Chapter 15 Don’t Think, Just Eat It
Don’t Think, Just Eat It
RIPLEY
The second it hits me, I’m scrambling to cover my face.
It feels like barbed wire being pulled too tightly around my nerve endings, making them burst. I’m curled up like a sad little piece of cocktail shrimp, clutching the duvet for dear life; is there anything fucking worse than the sun waking you up at the asscrack of dawn?
“Goddammit.”
Slowly, very slowly, my body starts to unfurl, begrudgingly rolling over onto the side of the bed. That’s when I spy a glass of water waiting for me on the nightstand, along with a conspicuous green bottle.
I don’t remember much from last night, other than sitting at his table, cackling gleefully while I recounted how I killed Gabriel.
Orgasmic.
Why did I say that? I could have said anything else.
It was all that weird, murdery sexual tension he’s created. Standing too close to me, grabbing my waist, watching me bathe… It got me riled up.
I grab the glass of water and scan the green bottle on the nightstand.
“Hydrocodone,” I murmur. “What the fuck is that?”
I skim the label, spotting the brand name.
VICODIN.
“Nice work, cowboy.”
There are only two pills left, which is probably intentional; makes sure I can’t swallow the whole bottle as an easy-out.
“Maybe he actually gives a shit about me,” I mumble, tossing the pills back. “Hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
The clock on the wall reads 7:00am. I don’t know when I went to sleep, but now that I’m awake, I feel strangely refreshed despite the soreness.
I take another sip of water, pausing to listen to the birds singing outside; it’s a chipper little melody that kind of makes me feel like Cinderella, even if just for a moment.
Even if I’m locked up in a psychopath’s house.
Gabriel used to have me on edge the moment I woke up in the morning— demanding breakfast, demanding I clean, demanding sex…
I was his prisoner.
“Hades, cut it out!” Preacher barks.
God, of course he’s already up and about. I guess cowboys wake up early to feed… pigs and shit? You’d think I’d know more about the farm lifestyle, considering I grew up around them, but I lived in Edmonton, which means a whole lot of gunshots, but not many cowboys.
I make my way to the window, cautiously parting the curtain as I take another sip of water, and what I see almost makes me drop my glass.
Preacher is shirtless, sweating as he drives post after post into the ground. His jeans hang low on his hips and I can see his muscles rippling as he slams his sledgehammer down again and again.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, tracking his movements as he walks toward the big pile of posts, his arms flexing a little as he drags another one into place.
Last night as I was getting dressed for dinner, I couldn’t shake the thought of his other reason for keeping me alive, besides his moral code.
What did he see in me outside of the severed tongue and the kill kit in my car? More importantly, does he see me as a protégé or potential competition? Is that why he wants to teach me everything, so he can keep tabs on me?
I don’t need a fucking babysitter, or worse, another warden, that’s for damn sure. He was right about one thing though, I was sloppy. I left some serious carnage behind in Jericho.
Every so often I think about that cop on the road, and a familiar shock of terror rushes down my spine.
Did he have time to run the plates, and even if he didn’t, is there a chance he’ll remember me enough to pick up the trail?
Should I tell Preacher, or is the knowledge I might be a risk to him gonna get me killed?
Even with his code, I can’t imagine he’d keep me around if me just being here was threatening his entire operation.
I watch intently as he places the newest post, centering it carefully before leaning down to grab his hammer, his jeans slip just a little lower than before, giving me a damn good look at the defined dents in his hips.
Before I notice it I’m fogging up the window, my nose practically smashed up against the glass like fucking a dog who just heard her owner coming up the driveway. It’s kind of pathetic, but…
“I wonder how big he is.”
Jesus, back the fun-bus the fuck up, Ripley. I’ve gone from telling this man he looks like he robbed a Party City to wondering about the size of his dick overnight.
Like I said… pathetic.
But I can’t deny the heavy, pulsing heat between my thighs.
Preacher glances up, catching my eye for a moment before I’m able to fully take a step back. I hope he didn’t notice how intently I was staring. To my surprise, he only smiles, giving me a polite nod before driving his post all the way into that newly dug hole in one swing.
My stomach growls, and I’m grateful for an excuse to switch gears from crushing on my captor to more immediate concerns.
I need to figure out a way to let him know I’m starving, and step one in that process is definitely don’t be almost completely naked when you try to get his attention, but when I turn toward the dresser, a large silver platter catches my eye.
How did I not notice that before? Oh, right, I got busy looking at the hot psycho outside before I actually did anything to explore my surroundings. Well, it looks like he already anticipated my grumbling stomach.
I crane my neck, tentatively taking a few steps forward while trying to see exactly what’s in the bowl; hopefully it’s not his special brand of meat, I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of initiation first thing in the morning.
