Chapter Forty-Five
Steak, Roast, and Thigh Meat
Willow
“I’m processing today,” Butch said after she told him her bombshell. “It’s noisy, but I have no place to hold you while I do it.”
“You’re going to cut up the deputy’s body?” she asked, doing everything she could to hide her revulsion.
“Yes, it must be done today.”
“I’ll watch.”
He didn’t express shock over her statement, but she’d noticed he showed very little emotion.
He was nearly impossible to read. The way he studied her constantly gave her pause.
Did he believe anything she said? He would check what she told him, and that’s why she said it.
So far, he hadn’t shown any sexual desire for her.
His feelings, such as they were, kept her on edge.
She would not be his next meal.
“The smell down there soaks into my clothes,” she said shyly. “After you do what you need to do, could I shower and change?”
He smiled. “That can be arranged. Would you be up to fixing dinner tonight?”
Even if she didn’t want to, she would. It was the only way she could be sure she wasn’t eating human meat.
“I’d like that,” she replied, but didn’t smile. She wanted him to think of her as dark and gloomy; a killer like him.
“I’ll let you decide what to make. The sun will be up soon. Do you want oatmeal for breakfast?”
“That would be perfect.”
“Relax, and I’ll get started,” he said without asking her to make it.
He turned on the coffee maker while he worked. Willow allowed her eyes to follow and study him so he knew what she watched. Everything she did and said was a calculated risk.
She would have one chance to escape. If she didn’t make it out, he would kill her for trying. Her oatmeal was warm and delicious. She ate slow, not savoring the taste, but delaying the inevitable. The deputy’s body waited, and Willow dreaded what was about to happen. Could she pull it off?
◆◆◆
After donning a thick rubber coat, Butch went to work while she sat on the camp bed. He hadn’t cuffed her.
He moved with practiced precision. His hands worked the knife like an extension of his body. The blade caught the dim light each time it rose, flashing silver before sinking again with a soft, wet sound.
She thought the smell was bad before. Now, a raw, foul taste clung to the air, all the way to the back of her throat.
It took everything she had to keep her eyes open and her stomach contents in place.
She couldn’t allow him to see the revulsion crawling through her.
Her instincts told her to turn away, but her face remained impassive.
This was his game, and right now she was playing by his rules.
The deputy’s body swayed slightly as Butch worked. With each motion of the knife, dark matter pattered softly onto the floor.
“Have you ever seen this done before?” Butch asked casually.
She shook her head, too afraid to answer because her voice might break.
“My father taught me,” he said. “He owned a butcher shop.”
Butch smiled faintly, as if recalling fond memories. He reached up to slice through the tendon at the joint, explaining what he was doing while he worked. A sound like tearing fabric filled the room.
Willow’s nails pressed into her palms hard enough to sting. The sting helped. She focused on her breathing. He glanced at her often, and he would notice if she flinched.
She gave him nothing.
The knife slid again. Flesh parted giving way with horrifying sounds. Butch began humming, a low, tuneless tone that made the hair on her neck rise. Then he used a saw.
When he glanced at her again, she forced her lips into what might pass as a polite expression. Not quite a smile. Just a small acknowledgment.
“You’re doing fine,” he said approvingly, using a cloth to wipe off the saw blade. He appeared almost proud of her.
Her throat burned from holding back bile.
He went back to his work, and she allowed herself the smallest breath of relief. Her pulse still hammered in her chest, and she felt lightheaded. She masked it by clasping her hands in her lap and thinking about training Max.
A knife rose again and Willow kept watching. If she looked away now, she would scream. He made neat stacks of meat, naming each cut. They were all Deputy Wallard but Butch displayed them like his father must have done at the butcher shop.
◆◆◆
Steam filled the small bathroom, softening the sharp smell of bleach that lingered in the grout.
Willow turned the handle until the water ran hot, almost scalding, and stepped beneath it.
The first touch burned her skin, but she didn’t move away.
She wanted it to burn. She wanted it to wash everything off: from the smell and sound to the sight of him mutilating Deputy Wallard.
Water streamed down her face and hair. She imagined that it contained blood and body fluid that pooled at her feet, swirling pink before disappearing down the drain. But the water only washed away the illusion.
She braced her palms against the tile and bowed her head. Her body shook from the effort to stay quiet. He might hear if she broke down completely.
Her breath came in shallow bursts, trapped between sobs she wouldn’t let escape. The heat blurred her vision, turned the world into a shimmer of white and sound. She pressed her forehead against the tile, willing herself to stop shaking.
Don’t make noise. Don’t let him hear. He’ll know you’re weak.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. Tears mingled with the water and were gone before she could wipe them away. Her thoughts came in flashes: the body, the smell, the look of satisfaction on Butch’s malicious face.
Her knees gave out, and she slid down the wall until she was crouched on the wet tile. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked to a silent rhythm while she tried to keep herself from splintering completely.
When the water began to cool, she forced herself up, turned the handle off, and stood still in the sudden quiet. Her skin prickled, the silence louder than the spray had been.
She wiped her face with trembling hands and looked in the small mirror above the sink. The woman staring back didn’t look like her. Eyes red, cheeks hollow, a stranger trying to remember how to breathe.
Willow took one last shuddering breath, then straightened her shoulders. She had to be composed when she stepped out that door.
She had to keep feeding the evil inside Butch that kept her alive.