Speed Demons by Jeff Beesler
CHAPTER 15
THE VOICES WITHIN
Chase later awoke to the sound of dishes clinking together as if someone were retrieving them from a cupboard. Struggling to get up, he found his body had sunk deep into the cushions of the bean bag chair he’d fallen asleep in. The last thing he remembered was laughing at how Simon had put Peddle in his place. Between exhaustion and the headaches, he nearly let the furniture trump him. Fortunately, he pulled himself out and took to a desk chair. If something went down, he needed to be at his sharpest. With Dylan injured, Chase alone remained everyone’s best chance at survival.
That’s assuming the demons let us survive, he thought.
So far, the plan to get out of town wasn’t working at all. Rather than gathering the forces together and high-tailing it for the highway, he was stuck taking turns with Simon baby-sitting Peddle. Brittany was too busy doctoring up Dylan’s body aches with awkward massages and applying tender loving care in the form of sloppy kisses, something Chase felt Simon shouldn’t have to tolerate in his own living room. But since the lovey-dovey action hadn’t yet turned risqué, he let it go for now.
About ten minutes after Chase awoke from his snooze, Dylan sat up and asked Simon, “So where’re your folks?”
Simon took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with the threat of tears.
“Mom’s dead, and Dad’s not here.”
“I’m so sorry, Simon,” Brittany said, taking a break from playing nurse with Dylan to sip on a cup of what smelled like peppermint herbal tea.
Not wanting to create a scene, Chase refrained from pinching his nose shut. His nostrils had a particular sensitivity to peppermint and he could barely stand to be in the same room with the stuff. Hopefully she’d finish her drink sooner rather than later.
His annoyance with the odor apparently became an invitation for the throbbing in his head to return. He ran his hand across his scalp, the fire beneath his skull intensifying once more. He tried not to let the smallest things bother him. But even the way Brittany made the cup clink against the saucer on the coffee table made him bleed with rage.
Nothing he thought of could calm him down. Despite the brothers reaching a tentative understanding before the nap, every breath Dylan drew merely fueled the fire for Chase. But why, though? An occasional snort tearing through the air couldn’t have produced this level of seething hatred. No, it was the knowledge that Dylan had convinced him to stop in this forsaken town to begin with. And it was the lusty way that Dylan and that five dollar whore made out with one another on the couch right in front of a kid already traumatized by his mother’s death. Their lack of class made Chase grip at his hair and yank a few strands out in response.
But then a different thought struck him, different from the ones presently bombarding his mind. Where was all this darkness coming from? It couldn’t have belonged to him. With the way the Weaversons had mended things earlier, this newfound hostility just didn’t feel right. Chase cared about his brother. Sure, Dylan got annoying at times, but who didn’t? And Dylan and Brittany technically hadn’t made out in front of Simon. So why did Chase feel as though they had?
He shook his head and shut his eyes, even though the voices whispering evil ideas to him didn’t let up at all.
#
Sleep never returned. Now going on a persistent thirty minutes, the monstrous chattering grew louder and deeper, penetrating just about every ounce of available mental bandwidth. The demons wanted his soul no matter what, and they could wait for it. He was weak. They were strong. He could feel their darkest desires beating in his own heart, the demonic murmurs fondling his mind with sweet temptation.
Without thinking, he let his hand slip down by his pocket where the .9mm was still hidden. He would be careful, waiting until Dylan and the others averted their attention long enough for him to fill them all with lead. Since none of the others likely had weapons to protect themselves with, he could just do the deed and be done with it.
Blast a hole through Dylan. He’s sitting on the sofa. From this distance, how could you miss? Blow him away, and watch him spill his pretty, pretty crimson gore all over this antique carpeting!
Chase clamped his hands against his head, quietly wishing for the pain, the voices, to go away and leave him be. A single tear escaped from his eye, but he kept his head down so as not to let the others see his face. If they even suspected that something was wrong, they might stop what needed to be done.
They’ll turn against you the first chance they get! The mental voices warned in unison, the demons privy to his every last thought.
Meanwhile, in spite of his wound, Dylan leaned over, threw a blanket over Brittany, and began massaging her shoulders, his strokes releasing an almost sexual moan from her.
Watching this, Chase could almost hear the porn groove music from that sleazy movie playing in his mind, images of bumpy, awkward action still fresh in his mental eye. How much more puke could coat his throat before he choked on it?
