Chapter 16 Ain’t Afraid of the Reaper
Ain’t Afraid of the Reaper
RIPLEY
Preacher’s waiting by the door, watching as I limp my way down the last few steps. I thought sleep was supposed to be the body’s main method of repairing itself, but apparently mine didn’t get the memo. The longer I rest, the more shit hurts.
“Put those on,” he grunts. “It’s muddy outside.”
I stare, dumbfounded at a pair of black leather cowboy boots with gold stitching, just small enough to fit me.
“How did you know my size?”
“Didn’t. These were my mama’s, and they’ll do for now. Can’t have you walkin’ around here barefoot.”
“Oh thank god, I can scratch ‘is he a foot fetishist?’ off the list.”
The joke doesn’t land. Most of my jokes don’t, but that’s fine.
He’s not that funny either.
Preacher lets out a grunt as he pushes the squeaky screen door open, the dogs following closely on his heels with their tails wagging along the way. He doesn’t give a shit about people, but it’s clear he treats his animals well.
A psychopath with a soft side.
And I mean, everyone’s got layers, right?
I learned that much from Shrek.
As I make my way outside I’m surprised to see most of the debris from the other night has already been cleaned up, and even the sky itself is clear from any indication of the storm, a beautiful cerulean blue with great big fluffy white clouds floating past. Now that I think of it, this is the first time I’ve seen the place in daylight, and it’s… pretty much normal.
My mind begins to wander, and I find myself wondering what happened to my car. Preacher’s probably had it towed, or even destroyed at this point— maybe had his partner do it for him. He probably doesn’t like to keep missing vehicles on or around his property. That shit’s bound to attract cops.
A sharp whistle slices through the air, and I find Preacher leaned up against the barn, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
“You know those things’ll kill you, right?”
“Sweetheart, I ain’t afraid of the reaper, he’s afraid of me.”
“You sound like a redneck Bond villain.”
He grins as he exhales a big cloud of white smoke, and I get another glimpse at that solitary silver tooth. I wonder how he lost the real one.
“You know what? I’d watch that movie in a heartbeat.”
He winks, heading toward the barn and ushering me inside.
The first thing that hits me is the smell of bleach, but there’s a musty undercurrent as well, maybe from rotting wood?
The building is definitely old enough for that to be the case, virtually barren with the only source of light flickering from a couple buzzing bulbs above our heads.
My sister used to say she could feel energy in places, and while I know I don’t believe in any of that hippy dippy bullshit, 10 seconds inside this place and I’m already feeling something in the air.
“How many have you killed?” I ask, staring up at a big rusted hook hanging from the ceiling.
“Dunno.” He glances down at me, those cold eyes practically glowing beneath the dark brim of his hat. “Probably hundreds by now.”
“Hundreds…”
So there’s no question anymore: this is his slaughterhouse, and I can tell by the look on his face it’s his pride and joy.
He heads straight for a metal table in a corner, cutting into the dirt floor as he drags it back toward me like a coffin. Soon enough I’m staring down at a knife roll, like the kind those fancy TV chefs use. It’s made of a tawny colored leather, and I spot scattered marks on it that look like...
Tattoos?
It’s hard to tell, but I’m finding it harder and harder to shake the thought.
“What’s this made of?”
Preacher takes my hand, bringing it gently down toward the leather and guiding me as I trace the small faded markings and crude stitching.
“My first kill.”
Wait— didn’t he say the first person he killed was his father? That’s why he changed his name, that’s why he—
“Oh Jesus…”
He skinned his father and turned him into a fucking knife roll.
“I didn’t get to listen to him scream before I peeled his skin off.” He sighs. “You win some, you lose some.”
He looks euphoric as he reminisces. Almost makes me wish I’d turned on my family long before I killed Gabriel.
“Alright, but you only have so many evil family members, so how do you find victims?” I ask, trying to keep things as light as possible given the subject matter. “You said you had a partner?”
“That’s something you’ll find out about soon enough, little rabbit.”
