The house is quiet. There’s no movement behind the windows. I stand with the gas can and wonder if maybe that’s not his car after all, and maybe he’s not around—or maybe he’s escaping out the back. It doesn’t matter. Blair knocks again, rings the bell, and keeps on knocking and shouting, until eventually there’s a sound from inside, like a human pretending to be a barking dog.
It’s maybe the most pathetic noise I’ve ever heard. Is he really that desperate not to see us right now? He’s willing to pretend to be a dog to make us go away?
“We know it’s you, Cowan,” I say and squint at the window. A pair of eyes stare back at me through a gap in the blinds before disappearing. “Open the fuck up, I see you peeking.”
The door finally swings wide and there he is, standing behind the barred storm gate. He looks bewildered, disheveled, in a white tank top, white high socks, and a pair of boxer shorts. His legs are skinny and covered in white hair, and his arms are frail and wrinkled. “What the hell are you doing here? I’m editing!”
“We have to talk,” Blair says and rattles the gate. “Open up.”
“No. Go away.”
I hold up the gas cannister. “We can talk or I can pour this all over your exterior and light it up with you inside. Either way, I’m happy.”
He glares at me. “You wouldn’t.”
“I fucking would. After what you put us through? You more than deserve it. Open the gate, asshole.”
There’s a moment where it all hangs in the air and I’m not sure if Cowan is capable of bowing to the pressure, but finally he grunts and turns a knob, opening a lock, and stomps back inside.
Blair winks at me and follows him.
The interior is empty. No furniture, no nothing. Boxes are stacked all over, like the kind of boxes you’d see in an office setting. I don’t have time to glance through them, but I’d bet anything they’re research for his little revenge films. At this point, we know about at least four other victims, with us being the fifth, and a sixth plan already in motion. Blair’s father has been exceedingly helpful in all this, especially in tracking down Kenny and bribing the kid with promises of better jobs in Hollywood and access to Alexander’s connections if only he helps. Kenny seemed eager enough, and it makes sense if even half of the horrible claims the kid made are true. He probably would’ve done it for free.
“What do you two want?” Cowan snaps as he disappears into a back room. “I am very busy. Very busy. Our business is concluded and I did not expect to see or hear from either of you ever again.”
“I didn’t plan on talking to you ever again, but then we found out some interesting things,” Blair says, taking the lead. “For example, your little bullshit stunt with us? That’s not the first time you did something like that.”
He grunts like he couldn’t care less. He sits down behind a desk in a cramped room, surrounded by reels and reels of film, and leans forward as he rubs his face. A computer monitor has stills from what looks like a security camera, and I vaguely recognize Blair’s back and the outside of that creepy farmhouse. The fucker really was just messing with us and had cameras all over the place. The goddamn prick. He faked the whole serial killer thing just to get a rise out of us.
“What is your point? I told you, I am busy. Please, go away and let me work.”
“You’ve been hurting people, haven’t you? Not just us, but others like us.” Blair stands and stares down at him with her hands on her hips, and she looks intimidating. At least, I wouldn’t fuck with her.
Mostly because I love her more than I ever thought possible, but still.
“Again, I do not see your point, and I do not care what it is.”
“You have to stop.” Blair’s voice is sharp, angry. “You have to stop now. And you have to destroy all the footage you took of us. This is your only chance to do the right thing.”
He laughs once. “No, thank you. Sue me.”
“We could,” I say, tilting my head. “Or we could do something more dramatic.”
I open the gas can and splash the nearby film cannisters. Cowan jumps to his feet, hands flying to his head as he pulls his hair. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Something dramatic,” Blair says, grinning as she saunters past me. I splash more gasoline into Cowan’s cutting room, making sure I cover more of the film cannisters. If I know my stuff, and I really do, the vintage film he’s using will beextremelyflammable. We probably don’t need the gas but it’s a good effect.
“You’ve ruined it!” Cowan screams. I begin walking backwards, glugging out more gas as I go. I make sure to splash some into every room we pass. “What are you doing, you freaks? You’re making a mess, stop that!”
“Should we stop?” Blair asks me.
“I really don’t want to.”
She sighs. “All right, if you insist.” She cackles as she moves into the living room. “I told you, Cowan, that was your only chance to do the right thing. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“You bastards! You sick bastards!” Cowan comes charging at me, but slips on the gas and staggers. All I need to do is push him to the side and he goes crashing into a stack of boxes against the wall, tangling himself up in the papers and photographs. He groans and tries to get up, and he looks pathetic, struggling to get purchase on the slick cardboard.
I toss more gas onto the steps. I don’t want to see what’s upstairs, but it’ll burn like everything else. Although—