As I get closer, a small nondescript jar resting on the platter beside the bowl catches my eye. At first I think it might be honey, or maybe jam of some kind with the lid wrapped in that traditional red and white checkered cloth, but no.
I can clearly see Gabriel’s tongue floating in formaldehyde.
My heart skips several beats and I rush forward, plucking it off of the dresser and gazing gleefully through the glass. The tongue bobs like a buoy as I gently turn the gift in my hand, looking at it from every angle.
It’s a strange offering, but somehow makes me feel…
Appreciated?
Wanted?
I admire it for a few more moments before my stomach starts to growl all over again, begrudgingly putting it back down and turning my attention to what’s in the bowl.
“Oatmeal?! Fuck, why don’t you just give me a big bowl of congealed jizz?”
Okay, maybe that was a bit much.
It actually doesn’t smell too terrible, and while it looks like little chunks of slime in between the berries, there’s some honey and a small bowl of fruit to go with it, which will make choking it all down a little easier.
I draw in a breath, like I’m bracing myself to jump off of a cliff.
The berries are tart, and the honey gives it a good sweetness, but it’s still a nightmare to swallow, slick and slimy as it slides down my throat.
Don’t think, just eat it.
I’m hunched over like an animal, practically forcing the food down, which is probably why I don’t hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. I barely have time to react before the door swings open, and Preacher steps inside, fully clothed this time.
Shame.
He stares at me, sweat still glistening on his brow, his cowboy hat tipped up just right to perfectly frame his cool, dark eyes. The oatmeal slides off my spoon, plopping into the bowl as he glances around the room.
“You find your medication?”
I clear my throat, straightening up and wiping some slop off my chin.
“Yes, uh…” I stammer, not sure exactly what to say. “I guess I should thank you?”
He lets out a soft grunt, ignoring my question as he flicks his head toward the jar.
“Didn’t want to waste your first trophy, hope you don’t mind.”
I glance back over my shoulder, biting my lip to keep from smiling too wide. I’m not certain if this is the grossest thing someone’s ever done for me, but it might just be the sweetest.
“It’s nice. I like it.”
What a horrifying thought.
Preacher takes off his hat, using it to gesture toward the door.
“You’re gonna see the barn and the incinerator this afternoon.”
“That’s pretty short for a tour, what’s so special about those two spots?”
“That, my dear, is where the magic happens. I told you that I can train you, shape you into something better, but to tell you the truth, having some help with this side of the business’ll make things a little easier on me.”
He’s practically beaming, clearly excited to start this whole process, whatever it is.
“You want me to work for you?” I ask, the incredulity already slipping back out from behind my lips.
“We’ll see if you’ve got what it takes. First off, I need to teach you what I know, about killing these sons of bitches and everything that comes after.”
“And then what?”
“Then, there’s the hunt.”
“Does that mean I get to—”
“It ain’t what you think, rabbit. You gotta see things from both ends before you’ll really understand.”
I bristle, my hands balling into tight little fists. I’m nobody’s goddamn prey.
“You want to train me to be a killer, but you’re gonna chase me around your fucking farm like a psycho? What the hell does that accomplish?”
“The goal is to see how well you do as the hunted, before you get to play the hunter. I want to see your animal instincts, your adaptability, how resourceful you are, and how well you fight back.”
There’s a malicious gleam in his eyes as he lets his gaze wander up and down my body, but I don’t shrink, or turn away.
I haven’t forgotten about the sizzling chemistry we had when I was in the tub.
I was convinced he was going to take what he wanted then and there, just like every man I’ve ever met, but he didn’t.
Maybe now I know why.
“You can’t be a good hunter without experiencing how the other half lives… and dies. Learning how your victims operate is the most important thing you can ever know in this vocation.”
Vocation.
He sees it as a calling, like some higher cause.
Oh god, Preacher. He fucking named himself Preacher.
“I want to get a taste of your instincts. How well you can run, if you can outsmart me. After all, if you can’t understand how they hide, how in the hell do you think you could ever seek?”
I wonder how long he’s been dreaming of this moment.
“Alright, so when does this test start?”
“After the training, when I say you’re good and ready for it.”
A part of me craves approval, desperate to do what I’ve wanted since I was 14; back when I found my first corpse, just lying in the bushes…
Since I pictured my father lying in a stranger’s place.
I’ve had years to simmer in this rage, in the unfairness of everything that made up my life.
If I kill enough of them, maybe I’ll manage to kill the source of this pain.
Either way, I’ll be doing the world a favor.
“Now, are you ready for your first lesson?”
I nod.
“Then finish up, and meet me downstairs.”