I followed through with what I said I’d do.
It didn’t take long to locate Will’s family. Luckily for me, he didn’t like to keep his crazy to himself. He had a number of online blogs, all using his full name. He didn’t seem too concerned with the safety of his family, as their names came up several times in the course of his insane ramblings. He didn’t seem to hold much love for any of them, but I was broken and hateful, and I wouldn’t let that stop me.
At this point, it wasn’t about hurting Will. It was about avenging Phillip. It was about justice, so twisted and corrupt that it no longer resembled justice at all. It was only justice to me.
I packed a few belongings and drove across the state. It was so easy to find their address, Will had posted it all over his damn blogs. I had a few changes of clothes, some toiletries, and cash. When I arrived a few hours later to their shitty little town, I stopped at the local hardware store to get what I needed: rope, knives, gasoline, matches…I had already brought along my gun for safe measure.
I know, I know. You buy these things in a small town, it’s almost a guarantee that you’ll get pinned for what you did. Especially if it was gonna make the news like I hoped it would. But I was planning on being caught.
I decided to stake out their house for a few days. I needed to be familiar enough with their movements to close in effectively. I didn’t bother with a hotel room – I slept in a car outside their house. They lived in an even shittier part of that shit-hole town, so I guessed that suspicious vehicles were common and wouldn’t be reported. I guessed right.
As I watched the next day, I confirmed it was Will’s family. Of course, I could only go off his descriptions of them, as he hadn’t posted pictures, but I could feel deep down that it was them.
First, I saw a man, around 50 years old, stumbling up to the house around ten in the morning. Drunk as all hell. He was heavy-set with long, greasy hair. He shouted as he crashed through the front door.
His father, Marcellus.
Later that day, a woman who looked slightly younger. She wasn’t just heavy-set, she was a veritable mammoth, waddling about on her stumpy legs. I’m not sure where she went, with her face caked with makeup and a stained dress practically painted on her body.
His mother, Candice.
And finally, the one I had been waiting for. He stepped out of the house, a thin frame with unkempt hair and dark, deep-set eyes. He couldn’t have been more than eight, although Will insisted in his blogs that he was 12.
That’s right. Will had a younger brother, too. Thomas.
I felt my hatred burn when I saw Thomas stepping out the door. I should have looked at him closer that day, but all I could think of was my own brother, how he should be alive, how he should be happy instead of these shitty people. I strengthened my resolve as Thomas slunk back into the house at the call of his drunken father.
I was going to torture Thomas. In front of his family.