man could have done it. She said
While he'd been talking the sun had disappeared and it began to snow--a light dusting of white frosted us and the deer. One of The Freak's blond waves had fallen over his forehead in a curl, and his eyelashes spiked together and sparkled. I wasn't sure if it was from the snow or tears, but he looked angelic.
My thighs ached from holding a crouched position for too long, but there was no way I was asking him if I could stretch. My body may have been motionless, but my mind reeled.
He shook his head, then looked up from the knife.
'So to answer your question, Annie, it can feel great. But we'd better get a move on, or some wild animal is going to smell the fresh blood and come hunting us.' His tone of voice was now cheerful.
For a minute I didn't get what question he was talking about. Then I remembered. I'd asked him what it felt like to kill someone.
While I continued to hold the deer's legs, he reached into the slit and gently rolled the stomach sack, about the size of a beach ball, out onto the snow. It was still attached at one end, by something that looked like an umbilical cord, from under the rib cage. He pulled his knife out of the neck--it stuck for a second, then released with a pop. Then he reached back in with the knife and cut out what looked like the deer's heart and organs. He dropped them near the sack like they were garbage. The smell of raw meat churned up bile at the back of my throat, but I choked it down.
He said, 'Stay here,' and disappeared into a large shed at the side of the cabin. He returned in seconds carrying a small chain saw and some rope. My breath caught in my chest when he knelt at the deer's head. The pristine silence of winter wilderness was shattered by the sound of the saw cutting through the deer's neck. I wanted to look away but I couldn't. He put the saw down, picked up the knife, and walked to the rear of the deer. I flinched as he reached toward me, which made him laugh, but he was only taking the legs from me. Then he used his knife to slice a hole through the ankle, right behind the Achilles tendon on both legs, and threaded the rope through.
We dragged the carcass to the shed, each holding one of its front legs. I glanced back. The deer's body had left a trail of blood behind us and a bloody indentation in the snow. I'll never forget the sight of that poor deer's head, heart, and guts lying out in the cold.
The shed was solid metal--no wild animals welcome--and a big freezer stood against one wall inside. Some sort of machinery that I think was a generator hummed noisily at the back, beside it a pump that must have been for the well. Six big red barrels labeled diesel lined the opposite wall. Next to them was a propane tank. I didn't see any firewood, so I figured it was stored somewhere else. The air smelled like a mixture of oil, gas, and deer blood.
He threw the rope attached to the deer's back legs up over a crossbeam in the ceiling, then we both pulled on it until the carcass was hung. Would my body be hanging up there one day?
I thought that was the end of it, but he started to sharpen the knife on a stone, and I began to tremble violently. Meeting my eyes, he scraped the knife back and forth in a rhythmic motion with a smile playing about his lips. After a minute or so, he held it up.
'What do you think? Sharp enough?'
'For...for what?'
He began to walk toward me. I threw my hands in front of my belly. Awkward in the rubber boots, I stumbled backward.
He stopped, and with a confused expression said, 'What's wrong with you? We have to skin it.' He cut around each ankle, then took a leg. 'Don't just stand there, grab the other one.' We rolled the hide down--he had to use his knife to nick at the tissue once in a while to help it along, but mostly just down the legs, and when we reached the main part, it peeled off like dead skin after a sunburn.
When it was off, he rolled it up and put it in the freezer. Then he made me stand outside where he could see me while he collected the saw, put it back in the shed, and locked it up. I asked him what he was going to do with the innards and its head--he said he'd deal with them later.
Back inside, he noticed I was shivering and told me to sit by the fire to warm up. Our talk didn't seem to have upset him. I considered asking if he'd killed anyone else, but my stomach clenched at the thought of hearing his answer. Instead I said, 'Can I wash off, please?'
'Is it time for your bath?'
'No, but I--'
'Then you know the answer.'
The rest of that day I wore deer blood. It made my skin crawl, but I tried not to think about it, I tried not to think about anything--not blood, dead deer, or murdered fathers. I just focused on the fire and watched the flames dance.
Later that night, as he drifted off to sleep, he said, 'I like cats.' He
SESSION ELEVEN
Got to tell you, Doc, I feel like I'm doing pretty good these days. Yesterday afternoon I wanted to just crawl back into bed, but I grabbed Emma's leash and took her down to the waterfront for a walk. As opposed to up in the woods for one of our usual jaunts designed to guarantee we won't see a soul.
Instead, we were kind of social. Well, Emma was--she has a weakness for smaller dogs, has to stop and smooch all of them. She's hit or miss with the big ones, but show her a poodle and she's in puppy make-out heaven. I'd managed to avoid most human interactions by staring off into the distance, or at the dogs, or at my feet while jerking on her leash to hurry her by, but when she insisted on visiting with a cocker spaniel, I stopped and actually shot the breeze with the owners, an elderly couple. It was standard dog-owner drivel: What's his name? Timber? And how old? But damn, Doc, a couple of weeks ago I'd rather have pushed them into the sea than communicate with them on any level.
When I first came back, I had to stay at my mom's place for a while because my house was rented out, and man, was I relieved they hadn't sold it--just another lie The Freak fed me. Fortunately I was so paranoid about ever losing my house that I'd just taken the entire commission from a house sale and placed it in a separate account so I'd have a year's worth of mortgage payments banked. The mortgage company just kept taking their payments out, month after month, and I suppose when my bank account was drained they'd have foreclosed.
I asked Mom where my things were, and she said, 'We had to sell it all, Annie. How do you think we came up with the money for your search? Most of the donations went for your reward. We had to use all the rental money too.' She sure wasn't kidding--they sold
My car was a lease, and once the cops processed it, it went straight back to the dealership. Now I'm driving that piece of shit out there until I figure out what I want to do--a fancy car doesn't seem that important anymore.
I had a lot of savings, but all my bills were on direct withdraw, so I don't have much left. My office gave Mom my paychecks from some deals that closed after I was abducted. She tried to cash them so they could add to the reward money, which has now gone to charity, but they wouldn't let her so she had to deposit them into my account--good thing, or my whole life would've folded.
A few days ago I was cuddling with Emma on the couch when my phone rang. I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, but I saw Mom's number on the call display and knew if I didn't answer, she'd just keep calling.
'How's my Annie Bear today?'
'Fine.' I wanted to tell her I was tired because the night before--the fifth night in a row I slept in my bed--a branch scratched against my window, and I spent the rest of the night in my closet, wondering if I was ever going to feel safe again.
'Listen, I have some great news--Wayne has come up with an
You'd think eventually they'd realize the guy just doesn't have the Midas touch. I almost feel sorry for Wayne
