DAMIEN
.
.
Everything was spinning as I tried recalling my actions and words from the night before, sitting there in the ruins of my room, the smell of stale whiskey and broken plaster everywhere.
Every conversation I had had with Gerald, every violent swing of the bat, everything that had broken, played back like a f****d-up movie trailer in my head.
“Where is her body currently?” I asked, the words feeling alien and heavy on my tongue, directed at Gerald who stood near the shattered remains of the TV, remarkably composed.
“The water,” he said, his voice flat, echoing slightly in the wrecked space. “Waiting for your orders to put her in.”
A fresh wave of nausea rolled over me.
Her body.
Mabel's body.
“Make the call,” I said to him not thinking twice .
“There should be no
