LET THE HURRICANE SET IN MOTION
He thrives on order and control; Patrick's death has plunged his life into chaos. There's no way to predict and control others, no way he could have prevented the catastrophe that had left him hospitalized, that had nearly killed
him, and it's more stress than he needs.
He imagines the tension in the air when he enters the pub, imagines their eyes on him to be judgemental and suspicious. He trusts few, closer to none, and a scowl adorns his lips as he sweeps toward the back room without a word to any of them.
He hopes they fear him. He hopes they've all watched the news, heard of the disappearance, put the pieces together and formed murder. He wants them to know what happens to those who stand in his way.
Of the few he trusts, Caleb is not one of them. Yet.
He's early to their meeting, always early, for he likes to ensure he's always the first one there. It sets a standard and reminds him of his grandfather, of his omnipresence, the feeling that he was always right around the corner and ready to punish any wrong-doings. It's strange to think that he's gone, that man who'd been so influential in his life.
"Shut the door," he instructs when it opens, offering not a smile but a cold and scrutinizing stare. "Lock it. Did anyone see you come in?"