Chapter Six

by Lala Corriere

Harlow Breck took stock of his reflection in the broken mirror that hung above his mother’s antique sewing table. His salt and pepper hair made him look older than his years, as did the wire-rimmed glasses he wore but didn’t need.

                Hal. Good Old Hal. That’s how the town knew him. They didn’t know he was Harlow the Horrible. That very thought caused a smirk to smear across his face. He caught it in time, like always. With one final glance in the mirror,  he replaced the smirk with a gentle smile. A Good Old Hal smile.

                The Horrible left his mother’s house and crossed toward the shed at a calculated pace. Although the remote twenty acres had razor-wire fencing, he took no chances. The only thing he trusted was that no one could see the rapid beat of his heart. The Horrible was happy.

                Unlocking the shed, he quickly prepared for company. The Trio of Evil. Delicious. Beyond the workbench and the pegboard of hand tools, The Horrible cleared away the stacked boxes that concealed the second locked door. He punched in the code on the security keypad, touching each of the buttons as if there were delicate pink tea rose petals.

                Deep inside the womb of the shed, he was now free to let go his racing and raging urges. He grabbed the three director’s chairs and set them up to form a perfect tight circle. He counted the black trash bags. Ten of them. All sealed and bound with silver duct tape. No fingerprints. Sheriff Harvey liked it that way.

                The Horrible slowed down long enough to measure out the perfect amount of coffee. He and the sheriff would take it black, and strong. David, who would run the meeting, required his favorite bourbon, and poured in the Baccarat cut crystal glass. Spoiled little ass, The Horrible thought as he took in a deep breath.

                Five minutes and the men would be there. Their meeting would commence on time. And they had an agenda, like any civil corporate assembly. The Horrible wanted to burn things. The men would respect his desires. It had been way too long since he had enjoyed a good bonfire.

                With a gift of time, for he was always early for these special sessions, The Horrible opened the third door and walked into the rear of the shed. It had once housed his mother’s John Deere tractor. Now it housed her bones. He liked it that way, even though the Sheriff and David argued their cases to get rid of them. He liked having Mommy nearby.