The Enemy Lives Next Door (bxb)

Part Nineteen - Part One

Part Nineteen - Part One

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I sit in the dimly lit office chair in my brother's room, the darkness pressing in around me like a heavy shroud. Whiskers, Mrs. Blackwell's cat, purrs contentedly on my lap, the soft rumble of his satisfaction mingling with the ominous ticking of the clock on the wall. The rhythmic pulse of the clock seems to sync with the mounting tension in the room.

The doorknob rattles, the sound jarring in the stillness, and the door creaks open with a reluctant groan. Gale steps inside, his movements slow and deliberate, like someone trying to avoid making any sudden noise in a precarious situation. His shoulders are hunched, and he sighs heavily, the weight of the day evident in the way he closes the door behind him. When he flicks the light switch, his eyes immediately lock onto me, and his face drains of color.

"What the hell, Dale!" Gale's voice cracks as he clutches his chest, his breath catching in his throat. "How did you get in here? I locked the door!"

I remain seated, my gaze steady and unwavering. My fingers continue to trace the velvety fur of Whiskers, who shifts restlessly, his small claws kneading my leg as if sensing the change in the atmosphere. "Mhmm," I hum, a dismissive note in my tone. "We've been expecting you, Gale. Nice to finally have you in our presence."

Gale's eyes narrow, frustration and confusion etched deeply into his features. He throws his hands up in exasperation, the gesture dramatic and full of defeat. "You can't keep doing this!" he exclaims, his voice rising in volume. "Breaking into my room is burglary, and stealing Mrs. Blackwell's cat is just too much!"

I roll my eyes slowly, the motion deliberate and filled with annoyance. "That's not the point," I reply coolly, my voice icy as I continue to stroke Whiskers's fur. The cat's purring becomes a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to Gale's rising agitation. "The information I've gathered has piqued my interest. I can't say this will end well for you."

"I don't care!" Gale's face flushes with anger, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His frustration is palpable as he tries to steady his voice. "You've got a cat problem. Let it go, and then we can discuss whatever you want."

Whiskers, sensing the rising tension, suddenly leaps from my lap with a jolt. His departure is abrupt, and he darts across the room, disappearing under a nearby chair with a soft rustle. The sudden movement only heightens the tension in the room.

Gale stands near the door, his posture defensive as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Now you can leave," he says, his politeness strained and brittle. "And don't come back where you don't belong."

I reach behind the chair and retrieve the machete, its cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of the cat's fur. The blade feels heavy in my hand, its weight a tangible reminder of the threat it represents. I rise slowly, the blade scraping against the wooden floor as I move toward him. Gale's eyes widen in terror, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts as he presses his back against the wall with a muted thud.

He raises his hands in a trembling gesture of surrender. "You're crazy," he whispers, his voice quivering. A cruel smile spreads across my face as I let the blade catch the light, casting a sharp, glinting reflection.

"What did you find out that's so bad?" I ask, my tone dripping with menace, the edge of the blade reflecting in Gale's wide eyes.

Gale shrugs, uncertainty etched on his face. His gaze flickers nervously around the room, searching for an escape. "I don't know. Just stop messing with my plans. I didn't realize it was this serious."

I step closer, the blade now pressing lightly against his neck. His skin prickles under the cold steel, and his breath quickens to a frantic pace. "That's not your concern," I growl, my voice low and menacing. "Now you'll stop setting Liam up with girls, or I'll slit your throat."

Gale's eyes dart around, his body trembling as he nods rapidly. His voice is barely more than a whisper, strained and desperate. "Okay, okay. I'll stop. Just put the knife down."

I retract the blade, the metal gleaming ominously as I lower it. Gale slumps against the wall, relief washing over him as he struggles to regain his composure. "This is not normal," he mutters, his voice quivering with fear. "You're scaring me. And Mom—Dale wants to kill me with a machete! Help!"

I let out a snicker, the sound sharp and filled with dark amusement. "Wow, what a pathetic human being you are," I say, my voice cutting through the air with a sharp edge. "Mom's not going to save you. She's too busy glued to her soap operas."

Gale glares at me, desperation evident in his eyes. "Okay, can you please leave now?" he pleads, his voice barely audible. "I need to process what just happened."

I nod curtly and turn toward the door. I grasp the doorknob and twist it, but not before casting one last glance at Gale. "And don't try anything stupid," I warn, my voice a deadly whisper. "Or this machete will be inserted into your anus. No fucking lube, Gale, so you'll die a slow, excruciating death."

Gale's head bobs up and down in a frantic nod, his movements jerky and desperate. "Yeah, totally. I got it. Your message is received, and I will do as you say."

I flash him a sharp, satisfied grin. "Glad to see we're on the same page!" I give him one final nod before stepping out of his room. As the door clicks shut behind me, I hear Gale's frustrated groan, a small victory in my arsenal.

In the hallway, I pause, listening to Gale's muffled curses and the thud of him kicking his dresser in frustration. A quiet chuckle escapes me, the sound soft but filled with satisfaction.

Good. He should be scared. Maybe now he'll think twice before crossing me again.

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