Vicious Signed Paperback

“Pass me the shovel.” I gesture to Finn as I stare into the shallow grave. The smell of decay rises up to greet us. Recent rainfall has caused the grave to sink in further. Coming here tonight was the right thing to do. If we left it any longer, the body would be exposed.

“I can’t do this.”

“You will do this.” I glare at Finn to drive my words home, and he’s shaking his head like he has options.

Sinking to his hunkers, he runs both hands down his face, like he can erase what he’s seeing. “That’s Siobhan’s aunt.”

His eyes are glued to the grave. Regret at bringing him here is starting to slowly raise its head. Finn and Darragh, who are the youngest of us brothers, have it way too easy. They were born with silver spoons in their mouths. So right now, I just want to dirty Finn’s hands a little bit. The idea is giving me far too much joy.

“I don’t really care who it is. Now pass me the shovel.”

Finn gets up and takes both shovels that lean against the boot of my Mercedes. His steps are careful across the bog. The land we purchased was deliberate. A bog is ideal for what we’re currently doing.

The lights from my car shine on the ground and stop just at the grave. The sun is nearly gone, and soon, the car will be our only source of light, so I want this done before that happens. Once the shovel is in my hand, I start to dig. Finn stands still, leaning against his shovel, watching me.

“Finn,” I warn, and he starts to dig. It doesn’t take us long before all the clay is off the body. Wildlife have gotten to her. We wrapped her in plastic, but her head hangs out, her neck twisted at an awkward angle. Finn turns away and gags repeatedly. His early dinner splashes on the mud and on his shoes.

“You’ll take off your shoes before you get back into my car,” I warn him. Holding my breath, I pull the body fully out of the grave. We need to dig deeper. We buried her in a panic in a shallow grave.

“You’re heartless.” Finn wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Who was the one who bashed her head in?” I question, and his eyes shift away from me. “You had one job, Finn—to keep an eye on Darragh. But you couldn’t do that could you?”

His head snaps up, his eyes bulging. “I’m not his fucking babysitter.”

“That’s exactly what you are,” I remind him. “If you hadn’t been lying with that girl, none of this would have happened.”

“Shane, don’t bring her into this.” He’s taking a step toward me. I’m not threatened by him. My shovel sinks into the wet ground easily, and I start digging, ending our pointless conversation.

We work in silence and once the grave is deep enough, I dump the body in. Finn looks away in horror, and I suppress a smile.

“Jesus. We should say a prayer.”

Prayer? Like that will bring her back. I leave Finn to say his prayers. The heavy plastic that I pull off the dead animal releases a smell and a swarm of flies. I turn my head to the left to avoid a mouthful of them.

“Finn,” I call. His low words cease, and he tuts before he joins me. I’ve already tied ropes around the front of the cow’s legs. It’s an odd-colored cow. Black, white, and red—a mixed breed. Not that it matters. I pick one of the ropes up and hand the other to Finn. He’s gawking at me, and I exhale loudly.

“We use the cow to cover the body, so if anyone digs, they hit the cow first and don’t bother digging any further,” I tell him and start pulling. He doesn’t say anything but pulls too. It’s heavier than I expected, but we manage to get the cow into the grave. We push it in on top of the body, and the impact is loud.

“Did you hear something break?” I ask Finn, and his eyes narrow.

“Are you fucking joking?” He has no sense of humor.

We finish off by covering the body with clay just as the sun sets. I close the boot once everything is cleaned up and stop Finn from climbing into my car.

“Remove your shoes.” I didn’t forget him retching on them. He shakes his head but kicks them off. They join the rest of the stuff in the boot.

“I need my bed,” Finn says, closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. The first pitter-patter of rain hits the windshield as I start the car.

Leaving the bog, I then drive home to the Whitewood house.