Share
Eighty
Related chapters
House of Sighs Seventy-Nine
SEVENTY-NINEJulia’s head pressed against the seat. Skin clung to the leather. Its grip drew her face into a deformed jester’s smile.“See!” Jack pointed at her.She closed her eyes again. Something dark and primal pounded in her, a second heartbeat that couldn’t be ignored. “Who knows when there will be police?” she said. “You’re right, Di. This is James Bridge, and there’s never any cops at the station. If they come, they’ll come from half an hour away in any given direction. God only knows where we are. Any idea?”“Trees and more trees,” Jack said. “I can’t see a thing.”At the front of the bus, Michael tried to imagine what the others were talking about. He longed to be with them—safety in numbers, as they say—and not here at the mouth of the lion’s den. Or lioness. Either way, if the driver moved, he and the prayer-happy teenager would be the first to know. The first to die. Michael’s urge to join the others grew and pulsed.If you join them, you will be seen, he told himsel
House of Sighs Seventy-Eight
SEVENTY-EIGHT“This isn’t the road that takes us into town and it isn’t the one taking us to Maitland or Cessnock, either,” Sarah said. “We’re in a hollow. The road is narrow. If we were on the main stretch out of town, we’d be seeing fields, right? She’s driving us further and further into scrub.”Julia sat up. “We have pens, keys.” She balled her shaking hands into fists. “Together we can take her down. One of us just has to grab the wheel. All or nothing, though.”“And there’s a big old gun right there in front of her just waiting to tear through us,” Sarah said. “You’re brave—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “But you’re a bub. This lady won’t do anything to us unless we make her—”Jack moved forward, a sudden realization upon him. “We’re fucking hostages here.”Julia spun on them. “I don’t want to die.”Diana flinched.The bus filled with crashing; it drowned out their screams. Windows rattled in their frames.Liz Frost snapped back into reality, her pupils dilat
House of Sighs Seventy-Seven
SEVENTY-SEVENReggie Frost climbed out of her well-loved recliner and decided to make herself useful, something she’d long ago thought she ever could be. Yet she kept trying, kept on climbing. There were things that needed to be done after all, and hate it though she did, nothing ever found its way back to its rightful place unless Reggie did it herself.The Christmas cutouts for example. She’d forgotten how many times she’d asked any one of her family members to take them down. The seasons had rolled on by and it was somehow November again; almost time to put the damn things back out again.She knew she was invisible, an extension of the furniture in some ways. I’m being worn away, eroded. Reggie daydreamed of meeting someone who made her feel young, someone who maybe—just maybe—knew how to love her. Where there was no love there was no life, and this nothingness left her with two simple conclusions: she was over being a mother and wife.Tired of trying.On those few and far betw
House of Sighs Seventy-Six
SEVENTY-SIXThe crashing sounds of metal on metal.Jack launched himself onto the seat behind Sarah. Julia and Diana screamed. Sarah, however, fell. Her hands shot into the air and grabbed at nothing, only to land on the floor, limbs peddling like a beetle on its back.The sound continued. An intense rattle and pound.It consumed all.Peter knew that at some point he must have fallen asleep. Yes, the nightmare was vivid, but it was a nightmare nonetheless. Things like this didn’t happen to people like him—simple, really. His life had intertwined with his fiction. The notebook flew out of his hand and clapped onto the floor; a corner soaking up the dead man’s blood. Peter couldn’t help it; he wept. Jagged vibrations bulleted through him. His already busted lip cracked again.The bus shook.To Michael it felt like they were driving into the sky. The strobe of sun through the passing trees disappeared. He squinted against this blinding light, slammed his eyes shut and saw red.The
House of Sighs Seventy-Five:
SEVENTY-FIVE:Radio“Report back, two-four.”The handset sat on its hook, DC cable swinging in an arc, ticking the dash.Static crunched. “You there, Liz?”The voice on the radio belonged to Bridget Sargent. Bridget was overweight and loving, her messy hair tamed by bands and pencils. She greeted Liz every morning by tapping her garish fingernails against the window of her cubicle. Bridget was their Lead Fleet Correspondent. She alerted employees to changed traffic conditions and radioed drivers concerning route punctuality. Liz knew this was why Bridget was calling. A commuter must have tired of waiting for the bus to arrive and called the transit hotline to file a complaint. It was Bridget’s duty to find out the reason for the delay.Liz imagined her co-worker’s plump face washed in the lights from her switchboard, could almost hear fingernails drumming against the desk. Brow furrowed, the first twinge of concern.A wasp slammed against the windshield and splattered.The bus
House of Sighs Seventy-Four
SEVENTY-FOURArthritis throbbed as Wes Frost sifted feed among the chickens. The birds looked up at him between their frantic pecking with absent, dispassionate eyes.Food, those black peepers said. Nothing else. Food.He rounded up their eggs, placed them in a basket and whisked them inside. He returned with a butcher’s knife.The Rottweiler growled and barked at the end of its chain, furthered its arc in the dirt as it skidded back and forth. “Shut up, dog,” he said.Wes set his eye on one of the fatter hens and upended her. A single brown feather lodged under the collar of his shirt. He stretched her neck against the cinderblock and envied the bird its simple thoughts, its lack of fear.Severed the head. Set the bird to run blind. Watched it fall.Wes plucked it bare.He cleaned his hands in the upstairs bathroom, whilst listening to the record playing down the hall. Wes looked at himself in the mirror, drew a single feather from his collar and set it beside his razor.Down
House of Sighs Seventy-Three
SEVENTY-THREEIt wasn’t a well-traveled road they pummeled down; the stretch grew more treacherous with each proceeding turn. As though to spite danger, their speed didn’t decrease—if anything, the odometer climbed. Yes, the 243 to town had strayed far from its route and wound deep into the valley.Within the bus, Jack bit his thumb, a habit he’d had since school, biting his nails down to the quick as he waited for a teacher to ask him questions he didn’t know the answers to. Not much had changed since then; there were few solutions within reach now, either.Peter saw the oncoming car. Perhaps his prayers had been answered. He swore to himself that he would get out of this alive and trusted his God to shield him. Sitting there in the heat, he knew that when the time came to run, there would be a fleet of angels protecting him. Their strong, white wings would be his armor.His mother’s voice in his ear. I’m proud of you, she said, breath thick with the stench of liquor. This is a te
House of Sighs Seventy-Two
SEVENTY-TWOThe bus came to a stop.Jack pulled himself up off the floor. This is it, the voice in his head told him. He poised himself to run.Sarah wanted to grab this hot-headed young man and hold him. She pitied him for his machismo. They weren’t going to survive if one of them made a martyr of themselves. With every death, the group would come more unhinged. They were welded together now by tragedy, and a risk by one was a risk to all. Why can’t he see that? she wondered. Oh, Bill, please make him stop.The bus shifted into reverse. “What the fuck?” Jack said.Michael glanced up at the ceiling escape hatch, which was open a crack to allow airflow into the bus. He imagined himself getting up and forcing it open the rest of the way, but he was frozen in place. Terrified. The driver was alert now. Were he to attempt escape there would be the eventual bang! And in a flash his entire history would be wiped clean, all the problems, hopes and dreams that stitched him together—ripped
Latest chapter
