Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
I press my back against an oak tree, trying to ignore the aching in my bones.
My knees are beginning to protest against my crouched position.
My toes are starting to go numb from the damp ground that's leaking through the soles of my boots.
I pull up my hood and wrap my jacket closer around me as the cop knocks on Ava's door.
I click my tongue. “Tsk, tsk. Disobeying already, my rebellious little bird?”
When Ava steps out onto the porch, she's a beautiful mess. Her eyes are swollen and pink. Her hair is tangled and tossed up into a messy bun. My chest swells with the knowledge that I've affected her so much. That her thoughts have been focused on me, as mine have been on her.
While I watch them talk, that prideful feeling evaporates into a haze of irritation. It boils and floats up my throat like hot steam. I can feel it ripping at my skin and bursting from my pores.
My formerly petrified girl stands there at the door, pink-faced and ogling at the fucking cop.
My fists ball at my sides, rage uncoiling inside me.
Her eyes wander over him, hungrily. She looks like she's ready to tackle him.
My foolish girl is ready to throw herself at the first man she thinks can protect her from me.
He could never give her what she needs, what I know she needs.
The squeezing ache in my chest lessens as she steps away from him, looking out into the trees, looking toward me.
“That's right, baby,” I mumble, “look at me. Don't look at him.”
That crushing feeling around my heart comes back with a vengeance when he stands beside her, close enough to touch her. Pretty tears trail down her cheeks as she talks, reflecting the dimming sunlight.
His hand snakes up behind her, his dirty fingers rubbing circles on her back.
I grit my teeth so hard I can hear them scraping together.
They vibrate in my mouth, shooting tendrils of pain toward my temples.
To force down the ball of anger that's lodged in my throat, I swallow hard.
The longer that motherfucker touches her, the more it chokes me.
Fighting the urge to shoot him where he stands, I raise my clenched fist to my mouth and bite down.
When she lays her head on his shoulder, the taste of copper fills my mouth.
The sight of her chocolate hair pressed against his arm seals his fate.
The final nail in the coffin is him tilting her chin up with a finger to meet her gaze.
No one gets to peer into her gaze but me.
I pull my bleeding knuckles from my mouth as my fury softens into selfish resolve.
At the cop’s command, she goes inside the house and locks the doors. A clenching tightness strangles my stomach as her wide, puppy-dog eyes track him from the window.
“So obedient for the right master, aren't you?” I huff out through clenched teeth. “I'll teach you who you belong to.”
I spin on my heels, causing a flurry of mud to spit up from the ground, caking my jeans with speckles of wet dirt.
Dark trees loom around me, forcing me to weave and bob my way back to my car.
Graceless in my anger-fueled haste, branches whip at my body, depositing scratches on my hands and twigs in my hair.
* * *
Just after sunset, I pull into the nearly empty parking lot at Quick Stop Gas.
My car crawls to a stop on the side of the building.
I pull the brake, nestling myself between a grimy public bathroom and a line of air pumps.
A broken flood light dangles from twisted wires above me, blanketing the area in darkness.
Parked not ten feet away, Deputy Dipshit is sitting in his car, stuffing his face with a greasy, fast food burger.
My mouth curls into a disgusted scowl as I watch him shovel it into his mouth.
A shower of crumbs falls onto his shirt, which he wipes away carelessly onto the floor of his car.
The leather of the steering wheel whispers and crackles beneath my steel grip.
I shake my head and force out a long sigh.
I reach into myself, into the depths of my mind.
Envisioning a black lake where my emotions ripple against the surface.
I push them back further and further until the water is still and calm.
Only when my grip loosens and the rise and fall of my chest is steady, do I get out of the car.
I slump my shoulders forward slightly and pull my mouth into a wide smile before rapping my fist gently against his window. He looks up, eyes widened by surprise as the window rolls down. His eyes roam over me suspiciously. I raise my voice an octave, putting on my best local accent.
“Hi, Deputy…uh,” I glance at his nametag, “Becker.” I clasp my hands in front of me, twirling my fingers in mock shyness. “I’m real sorry to bother you, but I was hoping you could help me out.”
His face softens. He nods and cocks an eyebrow questioningly.
I point back to my car. “You see, my car’s got a flat and I don’t know if I can put on the spare on my own.”
His chest puffs up as he swings the door open. “Of course! I’m happy to help. Let’s get you situated and on your way.”
My smile widens as I walk back to my car with the deputy following closely behind. I pop the trunk and grab the tire iron, holding it against my leg. The deputy stands at my side, his face alight with that good, hometown boy charm.
He runs his palms down the front of his polyester pants and reaches toward the car. “Let’s get that spare out and get you going.”
Just as his hand makes contact with the handle above the spare tire well, the tire iron makes contact with his head. He groans and his eyes shudder closed as his limp torso flops over the trunk with a thud.
“Too fucking easy.” I chuckle, shoving his legs in behind him.
I wipe the metal bar against my jeans before tossing it in beside his head and slamming the trunk.
I shoot off a quick text to Ricky with the location of the cop car and its keys, which are conveniently still in the ignition.
Ricky’s a mechanic, as well as the owner of a local chop shop.
Our arrangement is simple: he doesn’t ask questions, and in return, he gets the cars and whatever profit he can make from them.
* * *
The moon is high when I pull my car into the familiar clearing near my graveyard.
The scent of pine floats along the cool wind that whistles through the trees.
A symphony of crickets welcome me back to my quiet place in the woods.
Looking out into the vast forest, I find myself wondering if Ava would like it here.
The view isn’t too different from the one outside of her windows.
