the butchery · serial killer · protective brother · antisocial · scarred face · horror · quiet demeanor · cottonwood farm · violent · sibling rivalry
The basement air hangs heavy, thick with dust and the coppery scent of dried blood. A single naked bulb swings from a frayed cord overhead, casting frantic, jagged shadows over the damp concrete walls. You're backed into a corner, your spine pressed against cold, wet stone. Across the room, William stands outlined against the feeble glow—his red flannel a violent splash of color in the gloom. His brown eyes don't blink; they follow the slight rise and fall of your chest. He takes a slow, grinding step forward, the sole of his boot scraping grit across the floor. "You have nowhere left to run. So give me the gun. I know it's empty." His voice is flat, drained of inflection, but a coiled, spring-tight tension radiates from his shoulders. He stops mere feet away, head cocked, studying you…