprised laugh, and you were almost tempted to say yes just to see how he would react.
“What the fuck?” Your shoulders shake, your brows furrowed in amused confusion, “The hell d’you think this is? The fuckin’ Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” You bow your head, laughing again, “Shit, man. You’re funny.”
Something akin to relief briefly reflected in his teary eyes. Though that didn’t last long when he felt the barrel of the gun trail from his temple to his cheek. Tears were trailing down his reddened skin, sniffling weakly at the blood that dripped from his nose.
Just as you open your mouth to say something, your cell phone cuts through the air, the shrill ring making you roll your eyes.
“You move and I shoot.” You threaten, “Got it?” He nods against your grasp, “Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Y-yes… I got it.” He whispers fearfully, swallowing the sob trapped in his throat.
“Good boy.” You pat his cheek with the revolver, a reminder.
Jackson shrinks away from the feeling, making you smirk while standing to your full height. You can feel his eyes burning into your back as you walk over to the phone and pick it up off the carpet. The cool plastic is a relief against your heated cheek.
“Yeah?”
“You good?” Bo asks with a mouth full of smoke, exhaling into the mouthpiece.
“Never better, what do you want?” The coldness in your response was probably unnecessary given your current circumstances, but you couldn’t help it.
All the weeks you’ve spent wondering what Bo’s problem was, the lack of sleep because of it. You were exhausted both mentally and physically. A small part of you yearned to beg for an answer, for a bone to be tossed in your direction. Anything that would explain the man’s shift in behavior.
Your world was a dull place without Bo by your side. He was your partner in crime, literally. Someone who used to crawl into your window at night just to cry on your shoulder. The one person who actually gave enough of a shit to remember your birthday. He was your best friend since the sixth grade, with a closeness that prompted jokes of marriage from your mothers.
And now, over the course of two months, he’s reduced you to a mere stranger in his small town. Treating you like a burden that he couldn’t shake.
“Just wanted to check in. My part’s done.” He tells you casually. You could hear the rumble of the tow truck in the distance, drawing closer to the gas station.
Your blunt nails scratch at the skin of your collarbone, tilting your head back with a long sigh, “Alright.. I should be done soon-” Jackson shifts in your peripheral vision, “Hey! What the fuck did I say?!” You kick the steel toe of your boot into Jackson’s ribs, crouching down to press the revolver into the back of his thigh, “What did I tell you? Huh?”
“That if I move y-you’d shoot me!” The man cries out, shaking his head rapidly, “Please! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I’m so sorry.” His begging only made you press harder, “I didn’t mean to! Please don’t!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, dude. You whine worse than Jonesy when he’s hungry.” You seethe, “So fuckin’ annoying.”
“I’m comin’ over.” Bo says tightly, making your head snap up as if he were already in the room with you.
“Like hell you are! You’ve barely even looked at me since last week, so stay the fuck away from my house.” The thought of having to see him right now made your blood boil.
Did he think you were some weak little girl? You could handle yourself, sometimes better than he could, so you certainly did not need him coming to your rescue. Especially not for some drugged up asshole wiggling around on your carpet.
“You’re seriously not doin’ this right now. What are you, fuckin’ five?” You could practically hear the way his face twists in exasperation, “Grow the hell up.”
“Bo if you walk through that door I’m fuckin’ strangling you.” You threaten, standing to rush over to your window.
Bo was already halfway across the street by the time you pushed the curtain to the side, heading straight for the gate in front of your home. You watched him shake his head, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh.
“I’d like to see you try, girl. I’d snap your neck like a twig.” With that he’s opening your gate, making direct eye contact with you through the window. “Somethin’ crawl up your ass and die this mornin’?”
“Could say the same to you, dickhead.” He just ignores you, walking up the steps as he puts his phone back in his pocket.
The white door knocks against the wall when he opens it, making the hanging pictures rattle. Your irritation spikes as he waltzes in, ignoring your glare as he tilts his head down at the man on your floor.
“God damn.” Bo whistles, “She got you good, now didn’t she?” A cruel chuckle leaves him, a smile stretching with the tip of his tongue trapping itself between his teeth. His eyes flick up to look at your annoyed expression, “The hell is your problem today? Huh?”
“I thought you didn’t wanna talk about this right now.” You shoot back, placing your hands on your hips, “Make up your damn mind before you give yourself a headache.”
A sniffle makes you to look back down at Jackson, now on his back and looking between the two of you, terror swimming in the green pools of his eyes. He wasn’t coughing anymore, but his face was still as pale as ever, splotchy red spots dotting along his cheeks and throat from the nausea. His eyelids were fluttering every so often as exhaustion started to take over.