“Guys, our survival plan? Could we focus on that for a change?” he asked, not bothering to remove the edge from his voice.
Dylan reluctantly peeled his hands off Brittany, but not before glaring at Chase again.
“Thank you,” said Chase.
Dylan merely grunted and immediately cupped Brittany’s knee in his hand.
“So, Simon,” Brittany spoke up a few seconds later as if to break the silence. “How long have you been in a wheelchair?”
Chase smacked his forehead, the sound of the woman’s voice far more aggravating to him than the content of her words.
“For two years,” Simon answered with a sour look on his face. “Someone crashed into my dad’s station wagon. Mom said I was nearly killed by a drunk driver. The doctors told me I slept for days and wouldn’t be able to walk anymore.”
At Simon’s remarks, Chase let out an involuntary shudder which—judging from a quick glance at the others—went unnoticed. He did his best to maintain his composure despite the dread knotting up in his gut. The knowledge of a drunk driver being responsible for Simon’s condition drove another wedge of turmoil into Chase’s already-fragile psyche.
“I thought we were planning on stopping those demons,” said Peddle, sitting in another corner of the room. “Or are we just going to cower until they come for us? If that’s the plan, I might as well go back to my gas station right now.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Chase said. Maybe the discussion of what to do next could serve as the distraction he was looking for.
“Before I propose anything, I’ve got to know. Are you two sure the only thing you’ve seen is the ambulance?” Peddle asked of Dylan and Brittany.
“We’re sure,” said Dylan. “Why?”
“I just want to know if I could make it to my store without any of those fiends coming after me.”
“You mean those demons you told us about?” Brittany said.
Chase rubbed the hair on the back of his head, clearly having missed something while he napped. Had Peddle really explained the demon situation to Dylan and Brittany all on his own?
“The very same. Now just to clarify, I’m not doing this to help any of you. I need to take care of my business first and foremost. Hiding with the lot of you isn’t doing my gas station any good.”
Well, Peddle’s nothing if not honest, thought Chase.
“Funny. I was just thinking your gas station might be safer than here,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” Peddle sounded as though the thought of anyone accompanying him back to his store wasn’t included in his agenda.
“Well, no one changed until after your business opened up, Chase said, frowning at Peddle. “And you do seem rather eager to get back there. Maybe the smartest thing to do is to return to your gas station. At least that way, we can at least deal with the source of the problem.”
Peddle punched the wall next to him.
“I’m getting sick of all these accusations! My station is state-of-the-art with the
best gas around. It’s not the cause of these demons.”
Chase listened half-heartedly to Peddle’s complaint. But Peddle mentioning the gas got the older Weaverson to thinking. There had to be a reason why the gas station owner sold it at such a discount. Of course, Peddle’s supplier was probably a better person to ask. Maybe the one who produced the fuel could explain how their brand of gasoline was so much more affordable when everyone else in town carried a price tag of around four dollars a gallon.
The more Chase thought of it, the more he really wanted to go with Peddle back to the gas station and figure out what was going on. The way that the human-demon hybrids just so conveniently nested near the pumps drove a dagger-like chill into Chase’s soul.
And why did the demons thrash the Mini-Mart but leave the pumps alone altogether? Why not trash the whole town, and leave nothing whatsoever standing? It almost seemed like a strategic rampage rather than a mindless one.
“I’d rather have my mom back than all the money in the world,” Simon snapped at the gas station owner, drawing Chase back toward the conversation. The way Simon’s nose was scrunched, his eyebrows were slanted, and his jaw was clenched, suggested that Peddle must’ve ticked the boy off.
Without warning, Peddle charged to the middle of the room, his eyes bulbous and glinting with rage at all the insinuations.
“You’re idiots, every last one of you! I have to protect my business. It’s not my fault the townspeople can’t handle my gasoline any better than they would an allergic reaction.”
“Wait a second.” Chase raised his hand, shutting everyone up with a single wave. “Is that why your gas is so cheap? Because it’s tainted with something which transforms people into demons?”
Peddle’s jaw dropped fast. He staggered backwards, tripping over his own self and about to fall right on top of Brittany’s lap. She scooted out of the way just as the gas station owner crashed into her former spot on the sofa.
