Page 3 of Savage Keepsakes

He pulls on the horns. The deer’s face bounces off the tailgate and trails through the debris on the bottom of the truck bed.

The amount of salt Buddy used has some of the skin sloughing off in spots. He’ll never realize he’s got carcass stuck to the metal of his truck for years.

Once the head is on the table, I give the guy a nod and turn to wheel it into the back of my shop.

The pickup grumbles to start as he pulls out, leaving me in a cloud of dust.

“Well, Brute, it’s just you and me for the afternoon. I’ll never understand how people can hunty’all for sport. You were just living your best life before that waste of skin came along.”

Brute the buck says nothing, but I don’t take offence.

I work on the eyes first, because the smell is only going to get worse. “Sorry, Brute. You don’t want to see the horrors of that man cave, anyway. It’s for the better. He probably sits and jerks his tiny little dick to porn while smoking home-rolled cigarettes.”

After I dispose of the decomposing orbs, I get to work on the hide. I’ll never know how long he was left in the DIY solution, and now I have to do my best to give him a lower concentrated salt soak.

Walking around the shop I grab the enzymes needed from the wooden cabinet along the white brick wall. Seizing a couple of rags from the other cupboard, I wipe down the stainless-steel table.

I glance over at the wooden case I’ve built to hold the skins. It’s cool, dry, and works like a charm for the curing process. Even when the job is as big as a few people.

I move back to the carcass and rinse him off. Once I close the drain, I pour in the enzymes and fill the tub with water again.

“Should be alright now, Brute, stay comfortable for me, eh? I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I walk around, turning off the lights, making sure everything is locked up tight.

Heading out the back door, I saunter outside and climb upstairs to my apartment. It’s above the shop, it’s a glorified closet, but it keeps me rural and away from people.

Bouncing on my toes, I dance across the floor to my makeshift bedroom to put on a band tee and a ripped pair of oversized cargo shorts.

Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I cross the open area to sit on the decaying couch.

I grab my cell and check Lucy’s social media. There is a new picture with Miles’s arm around her shoulders.

Gritting my teeth, I ease back on the cushion. It should be my fucking arm around her. It’s more than a want now. Ineedher in my life. Shebelongsto me, and like fuck will I let that prick have her.

I take a swig from my beer, its pungent sweetness coating my tongue. Reading the email from my realtor, I’m pumped with the vendor take-back mortgage terms I arranged for Lucy. She never needs to know that I own the property.

I knew Lucy would fall in love with that house, and it’s easier to circle your prey when they’re in a web of your own making.

Everything is falling into place.

Two

Lucy

Iwipe my brow with the bottom of my sweat-soaked shirt and plop down on the bare mattress in the middle of our bedroom. Moving is over. Although I don’t own many things, the spiral staircase I loved when viewing this property is now my arch-nemesis.

Staying with Miles was better than my parents, but it sucked sharing the house with a bunch of guys.

The small reprieves I got from going to my best friends JoJo’s place were far and few between.

Miles groans from where he leans against the doorframe. “I thought this place would be better from the pictures you showed me. Sure, it was a good deal, but it’s a dump.”

“It has charm,” I mumble.

It’s the total opposite of the tomb of a trailer I grew up in. Here, I can make memories that last alifetime instead of haunting tales that are better off dead.

“Charm is somethingIhave. This place is a fucking write-off. If you had letmechoose, we could’ve taken my parents’ offer to buy a proper home.”

---