“What’d you give him?” Bo asks, nudging his boot against Jackson’s hip.
You shrug, “Those pain pills from your dad’s old stash.” The simple reply makes his eyes narrow, “Vincent gave them to me, dick. Don’t give me that look.”
His eyes raked over you, a brief flicker of concern flashing in his eyes before they hardened again. He stepped over Jackson’s body and walked past you towards the kitchen, coming back out a second later with the orange bottle.
“Fuckin’ expired oxys?” He shakes the bottle like Jackson had done to your wet specimen, “What the fuck you need these for?”
The exasperated huff that leaves you only makes him stalk closer, “I needed ‘em for my damn leg!” You gesture down to the limb angrily, where a nasty looking scar hid beneath the denim of your pants, “God forbid I don’t wanna sit in pain like some people.” The pointed insult made him huff, his tongue licking over his bottom teeth.
Bo just tucks the bottle into the pocket of his pants, rolling his eyes, “You could’a asked me.” He purposefully bumps into you as he walks towards Jackson, who was now passed out after his emotional exertion.
You scoff at his words, tucking the gun into the back of your pants before crossing your arms, “Oh really now? I could’a asked for your help? Please.” The last word was encased in a humorless chuckle, “That shit was months ago anyway, so what’s it matter?”
The eldest Sinclair ignores you, bending at his hip to wind his hands underneath Jackson’s shoulders, “Gimme a hand will’ya?” He juts his chin towards the passed out man’s legs, lifting his torso off the carpet easily, “Or you plannin’ on hauling his heavy ass back to the museum all by yourself?” He adds when you don’t move.
“Jesus Christ. You’re such a fuckin’ pain in my ass.”
The tickle of sweaty leg hair makes you cringe as you grab onto the pits of Jackson’s knees. A quiet grunt leaves your parted lips as you lift him together, his body rocking slightly when you try to get a better handle on him.
It takes a second before the two of you are fully comfortable with Jackson’s weight. Bo is the first one to take a step backwards towards the door, to which you quickly follow. You wanted to get this over with as soon as you could.
Something about Bo helping you just made everything more complicated. Your thoughts were running rampant in your mind. Questions, accusations, please for an answer at the tip of your tongue. It was when you felt the burning sting of tears that you took a deep breath, attempting to settle yourself before you burst.
Your boots stomped heavily down the stairs, a leaf crunching loudly under your heel.
Luckily Bo didn’t close the gate behind him when he first got here, so there wouldn’t be a need for any last minute adjustments. The man slowly backed towards the truck parked under the gas station’s canopy, making you raise a mocking brow.
“What, you not strong enough to take him down the street?” You tease, wanting to push Bo’s buttons while you have him in front of you. Your own form of personal revenge.
“Shut the fuck up.” He spits out, huffing as he hoists Jackson higher, “If you don’t want my fuckin’ help just say it.”
“I tried! You just don’t know how to listen!” You glare, tightening your grip on the man’s legs, “‘Cause of course, it’s Bo’s way or no way.”
You knew you were being difficult, but after all this time who could really blame you? The frustration was tearing through your heart, and now he was standing here acting as if nothing had happened.
All you could think about was how he would go right back to ignoring you after this was all done and over with. Pretending you weren’t an integral part of his life, just as he was yours.
Jackson’s body was hauled into the back of the tow truck, his head leaning against the hot metal. His brows twist from the pain, but he doesn’t stir awake.
Once satisfied Bo takes a step back and crosses his arms, glaring as if to say ‘spit it out’. There was sweat collecting at his hairline, his forehead creasing as he looked at you expectantly.
The action is mimicked by you, wishing that you could peer inside his mind and pluck out the answers for yourself. You knew that talking to him about it would be like pulling teeth. Things weren’t the same as when you were younger, moments of vulnerability weren’t exactly as common as they used to be, so to get an actual explanation would be nearly impossible.
Your gaze drops down to your boots after a second, eyes burning pathetically once more. Everything was beginning to boil over, your exhaustion mingled with emotional torment, wearing you thin.
This was probably the longest he’s looked at you in weeks, and it just had to be when he was irritated with you. You had to swallow past the lump in your throat before you attempted to speak again.
“Let’s just get him to the museum before he wakes up.” It comes out quieter than you would have liked, making you feel like a fragile bird that couldn’t take flight.
The thrill of your hunt has now completely subsided, replaced by the weight of your internalized hurt.
Nothing else was said as Bo walked past you and towards the driver’s side of the tow truck. He wrenches the door open harshly, making the truck jolt, before slamming it shut once he’s inside. You round the truck next, sliding into the passenger seat next to him.