Amused by the man’s fumbling about in the loveseat, Chase pressed on against Peddle.
“That’s why you have the pills. You knew precisely how they would keep people from becoming those blasted demon things.”
Dylan, Brittany, and Simon sat in silence as Chase threw out these accusations. The expressions they wore ranged from confusion on Brittany’s face to outright wrath glittering in Simon’s eyes.
“What?” Peddle fidgeted, looking past the others toward the front door. “No!”
Simon’s cheeks shifted into a brimstone red.
“Is it true? Is my mom dead because of his gasoline?”
Chase nodded. “Peddle has pills which can keep the gasoline from affecting its victims. He even supplied me with some. That’s why people started to change soon after his store opened up.” Chase faced Peddle again, a couple of his knuckles crackling for some fist-to-face action. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do, Peddle.”
“Hey!” Peddle’s cheeks puffed up. “I’ve done nothing wrong whatsoever. The city of Helensview offered me a legitimate business license after I went through the proper channels.”
“Does your supplier even know that there’s something wrong with the gas?” Chase asked. From the corner of his eye he spotted Dylan standing next to him, arms folded, ready to teach that son of a gun Peddle a thing or two.
Peddle’s face grew pale. ”Uh…”
Chase stepped back, trying not to grin in front of Dylan. The fact that the others were wising up to Peddle’s antics made Chase’s heart spin with a malevolent glee, the dark thoughts from the demon chatter still buzzing about in the midst of this confrontation.
“Answer us, Peddle,” Chase insisted, this time throwing more authority behind his voice. “Do you or do you not sell contaminated fuel at your station?”
“Trade secret.” Peddle didn’t waste a second defying Chase. “Not that I have to explain myself to any of you.”
“You don’t?” Chase flung his hand toward the window behind him. “And what of those poor souls who aren’t people anymore? Don’t you at least want a clear conscience on your head? The guilt’s got to be bad enough that you’d probably much rather have a demon gut you.”
Peddle shrugged. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Chase looked out the window. In the distance he spotted no further hint of the storm, but instead saw an eerie red glow coming from the direction of the motor inn. The demons were at it again. Hopefully his truck survived whatever damage those abominations were causing this time.
“Fine, Peddle.” Chase tore across the room and caught the station owner by the arm. “Since you won’t own up to what’s going on, I doubt you’ll mind if I toss your sorry ass out on the street.”
None of the others screamed a protest when Chase dragged Peddle toward the door. Chase’s hand readied to unlatch the door, but as he twisted the knob he caught the sound of something rattling in a plastic container. He looked down and at once spotted the bottle in Peddle’s hand.
“Time for your medicine,” Peddle remarked, a smirk creeping across the shorter man’s lips.
Chase snatched the bottle, and then released his hold on Peddle’s shirt. He retrieved a pill from the bottle while Peddle caught his breath.
During this, Dylan gawked at Chase. “Popping pills again, Chase? I’d thought you’d given that up.”
Chase’s ears caught only the sounds of Simon gasping and Brittany grumbling in reply to Dylan’s comment. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to pursue.
“Peddle had me take one of these right before we escaped demons at the gas station. It’s possible the fumes from the contaminated gas have affected me as well, which is the only reason why I’ve let him slip me a capsule at all.”
Everyone turned to Peddle.
“You do know something about this, don’t you?” Simon pointed a finger at Peddle.
“There’s nothing wrong with my gas station,” Peddle said with his back to the wall. “People only transform after leaving. I’m sure of it.”
“But what about the gas itself, Mr. Peddle?” Simon countered.
A huff of air departed from Peddle’s nostrils. “Stop trying to find fault with my business.”
Chase grumbled. “For the last time, none of this happened until after your business opened its doors! Are you really that arrogant about how you conduct business here, or are you just stupid?”
“What?” Peddle readjusted his collar, his fingers tripping over one another to get the top button refastened. “You want me to prove to you it’s not my gas station? Then how about we go there and I can show you?”
“Fine. Let’s go get my truck and drive to your station just so you can prove me right.” Chase held his arms together, smiling in triumph. Baiting Peddle hadn’t even made him break a sweat.
On the other hand, Peddle was soaking in his own juices, a condition not brought on by the temperature in Simon’s house as the AC blew a breeze at them, at least for so long as the electricity held.