We could have a picnic over the graves of her would-be lovers.
When I pop open the trunk, Becker is still unconscious.
I yank at his torso until he tumbles onto the ground, vibrating the dirt beneath him.
With several layers of folded rope, I create a make-shift gag which I slip into his mouth and tie behind his head.
Another rope binds his ankles, and a third binds his wrists.
One final piece wraps around his stomach, it’s outstretched length giving me a line by which to drag his limp body.
I hoist the rope against my shoulder, pulling him behind me as I hike through the woods.
The leaves beneath him rustle and crumble, leaving a trail of trampled foliage in our wake.
He moans and whimpers as branches snap against him.
When we arrive, his hair and clothing are embedded with leaves and sticks while his face is scratched and bleeding.
I leave him on the damp ground in the center of the clearing.
His panicked eyes dart back and forth, searching.
Searching for help, for a way out, for rescue.
He’ll find none of those here. The moonlight glints off my shovel as I pull it out from behind a tree.
The reflection bounces through the air, flitting over his face.
A gasp wheezes out from around his gag as it catches his attention.
I throw him a wink before I begin to dig into the packed soil.
His dull whimpers turn to muffled screams as he watches me dig his grave.
By the time the hole is sufficiently deep and wide, I’m covered in dirt.
A thin sheen of perspiration coats my skin.
Wiping my stained hands down my thighs, I look over my girl’s aspiring savior.
Sweat beads down his forehead, dripping between his wide, frightened eyes.
His hair is matted with mud and debris clings to his damp forehead.
His body lies crumpled on the dirt, quivering and whining like a cornered rodent.
Some hero he turned out to be. My little bird deserves better.
His legs thrash against his binds as I pull him upright.
Gouged lines appear in the earth as I drag him to the grave.
My leg connects with the back of his knees, sending him toppling to the ground.
The crack of his knees connecting with the dirt echoes in the quiet clearing.
I look down at him, my mouth pulling into a smug grin.
“I was planning to kill you quickly, Deputy,” I say, loosening the rope from his mouth. “I was going to make this very easy for you…until you touched my girl.”
He coughs and gasps. Dirt and saliva dribbles down his chin as the rope falls away.
He shoots me a quizzical look. “Y-your girl?”
I widen my stance, arms crossing in front of my chest. My eyebrows raise as if to say think.
His eyes widen in sudden recognition. “Jesus, you mean Ava?!”
His head rocks to the side as my fist collides with his nose. The crunch and squelch reverberate against my hand as the bone fragments beneath his skin. He yells in pain, the sound loud enough to shake a few birds from the branches above us. Fluttering black shapes soar across the moonlight.
Sputtering against the blood running from his nose, his howls turn into pleas, “Someone help! I need help!”
“Don’t waste your breath,” I chuckle as my fist rams into his gut, “no one can hear you out here.”
He groans, folding in on his stomach. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, gagging.
Between ragged breaths, he pleads, “D-don’t do this. I’m…I’m a cop. They’ll come. They’ll come looking for me.”
I throw my head back and bark a laugh. “Oh, I very much doubt that. Not after they read the suicide note you left on your laptop.” I crouch down to meet him at eye level, my voice soft with mock sadness. “It’s too bad you were struggling with so many demons that you couldn’t talk about.”
Despite balking at me over the phone for several irritating minutes, Shawn did as I asked and hacked into the deputy’s personal computer. A clever trick to ease the suspicion of him going missing. Along with disabling his cell phone, there won't be a way to find him.
For a kid who’s lived around criminals for most of his life, Shawn still gets testy about “killing the good guys without reason”. In this case, I’d say I have a very good reason. Whether or not he believes that is another matter entirely.
The deputy’s face shatters in shock and his eyes turn glassy with unshed tears. I swear I saw a flash of acceptance in those eyes as he blinked away the tears.
“Now, tell me,” I continue, “which hand?”
“W-what?”
“Which hand did you touch her with?” I snap.
“Oh, God. Oh, God, please,” he chants. His eyes are wide, laser focused on the serrated knife I pull from the back of my jeans.
A pointless question, really, given that I already know the answer.
The putrid stench of urine wafts into my nose as I slice the rope at his wrists.
The moment his hands are free, he lashes out, trying to push me away.
I grab his hands, shoving them to the ground.
The fingers of his left hand crunch under my boot as I pin the other to the dirt with my own hand.
At the ragged kiss of the blade against his wrist, his pained screams flow through the forest.
The skin gives easily as I saw, quickly giving way to the dense muscle tissue beneath.
The coppery tang of his blood fills the air, masking the scent of his cowardice.
My grip tightens against the handle of the slick knife as I tear through tissue and bone.
Amidst the song of his agonized wails, plays an orchestra of squelching and spattering. His screams quiet into hoarse whispers.
For several moments, he stares at the severed hand on the ground—his hand. His mouth opens and closes as the shock sets in.
“Please…please…don’t kill me,” he begs. “I-I won’t tell a-anyone.”
Grasping his severed hand and pulling it from the puddle of mud and gore, I smack it against his cheek. “You can’t bargain with monsters, Deputy. Not after you touch what belongs to them.”
He turns his eyes to me and I watch them change. They harden with pride and defiance. “Ava deserves better than you,” he declares.
I chuckle lightly. “Well, on that, we agree.”
My knife slides into the corded muscles of his neck. As I pull the knife out, he gurgles and gasps. Blood erupts from him, soaking his clothes and the ground beneath. I shove my boot against his back, shoving his body into the grave.
Now, it’s time to teach my little bird a lesson.