by Johnny Compton
“You see that?” Randolph asked, referring to the dingy shard of bone within the bag. “Recognize it?”
Before Kyle could answer, a thump sounded through the ceiling.
Randolph looked up but kept the gun aimed at Kyle’s face. “Hanna? Is that you? It’s ten o’clock, I figured you’d be asleep by now. Why don’t you come downstairs–?”
“Hanna stay up there!” Kyle shouted. “Randolph’s down here with a gun and he’s lost his mind.?”
A second later, the red light on the base of the kitchen phone blinked.
“You’re going to call the police?” Randolph asked Hanna. “Go right ahead. I’m sure they’d be as interested as I am to know where you’re keeping the bodies.”