JAMES
L
ounging
on a chair in the back porch, I took deep, calming breaths to help block out the muffled screams that leaked through the walls. The poor girl was constantly shrieking like she was dying, and behind my closed eyes, I could picture her. She wasn’t particularly pretty, and I didn’t even know her name; there was nothing remarkable about her that would’ve normally put her in her current position.
Nothing but the fact that she got pregnant by the wrong guy.
Flinging my arm over my face, I ground my teeth together and sunk into the chair with a groan stuck in my throat. Only an hour ago, Frank came up to me asking if I thought it was a good idea to slit the girl’s throat. He just wanted to sever her vocal chords; it wouldn’t do any real damage. She’d been screaming non-stop f
