Sally was frozen with the words. "He told you?" she asked, not recognizing her voice.
"He showed me."
Sally swallowed hard. "And?"
"I don't know what to do."
"Leave him."
"It's not the point." Tara sighed. She brushed her gorgeous hair off her face, and looked at her mother, like a lost puppy. "I can feel him from any distance, I feel his pain, his happiness, his sufferings! If someone would destroy him, it will kill me too."
"No!" A huge bomb burst into Sally's soul. No! Not my child! Darkness fell, as if someone dragged her into of an abyss of boiling oil.
"Mummy! Mummy! Please!"
It sounded as if so far away, from another galaxy, but Sally opened her eyes and faced her crying daughter.
"Mum, you have to understand - it's his duty! He has no choice!"
"But you do." Sally could not believe that she was able to say it after such a confession came from her daughter.
Tara paused.
"You've changed so much, honey."
"I know, Mum."
"Look, I lost your Dad. I know, how it feels. It like losing a limb - you'll never be the same, and it's impossible to avoid phantom pain. But you can live with that. You can even enjoy your life. I wish you would help me destroy Damien…"
Tara sat back, staring at her with horror and pain in her eyes.
"It's like gangrene, honey, if you won't cut off the sick limb, it would kill you for sure. As it says in the Bible… Remember Matthew 5:29-30…?"
Tara did not respond, but her expression had changed. She was thinking, and all her love to Damien rose into her soul, filling her body as well with a painfully scorching, but enjoyable sensation, similar as you lye down in hot tub…
"We'll see about it!" she screamed out, and rushed up from the basement.
Clutching her head, Sally coiled on the steps.
Unexpectedly, she saw an extravagant car stopped near the house.
A well-mannered chauffeur, wearing a posh suit, opened the door, letting out a teenager, who seemed very familiar to Sally.
He got closer, and, surprised, she recognized Peter Reynolds. His face was gloomy and down in the dumps.
'What is he doing here?' Sally thought, amazed.
Not saying a word first, not even looking at her, he sat next to Sally, squeezing his hands.
"Hello," he started. "Well, we are like plus and minus, that are completely different, but they can make electricity that works. Our considerations are different, but our longing is the same. I hate your daughter, and I love Damien to death. You are - on contrast."
Sally sat still.
"So it's our task – make Damien and Tara split up." Peter finally turned towards her.
"Do you have an idea?" Sally forced herself to ask.
He nodded.
"You know about the daggers. And I know you have contact with DeCarlo. Ask him to come here. Promise him the stilettos. I can get them. But I will frame your daughter."
"What if Damien will kill her for that?" Sally's blood ran cold.
"No." Peter smiled. "No, no. I can guarantee that. I don't want any trouble for Damien. Here is a draft of my plan. I'll take the stilettos, and you'll arrange a get-together with DeCarlo and your daughter. She'll bring the daggers without knowing it. Damien will arrive as well, and here I'll come to save the day. The stilettos will be return back to Damien. But he will never trust Tara again, never believe her. It's all we need, right?"
Shocked, Sally was thinking in silence. First, Tara's confession… And now, this offer.
"I'm risking more than you," Peter emphasized. "Not a hint to anyone about our conversation."
Sally nodded.
Suddenly they saw another limousine parked next to Reynolds' car. Peter swore.
Paul Buher, glaring at them, neared with a fast pace.
"Oh, Peter," he greeted with a false smirk. "Why are you here?"
"I was looking for Damien," Peter responded calmly. "I can't find him anywhere."
"Suuuureeee…" Paul didn't appear satisfied with the answer. He addressed Sally; "May I talk to your daughter?"
"Why?" Sally asked with suspicion.
"I'm responsible for the company matters of the Corporation," Buher explained, smiling cunningly. "Your daughter is a great worker, I wanted to speak with her… About some business issues."
'He's lying!' Both, Sally and Peter felt it. They exchanged fast glances.
Not talking anymore, not even saying goodbye, Reynolds got up, and left.
Buher followed him with his eyes, than took a seat next to Sally.
"We need to talk," he started.
'Oh, no!' Sally screamed in her head. 'Not him too!'
The Butcher's Boy
- 2011 Readers Favorite Award Silver Medal Winner in Horror - Fiction
A Paranormal/Chiller by Michael Robb
Thirty-one years ago, Buxly the Butcher went to trial for killing h
The fortunate inherit riches, prestige, positive notoriety. Those not so lucky bear legacies filled with poverty, infamy or, worse yet, the unhinged insanity and murderous urges of their ancestors.
Happy Halloween. A volume of Horrible Haunts & Twisted Tales taken from the horror books La Belle Rouge has written every October for a decade and a half. If you have read her works in the horror genre, you know the invitation is for you to enjoy thr
This is a continuation of 
