Eleanor waggled a finger. “Don’t you dare get any blood on my Richard Nixon rug.”
“So what do we do with him? Should I just take him out back, put one in the back of his head?”
The Sheriff made his hand into a gun, and pointed his index finger at Felix.
“No. Give him to Ronald. He ain’t been fed proper in a while.”
“Yes, Ma.”
The Sheriff hooked a hand under Felix’s armpit, pulling him to his feet.
“And when you’re finished up, Dwight, help Grover up in the Grant bedroom. The old woman in there is the only one left.”
The Sheriff made a pouty face. “Aw, c’mon, Ma. I gotta get back to the office. I’m working tonight. Can’t Ulysses do it?”
“Ulysses is towing a guest’s car.”
“How about Millard or George?”
“Millard is cleaning up a mess in the transfusion room. One of our permanent guests is holed up in there. She’s with a dog that bit George, pretty bad. Millard’s going to take care of it, soon as he gets dressed.”
“You’re talking about Maria,” Felix said.
Eleanor cocked her head at Felix, then zapped him with the prod. Felix fell onto his knees again.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Eleanor said. “But yes, I was talking about Maria. Big disappointment, that one. I had hopes for grandchildren, but the girl is barren as the Sahara Desert. But don’t you get your hopes up, young man. Millard is going to put the poor girl out of my misery. He’s very good at that. And it’s no loss for us. We have enough new blood to last us for the year.”
“You... monster,” Felix said, bracing himself for another jolt.
But Eleanor didn’t prod him again. She just smiled.
“Sometimes, people in power have to do distasteful things for the greater good. Throughout our nation’s history, our Presidents have had to do many things that could be considered unsavory. And before them, the kings that passed on their sacred blood line, often made sacrifices for the greater good. Being born to rule is a huge responsibility, and royalty has no need for morality.”
Then Eleanor stuck the cattle prod on Felix’s chest, pressing him to the floor, holding him there until his entire world was reduced to a blazing, pinpoint of pain.
“Get him off my rug and feed him to Ronald,” Eleanor said. “Then go help Grover with the old woman.”
The Sheriff scratched his head. “Shit, Ma, it’s just an old lady. Grover can handle—”
Eleanor’s hand shot out, fast as a rattlesnake, slapping Sheriff Dwight across the face.
“Dwight D. Eisenhower Roosevelt, don’t you swear in this house.”
The Sheriff looked at his shoes. “Sorry, Ma.”
“Besides, you should never underestimate women of later years. They’re a lot stronger than you think.”
“Yes, Ma.” The Sheriff hauled Felix to his feet once again. “This is the one that did John. You want to give him a horse whippin’? I can fetch it for you.”
“It’s been a frightfully busy day, Dwight. I’m too gosh darn tired to horse whip anyone right now. Besides, Ronald will deliver a right proper punishment without me.”
The Sheriff nodded. “As you wish, Ma. And remind me before I go I got somethin’ for you in the car.”
Eleanor beamed. “Is it the Reagan/Bush ’88 banner I’ve been asking for?”
“It sure is. Found one on Craigslist. Practically brand new.”
She touched the Sheriff’s red cheek. “Y’all are such a dear boy. When you get off work tonight, come knock on Momma’s door. She’ll show you how grateful she is.”
Eleanor ran her liver-colored tongue over her lower lip.
Felix winced.
The Sheriff set his cowboy hat on a cabinet, opened a drawer, and took out a mining hat. He perched that on his head, turned on the light.
“Move it, boy. Lest I horse whip you myself.”
He prodded Felix out the front door, walking him into the woods. After being inside the house, the forest seemed even darker. Felix eyed the treeline, wondering how far he’d get if he made a run for it.
Then Felix felt the Sheriff grab the chain linking his wrists. Escape was no longer an option.
“Straight ahead. Keep a’moving.”
He marched Felix through the trees. They walked for several minutes, not following any particular path Felix could make out. The Sheriff’s head lamp constantly scanned the foliage in all directions. Like he was afraid of something sneaking up on him. And maybe he was.
They eventually reached an open clearing. The Sheriff’s light focused on…
“Jesus Christ,” Felix said.
There were bones. Human bones. Dozens and dozens of them, littered about like the aftermath of a plane crash. Skulls and rib cages and pelvises. Femurs and spines. Some dark with age. Some still with strips of bloody flesh clinging to them.
“Shh,” the Sheriff whispered. “If Ronald is sleeping, you don’t wanna to wake him up.”
The Sheriff tapped Felix on the back of the head with his gun, trying to get him to move forward. Felix didn’t budge.
“Move it, boy.”
“No fucking way.”
Then Felix felt the Sheriff’s hand on his, grabbing three of his mangled fingers.
Felix heard the bones break before he felt them.
Then the pain hit, making everything Felix had experienced that night pale by comparison.
He opened his mouth to scream, and just as it was leaving his throat the Sheriff forced something into his mouth.
“That’s what you did to my brother, John,” the Sheriff said. “How’s it feel, boy? How’s it feel to break a man’s fingers when he can’t fight back?”
He grabbed Felix’s right hand and repeated the process.
Felix’s stomach was empty, but he dry-heaved anyway, bile coming up through his nose.
Using Felix’s fingers like a steering wheel, the Sheriff guided Felix to the metal pole. He quickly uncuffed his left hand, made Felix hug the pole, and cuffed him again.
“Have fun with Ronald, you sonofabitch.”
The Sheriff reared back and punched Felix in the gut. Felix dropped to his knees, sobbing, watching as the Sheriff scurried off, leaving him alone in the darkness.
Then Felix manuevered around to face the cave. Though the full moon was shining through the break in the canopy, Felix’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, and he couldn’t see anything. But he could smell it. A rank, foul odor. Spoiled meat and blood and feces and musk.
The handcuff keys were still in Felix’s pocket. And with his hands now cuffed in front of him, they were within his reach.
Felix brought his right hand in front of his face. He didn’t want to look at it, but he had to assess the damage. Felix squinted in the darkness, saw his ring finger, middle finger, and index finger, all bent backwards at forty-five degree angles. The bloody bandages he’d put on earlier had begin to drip. Felix tried to move his hand, and a ripple
