Chapter Thirty-Seven
A Vegetarian Diet
Butch
Through testing and refining, Butch learned that slow building fear gained more cooperation from victims than terrifying them to the point they couldn’t function.
One of the tactics he used was darkness and solitude.
They began to question if he would return, or if starvation would kill them.
He became their light in the dark. And though terrified of him, they breathed a sigh of relief when he returned.
He liked that power, and his cell phone provided an infrared camera feed so he could watch them without them knowing.
Willow was not like his other captives. Maybe it was because he had different plans for her, and somehow she sensed that.
Or at least he had before she discovered the deputy’s body.
He watched her strange behavior, wondering what was going on inside her stubborn head.
Willow’s shoulders never shook, which would indicate crying.
She remained calm, and never screamed or cried out for help.
All his past women screamed. Men eventually begged and cried, but in the beginning, they didn’t scream.
As the hours passed, she intrigued him even more, and his earlier rage turned to a low simmer. As far as her bathroom habits, he wasn’t a sicko, and he gave her privacy when she used the toilet.
Sleep claimed him at last, and the cell phone fell forward onto his chest when his breathing slowed. He fell into the darkness like he owned it, because he did. Even his dreams paid him homage.
He woke feeling refreshed and in a surprisingly good mood. He prepared Willow’s breakfast and included a cup of coffee. Caffeinated beverages were not part of his master diet plan. The time he had with them was to refine, not corrode their taste.
Willow sat with her back to the wall, the sleeping bag wrapped tightly around her. She covered her eyes with one hand when the light snapped on.
“It’s only me,” Butch said as he walked closer. “I thought you might be hungry. I also have coffee.” He set them on a small stand too far for her to reach.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked evenly.
“We’ll talk after you eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she replied in the same calm tone.
“You will eat.” He’d faced this argument many times, and he always won.
Refusing food was the first test victims tried. They wanted that small amount of control, but eating was important for the experiments. Butch held all the power, and he had no problem using psychological pressure or physical injury to gain what he wanted.
Willow’s lips pressed into a firm line, and he almost laughed.
But instead, he sighed. “If you don’t eat, I will remove the blanket and your clothing.
It’s cold inside this room. You won’t freeze, but it will grow extremely uncomfortable.
If that doesn’t gain your compliance, I will move the deputy’s body so it’s in your space.
I’ve found that time alone in the dark with death has quick results. ”
Her eyes jumped to his, and her head shook back and forth slightly. He handed her the mug of coffee, and she took it. Her fingers were tinged slightly blue from the cold, and she held the cup in both hands.
“I made oatmeal,” he continued. “I’ll bring vegetable soup for lunch and something a bit more substantial for dinner.”
She gave a quick nod. A chair rested against the wall, and he dragged it over so he could sit and watch her eat.
“Place the mug on the floor, and I’ll hand you the bowl before it gets cold.”
She swallowed a small spoonful of oatmeal.
He’d added a bit of sugar and cinnamon to help her through the first meal.
Early on, he’d fed human remains to his captives.
But now he knew a vegetable diet enhanced flavor.
The seemingly endless supply of unwanted people crossing his path and their varied diets improved the data.
He had a human smorgasbord at his fingertips for testing.
Willow benefited from the many years he had before she came on his radar.
After she finished eating, she placed the bowl on the camp bed, and drank more coffee without looking at him. Oh, she was aware of his regard. This was another captive trick to retain power. It always failed.
Her head snapped around at a popping noise.
A soft creak came from the hooks where the deputy hung.
“Death makes many sounds,” Butch said. “Bodies creak, pop, and groan as they settle.” He turned and looked at his latest trophy before meeting her eyes.
“It must be disturbing for you.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“As a body cools, rigor mortis sets in. It makes the carcass shift slightly on the hooks. You probably heard it during the night. The bone and tendons also make sounds as they tighten. Fluids and gases move within the cavity and sometimes make a bubbling sound. It’s really quite fascinating. ”
The look of horror he expected from her never materialized. Instead, she hugged herself and seemed to review his words. This intrigued him, but it was time for answers.
“Why were you meeting the deputy?” he asked softly so she didn’t hear the fury boiling inside him.
Her eyes went vacant, and her jaw set stubbornly. He almost smiled while she inhaled and exhaled slowly; her eyes calculating.
“I won’t repeat the question, and honesty will get you farther.”
Her head dropped in defeat. “He threatened me,” she mumbled.
Butch hadn’t expected that answer. “He watched you; did you know that?”
Her head came up. “At my house?”
“Yes, he had a few spots where he could observe you and the old man.”
Her fists tightened, and Butch could almost feel her anger. “He pulled me over and gave me a warning for something stupid,” she said. “He asked me to have ice cream with him, and I wouldn’t.” Her voice rose. “He’s married. Did you know that?”
Butch shook his head slowly. “Did you have ice cream with him?”
Her head shook vehemently. “I said no, and I told him I knew he was married. He was told to stay away from me after I made a complaint against him at the Sheriff’s Department.”
“When was this?”
“About a month ago.”
Butch chuckled, feeling the hard knot in his chest loosen. “I saw him watching you two or three times a week.”
Different emotions played across her face: anger, fear, and then something he couldn’t quite decipher. Her shoulders relaxed, and it might have been acceptance. So strange.
“How did he threaten you?” Butch asked.
“He said he would hurt Dale and the dogs.”
“You believed a deputy would do something like that?”
Her eyes stared daggers. “This particular deputy, yes.”
For several long minutes, he simply stared. She didn’t move so much as a muscle. Defiance was back in her eyes.
“The old man you’re living with was a deputy. He can take care of himself.”
“Dale has heart problems. I do the cooking and cleaning. He pokes around the property, but he’s much slower than he was a year ago.” Her body visibly trembled. “He hasn’t been the same since Lance Hogg shot him.”
Butch had forgotten Lance Hogg, and something inside him softened, which was strange in itself. He needed time to think. “My friends call me Butch.”
He walked out, turning off the light behind him. If Willow was lying, she was very good at it. Meat in the smokehouse needed his attention. He thought best while processing.
Sitting alone in the dark would bring her closer to him in the long run.