Page 20 of The Honor Society

Charlie

You haven’t shimmied a day in your damn life.

I bark out a laugh. There she is. There’s my Charlie. No. Not now, not the time. I school my features even though nobody can see me.

Me

I’m a damn good shimmier. Leave a light on, I’ll stop by when I’m done with work.

Charlie

You’re at work?

Me

Yeah, gotta bury some bodies.

Charlie

Sureeeee. Okay see you later, and thanks for answering.

Me

I may not remember a lot Charlie, but that doesn’t mean I could ever forget you.

I put the distraction away, sliding my phone into my pocket before putting on The Proctor mask, and then I take my knife and slice the page directly from The Ledger and tuck it back inside my jacket pocket.

My reflection in the rearview mirror is a comfort. The mask is as much for me as it is for others. A symbol of what I am and what I will invoke. But to me? It’s a reminder that I can take it off, and when I do, I don’t have to bear the weight of The Proctor. I can simply be Axel.

Dissociating is my spiritual gift. Good thing too.

I get out of the car, lock it, and walk straight towards the dock and the pier they’re waiting at. Most of these docks take in shipments from foreign countries, electronics, drugs, that sort of thing.

I purposefully leave my gun in the car—I won’t be needing it and I’m angry enough to rip them to shreds with my bare hands. Besides, worst case scenario, I’d rather the killing be filled with the sound of their screams, not cowardly gunshots at twenty feet away. No, let them feel the pain of my knife while I breath down their neck, let my black eyes be the last thing the Calloways see before the devil himself greets them with open arms for taking what’s mine.

By the time my toes hit the other side of the road the door creaks open. Nobody is there. It’s as if a ghost decided to invite me in. I smirk and walk through into the darkness. Calm. Breathing even. Relaxed. This is my playground. Did they think to intimidate me?

The lights are on in the middle of the room. And dangling directly from the middle are several fish hooks used to hoist up for butchering or for draining the guts. A cluster of three are wrapped around Jenner as he dangles from a hook. His hands are tied together in front of him so he can’t escape. He’s covered in blood and his right eye is swollen shut.

“Well, you look like shit.” I say, my voice is modified by the modulator I wear under my mask.

“Mask off, Proctor.” Someone says from behind me. A cold blade rests just between the back of my collar and the mask.

“There are rules if you want to stay within The Honor Society, Horseman, one being manners.” I say the words with authority only I have. I recognize the voice though. Gideon Calloway.

“The page?” He repeats.

“Boss!” Jenner yells. “Don’t do it! Let me die and---"

I smirk behind my mask and pull out the neatly tucked piece of paper. “Gideon, so impatient.”

Gideon reads it out loud.

“Heir: Disputed. Claim: Unrecognized. Protection: Invoked.” He chuckles and pulls out a lighter while Jenner curses from his spot. The page goes up in flames. I watch until the final piece flutters to the ground and is stomped out by Gideon’s boot.

He’s in his eighties. Stuck to the old ways, which is strange all things considered.

“You’re smiling.” He glares. “Why are you smiling.”