I hate these bullshit non-answers. Someone’s paying him, which means even if he’s got an equal partner, he has bosses too. I just want to know how many people are in on this fucked up little business venture.
“You use all of these?” I ask, unraveling the roll and running my fingers over the blades.
“Sure do.”
My jaw tingles at the feeling of cold steel against my fingertips, something that’s been happening since I was a little girl; whenever I was angry or when I felt too much, and then later whenever there was something dark I knew I couldn’t share, not with anyone.
It starts in the back near the molars, sharp and intense, similar to the feeling you’d get if you bit down on a lemon, or a piece of particularly sour candy.
Sometimes, if I let the dark thoughts stray a little bit too far, I end up with my whole mouth filled with saliva.
It’s kind of become a reflex to my homicidal urges.
I’m yanked back down to earth by the vaguest dull ache, and the sight of blood smeared on one of the blades.
“Shit.”
I must have run my finger a little too hard along one of the knives, but I don’t feel anything.
“Wow,” I mumble, wrapping my lips around the wound. “Vicodin really works.”
I’m not sure if it's the taste of copper or the shock, but the sensation in my jaw is mildly satiated. I glance up to see Preacher leering back down at me, his hungry gaze catching me off guard. I can’t tell if he wants to eat me or fuck me.
Or both?
It might be both.
“Each one serves a specific purpose, little rabbit.” He picks up a large knife with a razor sharp blade, and a curved tip with some light serration at the edge. “For example, this one. Have you ever gutted an animal?”
I shake my head and his eyes immediately light up, just like before.
“I was a city girl.”
He flips the knife in his hand, pointing it at me.
“You wanna learn?”
I should be afraid, it makes complete sense to be afraid, alone on an isolated farm with a killer. Considering the fact that I just escaped one monster and ran into the hands of another, it would be the sanest thing in the world.
But this one isn’t like Gabriel, and I’m not feeling even an ounce of fear.
“Teach me.”
He studies me for a moment, like he’s trying to assess whether or not I’m cut out for this life.
“You think you can handle it?”
“You doubt me after what you found in my car?”
His tongue darts out like a snake’s, but he stays silent as it slides across his lips, merely taking a knife and pressing it right up against my belly. I’m not afraid. The only thing that concerns me now is how willingly I’ve taken the Devil’s hand.
“I don’t doubt your enthusiasm, rabbit. It’s just some folks? They’re a hell of a lot of talk and very little action. If you’re gonna work with me, I need you to be vicious. Bring that same energy you did when you slaughtered that little boy-toy of yours.”
I swear I can feel the sweat on my skin ignite, sparks popping off of me like little fireworks.
“I can be vicious.” I pause, shaking my head. “I am vicious.”
He grins, gliding the very tip of the knife up my body, just barely grazing the fabric.
“It’s similar to guttin’ a deer, or any other animal really. You wanna make a nice clean slit right up the belly… So all the good shit comes spillin’ out.”
I feel the sweat start to run down the back of my neck as I keep my eyes on the blade, watching as he stops just below my breasts. His voice is making my skin prickle, low and gravelly as it grinds its way into my every thought.
“Now, it might seem tough, but a good knife like this? Well, it’ll slice through all that muscle tissue easy. You just gotta know how to use it.”
Warm breath fans against my cheek as he gazes down at me, massive and imposing. My body doesn’t know whether it wants to fight, flee, or fuck.
“The first strike has to be deep,” he practically purrs, gliding the knife back down until the tip hovers just above my crotch.
This is a dance, and he’s challenging me to show I know the steps.
“And if you get that first cut right? You should be able to tear someone open with your bare hands.”
His voice is gentle, but his eyes are blazing, like he’s reliving every kill he’s ever had all within the span of a few seconds.
What he has seems so much deeper than revenge on a repulsive ex-boyfriend.
I want to know what it’s like to have that kind of body count; to be the one who doles out punishment.
My whole life has been building to this moment.
“Teach me.”
I’ll say it over and over, as many times as it takes for him to turn me into what I’m supposed to be.
“Soon, rabbit,” he smiles. “But first, you’re gonna tell me everything.”