Page 8 of Savage Keepsakes

Watching, I light another cigarette as they mosey down to the first room. My stomach jitters with anger. I want to get out and show Miles what a true fucking would be like... perhaps with a baseball bat or a lug wrench to take him for a spin.

I lean back in my seat. Crushing the cig butt into the ashtray, I crack my knuckles. What the fuck does Lucy see in this prick?

Less than an hour rolls by before the door to their room opens. Burger Boy has a grin on his face, his arm slung around her shoulder. They embrace and kiss before getting in their cars and going their separate ways.

Gritting my teeth, I swipe my hand over my jaw. Lucy deserves what I can give her, not this fuckwad. I seethe in the feeling of hatred for him. I’ll be more than happy to show him what fucking around on your girlfriend leads to.

I drive home, lighting another cigarette. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer it.

“Hey,”

“Billy, new job for ya. Sent the address to your phone. It’s a little weird, but nothing compared to prior jobs.”

“Thanks, man,” I say before hanging up.

Desperate people do weird things with their money. Keeping grandma forever on a couch is a weird way to celebrate Easter, but who am I to judge?

Over the years, these jobs have ranged from wives getting back at their husbands to using parts of them forever. Life hands me crazy cards and I just play ‘em. Pride in the work I do for the black market is fulfilling and keeps me at the top of the list for jobs.

The following afternoon, I drive up the laneway of Lucy’s house. The yard and dwelling come into view. A quick check of the cameras showed me that no one was home.

Broken branches line the sides of the driveway and the lawn is overgrown. I can help her fix this place up to be the fortress she needs.

The crunching of rocks beneath my tires resonates as I pull around the back of the property. The car jolts and groans on the rugged off-road path. With a quick reach into the backseat, I retrieve my bag and step out into the driveway.

Over my shoulder is a backyard cluttered with branches and various pieces of unwanted junk. The scent of musty rot fills my nose. What I’m guessing is the layers of dead foliage covering everything.

Further into the property are two buildings, both decrepit, but I can use the large barn and garage for my bigger projects. As much as I want to dive into them, my first task is to watch Lucy. I need to know she’s safe. After that, I’ll be tracking him more. Miles needs to pay for his sins.

When I come to the front of the house, a swing hangs at an awkward angle and the porch has a piece of plywood covering it. The boards were rotted out when I got the place, and I meant to fix it, but work got in the way.

If putting plywood down is his idea of repairing things, it explains why he’s such a waste of space. I don’t want her tainted by his touch anymore.

When I reach the door, I pull out my copy of the key I’ve made and enter the house.

In the empty living room, folded-up boxes are haphazardly stacked in the corner, adding a touch of disorder to the otherwise bare floor.

Walking into the kitchen, the white counter is broken, dirty plates sitting on top.

Lucy grew up in this type of mess, and I’ll break her of the habit if I must. Needing to see what’s happening when I’m not here, I position a new camera to capture the view of the entrance and activity in the dining room.

The hallway upstairs is long. Entering the first bedroom, I find a crumpled-up blanket strewn across the ground. She shouldn’t be sleeping on the fucking floor. I stomp through the space, anger filling my veins.

Lou deserves more. I might not be a good man, but I sure as fuck can provide better than this. Before leaving the room, I position another camera in the corner, careful not to disturb the delicate cobwebs.

Moving down the hall, I reach the next bedroom. It has a bed and clothes thrown all over the place. She and Miles are sleeping in different rooms? He’s so incompetent, he can’t even keep himself out of trouble.

Something has happened over the course of the last seven months since the funeral. Maybe she knows he’s a cheating dog, or he’s hurt her. With these better cameras, I’ll be able to tell. Out with the grainy potato-quality screens and in with the crisp new ones.

On my way downstairs, I look at the modem on the wide kitchen counter. Fucking with it, I give myself remote access to the Wi-Fi. I make sure nothing is out of place before locking the door and heading out to my car.

Maneuvering my Cruze down the dusty road, I pass Miles and grit my teeth. Revenge will be better in time. I’d like to beat the piss out of him now, but I have bigger plans for him.

I burn with the need to watch her. The darkness seizing control of my thoughts, fuelling a fiery frustration. Hunger has been creeping around the edges of my mind. It’s unfeedable until I have her in my possession.

Indulging in killing has been put on the back burner because of my clients. Although I had the recent pleasure of stuffing a priest’s flock and mounting them on a pew in the church’s basement, it isn’t enough for me to put my desires away.

I only make it fifty kilometers before the urge to kill is too much. Throwing myself into my job was supposed to take the edge off, working with the dead, delicately sewing their flesh into art for the wealthy. I’ve tried to stall the urge, but it consumes me like a pit that grows in my belly every day.

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