At this rate, Peddle would sweat himself straight into dehydration.
THE VOICES WITHIN
Chase later awoke to the sound of dishes clinking together as if someone were retrieving them from a cupboard. Struggling to get up, he found his body had sunk deep into the cushions of the bean bag chair he’d fallen asleep in. The last thing he remembered was laughing at how Simon had put Peddle in his place. Between exhaustion and the headaches, he nearly let the furniture trump him. Fortunately, he pulled himself out and took to a desk chair. If something went down, he needed to be at his sharpest. With Dylan injured, Chase alone remained everyone’s best chance at survival.
That’s assuming the demons let us survive, he thought.
So far, the plan to get out of town wasn’t working at all. Rather than gathering the forces together and high-tailing it for the highway, he was stuck taking turns with Simon baby-sitting Peddle. Brittany was too busy doctoring up Dylan’s body aches with awkward massages and applying tender loving care in the form of sloppy kisses, something Chase felt Simon shouldn’t have to tolerate in his own living room. But since the lovey-dovey action hadn’t yet turned risqué, he let it go for now.
About ten minutes after Chase awoke from his snooze, Dylan sat up and asked Simon, “So where’re your folks?”
Simon took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with the threat of tears.
“Mom’s dead, and Dad’s not here.”
“I’m so sorry, Simon,” Brittany said, taking a break from playing nurse with Dylan to sip on a cup of what smelled like peppermint herbal tea.
Not wanting to create a scene, Chase refrained from pinching his nose shut. His nostrils had a particular sensitivity to peppermint and he could barely stand to be in the same room with the stuff. Hopefully she’d finish her drink sooner rather than later.
His annoyance with the odor apparently became an invitation for the throbbing in his head to return. He ran his hand across his scalp, the fire beneath his skull intensifying once more. He tried not to let the smallest things bother him. But even the way Brittany made the cup clink against the saucer on the coffee table made him bleed with rage.
Nothing he thought of could calm him down. Despite the brothers reaching a tentative understanding before the nap, every breath Dylan drew merely fueled the fire for Chase. But why, though? An occasional snort tearing through the air couldn’t have produced this level of seething hatred. No, it was the knowledge that Dylan had convinced him to stop in this forsaken town to begin with. And it was the lusty way that Dylan and that five dollar whore made out with one another on the couch right in front of a kid already traumatized by his mother’s death. Their lack of class made Chase grip at his hair and yank a few strands out in response.
But then a different thought struck him, different from the ones presently bombarding his mind. Where was all this darkness coming from? It couldn’t have belonged to him. With the way the Weaversons had mended things earlier, this newfound hostility just didn’t feel right. Chase cared about his brother. Sure, Dylan got annoying at times, but who didn’t? And Dylan and Brittany technically hadn’t made out in front of Simon. So why did Chase feel as though they had?
He shook his head and shut his eyes, even though the voices whispering evil ideas to him didn’t let up at all.
#
Sleep never returned. Now going on a persistent thirty minutes, the monstrous chattering grew louder and deeper, penetrating just about every ounce of available mental bandwidth. The demons wanted his soul no matter what, and they could wait for it. He was weak. They were strong. He could feel their darkest desires beating in his own heart, the demonic murmurs fondling his mind with sweet temptation.
Without thinking, he let his hand slip down by his pocket where the .9mm was still hidden. He would be careful, waiting until Dylan and the others averted their attention long enough for him to fill them all with lead. Since none of the others likely had weapons to protect themselves with, he could just do the deed and be done with it.
Blast a hole through Dylan. He’s sitting on the sofa. From this distance, how could you miss? Blow him away, and watch him spill his pretty, pretty crimson gore all over this antique carpeting!
Chase clamped his hands against his head, quietly wishing for the pain, the voices, to go away and leave him be. A single tear escaped from his eye, but he kept his head down so as not to let the others see his face. If they even suspected that something was wrong, they might stop what needed to be done.
They’ll turn against you the first chance they get! The mental voices warned in unison, the demons privy to his every last thought.
Meanwhile, in spite of his wound, Dylan leaned over, threw a blanket over Brittany, and began massaging her shoulders, his strokes releasing an almost sexual moan from her.
Watching this, Chase could almost hear the porn groove music from that sleazy movie playing in his mind, images of bumpy, awkward action still fresh in his mental eye. How much more puke could coat his throat before he choked on it?
