CHAPTER NINE
The basement where he sat was cold, quiet, and still. The perfect environment for cleaning up and preparing for the next one.
No one would disturb him down here. Why would they? And even if they did, he would hear their steps on the stairs, hear the door above opening, and have plenty of time to put away what he was working on.
He dipped the rag into the laundry room sink again, taking in more of the pink-stained water and then rubbing it carefully over the next part of the sickle blade. Each single speck of blood had to be cleansed and removed, leaving the sickle as spotless and shining as it had been when he first got it. It was slow work, but he didn’t mind. It was worth it, to keep the blade as strong and righteous as it needed to be.
That’s right, she said, in that way she had. The way that wasn’t out loud. It was inside the chambers of his head, echoing, telling him all he needed to know in the clearest of terms. Make sure you get all of it.
“What’s next on the agenda?” he asked, dipping the cloth again. He eyed the rest of his setup. The polishing cloth and whetting stone were ready for him. She would know he didn’t mean which step was next in cleaning and polishing the scythe. It was a broader question that he asked. She’d never had any trouble understanding what he meant when he spoke to her. It was like she could hear his thoughts as well as sending him her own.
You’ve done so well already, she said. But there must be more. We have only just begun.
“I know that,” he replied. “I’m ready. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down. No matter how many of them it takes, I’m willing to get it done.”
Are you ready to take another as soon as tomorrow? Even tonight?
“Of course.” He put down the cleaning rag for a moment, intending to show just how serious he was. “Whatever you need me to do, whoever you think should be next. I’ll follow your lead. Even if I have to take out a kid, I’ll do it. I promise.”
That won’t be necessary.
“Not ever?”
Not yet.
He thought about that, turning it over in his mind.
“Well,” he said, at last, reaching for the cleaning rag again, “I’m ready. I mean it. I’m as committed to this as you are.”
He felt her amusement, even though she didn’t say anything at first. It was like a warmth spreading over him. She didn’t think he could possibly be committed to the same level as she was, but she appreciated him saying it all the same.
There’s another one you should focus on next, she said. I’ll guide you to them. You must end them. End the line. Finish this. There’s still such a long way to go. We can’t afford to get distracted now.
“I know,” he said, cleaning the last drop of blood completely off the blade. He took the cleaning rag and dumped it into an empty metal bin, where he could burn it later when it had dried off. Once that was gone, along with the polishing cloth, there would only be the blade itself to incriminate him.
Not that he really minded if people knew he’d done it. He was philosophical about that. As far as he was concerned, he was a hero. Doing what needed to be done. They would probably write songs about him.
He just needed to keep getting away with it until he’d finished the job—or there wouldn’t be anything to sing about at all.
“Tell me where to go next,” he said, picking up the scythe and laying the blade against the whetstone, ready to get it sharp enough to kill.