University – and reason – had bred religion out of him. Plus he’d seen its weakness in his dad, doing nothing to stop against the drink, and all the clichéd crap it brought. His father’s job had been his life, and any failure in that meant his life was over. That was how he’d felt. And he’d never hit Scott, nor his mother. But Scott had always felt as if he was waiting.

Maybe he’d been waiting for this. To be put in his place.

No. That couldn’t be right.

Be right, as if there was a plan, and yet he couldn’t deny the allure right now. All his sensibilities were for the physical, the tactile world and inferences made on evidence; he sometimes wished he’d become a professor, or perhaps studied archaeology, but he truly enjoyed teaching secondary school. That was why he’d resisted taking on head-of-year positions; he relished focusing on his class.

You’re a bitter failure. They can tell how evil you are–

His phone rang.

Casey.

Maybe he wouldn’t answer. But what if that spurred her to send another photo?

“Hello.”

“Hey, sweetie. Are you going to be much longer?”

“I’m on my way home.”

“Excellent! I thought you might like to make dinner tonight. I’ve already bought all the ingredients. But you don’t have to.”

As if he was going to believe that. “I’d love to.”

“I knew you would. Just don’t be longer than an hour, okay? I might get bored and start looking for things to do.”

Scott picked up his pace; he hadn’t missed the warning.

12

CASEY

Casey knew Scott had been up to something. Maybe he was thinking of a way to fight back.

Fight back like teddies an army with swords in their hands and Goliath is looming his shadow and his voice is booming and–

Casey took a moment to compose herself as Scott walked through the kitchen door.

Her focus was sharp, like a lance, but her horse was unsteady; she thought that made sense. She almost laughed. She’d rolled Gorilla Glue and then two sativa-dominant strains, Lemon Haze and Stardawg into a big chunky joint, with just enough tobacco to make it burn nicely. She’d achieved exactly the effect she wanted.

She was always in control. Had been ever since the iron. A snake goes hiss, now give me a kiss. She paced over to Scott; her mind annoyed her sometimes.

As she patted him down head to toe – she wouldn’t let him record her; she hated being filmed – she wondered what pathetic plan he’d concocted. Whatever it was, it would fail.

She had the kill switch. She could erase his entire life with the push of a button. She had the nuclear motherfucking codes. So let him try. See if it worked. It would only make it more fun; that was the point, the only truly honest thing in this world.

The pursuit of something other than… than the emptiness, the death in the puddle which stares at a person as they are standing still, leaking memories which were never formed, experiences never lived. Casey was not like other people.