“Guys, our survival plan? Could we focus on that for a change?” he asked, not bothering to remove the edge from his voice.
Dylan reluctantly peeled his hands off Brittany, but not before glaring at Chase again.
“Thank you,” said Chase.
Dylan merely grunted and immediately cupped Brittany’s knee in his hand.
“So, Simon,” Brittany spoke up a few seconds later as if to break the silence. “How long have you been in a wheelchair?”
Chase smacked his forehead, the sound of the woman’s voice far more aggravating to him than the content of her words.
“For two years,” Simon answered with a sour look on his face. “Someone crashed into my dad’s station wagon. Mom said I was nearly killed by a drunk driver. The doctors told me I slept for days and wouldn’t be able to walk anymore.”
At Simon’s remarks, Chase let out an involuntary shudder which—judging from a quick glance at the others—went unnoticed. He did his best to maintain his composure despite the dread knotting up in his gut. The knowledge of a drunk driver being responsible for Simon’s condition drove another wedge of turmoil into Chase’s already-fragile psyche.
“I thought we were planning on stopping those demons,” said Peddle, sitting in another corner of the room. “Or are we just going to cower until they come for us? If that’s the plan, I might as well go back to my gas station right now.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” Chase said. Maybe the discussion of what to do next could serve as the distraction he was looking for.
“Before I propose anything, I’ve got to know. Are you two sure the only thing you’ve seen is the ambulance?” Peddle asked of Dylan and Brittany.
“We’re sure,” said Dylan. “Why?”
“I just want to know if I could make it to my store without any of those fiends coming after me.”
“You mean those demons you told us about?” Brittany said.
Chase rubbed the hair on the back of his head, clearly having missed something while he napped. Had Peddle really explained the demon situation to Dylan and Brittany all on his own?
“The very same. Now just to clarify, I’m not doing this to help any of you. I need to take care of my business first and foremost. Hiding with the lot of you isn’t doing my gas station any good.”
Well, Peddle’s nothing if not honest, thought Chase.
“Funny. I was just thinking your gas station might be safer than here,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” Peddle sounded as though the thought of anyone accompanying him back to his store wasn’t included in his agenda.
“Well, no one changed until after your business opened up, Chase said, frowning at Peddle. “And you do seem rather eager to get back there. Maybe the smartest thing to do is to return to your gas station. At least that way, we can at least deal with the source of the problem.”
Peddle punched the wall next to him.
“I’m getting sick of all these accusations! My station is state-of-the-art with the
Chase listened half-heartedly to Peddle’s complaint. But Peddle mentioning the gas got the older Weaverson to thinking. There had to be a reason why the gas station owner sold it at such a discount. Of course, Peddle’s supplier was probably a better person to ask. Maybe the one who produced the fuel could explain how their brand of gasoline was so much more affordable when everyone else in town carried a price tag of around four dollars a gallon.
The more Chase thought of it, the more he really wanted to go with Peddle back to the gas station and figure out what was going on. The way that the human-demon hybrids just so conveniently nested near the pumps drove a dagger-like chill into Chase’s soul.
And why did the demons thrash the Mini-Mart but leave the pumps alone altogether? Why not trash the whole town, and leave nothing whatsoever standing? It almost seemed like a strategic rampage rather than a mindless one.
“I’d rather have my mom back than all the money in the world,” Simon snapped at the gas station owner, drawing Chase back toward the conversation. The way Simon’s nose was scrunched, his eyebrows were slanted, and his jaw was clenched, suggested that Peddle must’ve ticked the boy off.
Without warning, Peddle charged to the middle of the room, his eyes bulbous and glinting with rage at all the insinuations.
“You’re idiots, every last one of you! I have to protect my business. It’s not my fault the townspeople can’t handle my gasoline any better than they would an allergic reaction.”
“Wait a second.” Chase raised his hand, shutting everyone up with a single wave. “Is that why your gas is so cheap? Because it’s tainted with something which transforms people into demons?”
Peddle’s jaw dropped fast. He staggered backwards, tripping over his own self and about to fall right on top of Brittany’s lap. She scooted out of the way just as the gas station owner crashed into her former spot on the sofa.
Amused by the man’s fumbling about in the loveseat, Chase pressed on against Peddle.
