black restaurant, each succeeding
When he made it to the atrium, she knew she’d been right.
The Inn’s grand front doors stood open.
Vera eventually made it to the floodlit front cul-de-sac. And what she saw was this:
Feldspar shuddering, on his knees…
And a silhouetted figure wielding what appeared to be a sledgehammer up at the front door’s transom…
Vera felt drunk, insane, and unreal all at the same time.
She recognized the hammer-wielding figure…
“Paul!” she shrieked.
“
And Vera screamed again herself: “Paul!”
He held the sledge at its downswing, sweating, maniacal, ugly. His hair was sticking up, and he grimaced at her, then shouted in reply: “Get out of here!”
“But—Paul! I—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT, GODDAMN IT! GET
Tears flowed, her throat swelled shut—
Vera gulped, swallowed tears—
“GET THE GODDAMN FUCKING HELL OUT OF HERE, GODDAMN YOU!” Paul shouted one last time.
Then:
Vera turned around, went back into The Inn, and began to run…
— | — | —
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“How do you like that shit, you bald fuck!”
Paul felt high he was so charged up. Who knew what would happen, but what did that matter? At least he’d get his digs in.…
He swung the long, hickory-handled sledgehammer ever upward at The Inn’s ornate granite transom—
—bringing its butt, steel face as hard as he could against the inordinately large amethyst set into the stone mount.
Feldspar remained whimpering on his knees at the entry.
Then, finally:
The amethyst popped out of the transom mount and clacked to the second step of The Inn’s front stairs.
“Magwyth, huh?” Paul cackled. He raised the sledge high. “Well you can stick your bald head between your legs and kiss your ass good-bye—”
