Part of Chase heard and agreed with this. Peddle’s defiance showed no hint of letting up. If the Weaversons and Simon were going to survive this, they’d have to do so without Peddle.
“I sure hope he doesn’t say another word. The feeling I got from the paramedic I’d cured suggests that those humans-turned-demons know precisely what they’re doing.” Chase lowered his head slightly, making sure Peddle caught sight of his glare. “And if that’s the case, I know exactly who I’ll be hunting when I turn.”
“Enough!” Peddle roared to where his voice nearly shook plaster off the ceiling, his whole body shaking violently.
Chase smirked at Peddle. “Well?”
Initially, Peddle opened his mouth to say something. But then he swallowed hard, his face turning a faint shade of green. A second later, vomit erupted from him, spilling out onto his loafers and fouling the air with a rich stink.
So much for the water helping him out, thought Chase.
He left the room before the stench overwhelmed him. Clearly, he’d have to find another way of getting the full truth. Maybe a little pistol-whipping was in order. He could pummel Peddle until the jerk pleaded for mercy. If that didn’t work, a bullet could get the job done.
Realizing the source of these dark thoughts, Chase stepped out of the house. With any luck the desert air would do him some good, helping him to clear his head so he could think straight.
Still sensing them monitoring his thoughts, he heard the demons laughing it up inside his brain. As far as they were concerned, it wouldn’t be long until they had Chase Weaverson’s mind, body, and soul completely.