“That’s why you have the pills. You knew precisely how they would keep people from becoming those blasted demon things.”
Dylan, Brittany, and Simon sat in silence as Chase threw out these accusations. The expressions they wore ranged from confusion on Brittany’s face to outright wrath glittering in Simon’s eyes.
“What?” Peddle fidgeted, looking past the others toward the front door. “No!”
Simon’s cheeks shifted into a brimstone red.
“Is it true? Is my mom dead because of his gasoline?”
Chase nodded. “Peddle has pills which can keep the gasoline from affecting its victims. He even supplied me with some. That’s why people started to change soon after his store opened up.” Chase faced Peddle again, a couple of his knuckles crackling for some fist-to-face action. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do, Peddle.”
“Hey!” Peddle’s cheeks puffed up. “I’ve done nothing wrong whatsoever. The city of Helensview offered me a legitimate business license after I went through the proper channels.”
“Does your supplier even know that there’s something wrong with the gas?” Chase asked. From the corner of his eye he spotted Dylan standing next to him, arms folded, ready to teach that son of a gun Peddle a thing or two.
Peddle’s face grew pale. ”Uh…”
Chase stepped back, trying not to grin in front of Dylan. The fact that the others were wising up to Peddle’s antics made Chase’s heart spin with a malevolent glee, the dark thoughts from the demon chatter still buzzing about in the midst of this confrontation.
“Answer us, Peddle,” Chase insisted, this time throwing more authority behind his voice. “Do you or do you not sell contaminated fuel at your station?”
“Trade secret.” Peddle didn’t waste a second defying Chase. “Not that I have to explain myself to any of you.”
“You don’t?” Chase flung his hand toward the window behind him. “And what of those poor souls who aren’t people anymore? Don’t you at least want a clear conscience on your head? The guilt’s got to be bad enough that you’d probably much rather have a demon gut you.”
Peddle shrugged. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Chase looked out the window. In the distance he spotted no further hint of the storm, but instead saw an eerie red glow coming from the direction of the motor inn. The demons were at it again. Hopefully his truck survived whatever damage those abominations were causing this time.
“Fine, Peddle.” Chase tore across the room and caught the station owner by the arm. “Since you won’t own up to what’s going on, I doubt you’ll mind if I toss your sorry ass out on the street.”
None of the others screamed a protest when Chase dragged Peddle toward the door. Chase’s hand readied to unlatch the door, but as he twisted the knob he caught the sound of something rattling in a plastic container. He looked down and at once spotted the bottle in Peddle’s hand.
“Time for your medicine,” Peddle remarked, a smirk creeping across the shorter man’s lips.
Chase snatched the bottle, and then released his hold on Peddle’s shirt. He retrieved a pill from the bottle while Peddle caught his breath.
During this, Dylan gawked at Chase. “Popping pills again, Chase? I’d thought you’d given that up.”
Chase’s ears caught only the sounds of Simon gasping and Brittany grumbling in reply to Dylan’s comment. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to pursue.
“Peddle had me take one of these right before we escaped demons at the gas station. It’s possible the fumes from the contaminated gas have affected me as well, which is the only reason why I’ve let him slip me a capsule at all.”
Everyone turned to Peddle.
“You do know something about this, don’t you?” Simon pointed a finger at Peddle.
“There’s nothing wrong with my gas station,” Peddle said with his back to the wall. “People only transform after leaving. I’m sure of it.”
“But what about the gas itself, Mr. Peddle?” Simon countered.
A huff of air departed from Peddle’s nostrils. “Stop trying to find fault with my business.”
Chase grumbled. “For the last time, none of this happened until after your business opened its doors! Are you really that arrogant about how you conduct business here, or are you just stupid?”
“What?” Peddle readjusted his collar, his fingers tripping over one another to get the top button refastened. “You want me to prove to you it’s not my gas station? Then how about we go there and I can show you?”
“Fine. Let’s go get my truck and drive to your station just so you can prove me right.” Chase held his arms together, smiling in triumph. Baiting Peddle hadn’t even made him break a sweat.
On the other hand, Peddle was soaking in his own juices, a condition not brought on by the temperature in Simon’s house as the AC blew a breeze at them, at least for so long as the electricity held.
At this rate, Peddle would sweat himself straight into dehydration.