“He was messin’ with Patsy’s baby.” You mutter after the truck sputters to life, Bo looks over at the mention of your childhood cat’s name, “Was shakin’ her around and shit. Looked at me like I was some sorta freak.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to worry about now.” Bo dismisses, “You did good.” The half-assed praise made the smallest smile curve the corner of your mouth.
It took less than a minute to drive up to the museum, with Bo parking next to the path that led to the front doors. He’s out of the truck before you could take a breath, the door remains open as he steps around to the back.
“Go get Vincent.” Bo points his head towards the back of the museum where the cellar doors would be.
“‘Kay.” You nod, making your way towards your destination.
When you walk closer you can see the padlock securely in place, a clear indication that Vincent wasn’t currently in the basement. He was probably at the house getting more supplies, remembering him rifling around looking for thread earlier this morning.
An annoyed sigh pushes from your lungs, and you whirl around to make your way back towards the truck.
Bo looks at you expectantly, a cigarette dangling from his lips, “He not here?” You shake your head, “Dammit.” His sigh was similar to yours a few seconds prior, “Alright well, you think you can get him down stairs with me?”
If the man was any lighter, Bo would have just tossed the limp body over his shoulder and done it himself. But that unfortunately wasn’t the case, meaning you would have to help him once again.
“Ain’t my first rodeo, man.” You reply simply, already moving to grab onto Jackson’s legs again. You tug him closer to the edge of the tailgate.
The cherry of Bo’s cigarette glows as he inhales, pinching the filter between his index and thumb before flicking it to the ground.
He reaches over to bunch up the blue fabric of Jackson’s shirt, hauling him into a boneless sitting position. The eldest Sinclair hooks his arms under the man’s armpits, and you turn so you can hold his knees at your hips, wanting to make your descent down the stairs easier.
With you in the lead, you walk towards the museum. Your boot thumps against the wax door once, then a second time to nudge it open fully.
The heat of the day has fully settled itself inside the poorly ventilated building, pressing down onto you like a heavy blanket when you walk inside. It made every breath burn as you carefully avoided the wax sculptures in the front room, leading Bo towards the sliding doors to the dining room, which were thankfully open.
Your eyes immediately zeroed in on the familiar figure sitting at the long table, his hand reaching for the wax fork in front of him. A beaming smile was frozen on his features, eyes crinkled in the same way they always did. You weren’t sure how Vincent was able to replicate the sparkle in his eyes so well, but it never ceased to amaze you anytime you saw Travis’ in his unmoving state.
“Alright, you ready?” You ask over your shoulder once you get to the basement door, the flicker of candle light illuminating the staircase.
“Yup.” Bo grunts out as hoists Jackson up a little higher, strengthening his hold around the man’s torso.
Each step is slow, careful not to lose your footing as you avoided any fresh puddles of wax. Eventually you hit the bottom stair and made your way over to Vincent’s work station, which was thankfully empty.
Jackson’s head hit the surface with a heavy thud. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, you would have assumed he was dead.
You look over your shoulder to see Bo still standing there, hands on his hips as he caught his breath. It was then that you remember the two other bodies he’s had to deal with today. Something inside you cheered at the thought of making him overexert himself.
In the sculpture machine sat one of the tourists in question, they were slightly bigger so you assumed it was the man you never caught the name of. He was encased in a thick beige layer of wax that would need to be smoothed out by Vincent, which you were sure he had planned to do before remembering his missing tools.
Jonesy was nowhere to be seen either, but he was most likely still with Lester. You briefly hope that she didn’t get into any of the roadkill again.
A shadowy figure suddenly passed through the amber glow of candles. Vincent walked up to the two of you with three small boxes in his arms. He brushes past his brother, who lazily throws his arms up with an annoyed expression.
“Well look who finally decides to show up.” Bo narrows his eyes, “Just after we hauled this piece a’shit down here for you.” He points towards Jackson, which was effectively ignored by his twin as he unpacks the boxes.
New spools of thread and needles were placed beside Jackson’s shoulder. Then out comes some leftover wig glue, clean paint brushes, and a new change of clothes for the wax figure still hooked up to the machine. It was a fancier looking suit, he was probably planning to put him at the dining table with Travis.
Vincent finally turns back towards the two of you, tilting his head when he realizes Bo and you are actually in the same room. He looks at you curiously, gesturing in a way to ask if you were okay.
“I’m good Vince.” You tell him, smiling softly when he nods, “Shit. I forgot to call Lester back.” You say suddenly, using the poor excuse to remove yourself from Bo’s presence.
“Do you know what the hell’s been goin’ on with her?” You heard Bo ask once you reach the top of the stairs.
