Page 95 of Savage Keepsakes

It’s hard to tell someone you love it, that you explore bodies and generate a profit because it’s a fun time. The great little packages are some deep need to make my mother feel that gut-wrenching dread, but that cunt wouldn’t have ever cared if I lived or died.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I toss the butt into the fire and add more pieces until I’ve filled the barrel. Flames dance against the night as an amazing song comes on and I’m out of the sentimental journey my brain tried to force me on.

Dancing back indoors, I’m fed up with this cunt in my barn, destroying my product. Shaking my head, I lower the mask over my face.

I unlock and rip open the door. She lays in a pathetic heap. I can no longer think straight, theblack slime in my skull too much. She’s ruined a lot, and I can’t help but assume she’s purposely here to destroy me.

I hit her, but I feel nothing, and with the lack of noise, I can tell the punches aren’t landing hard enough. I grab the spoon from my back pocket and dig into her skin. She would be useless to work with anyway, given the number of tattoos she has.

She sings the sweet melody I’ve been looking for all fucking night.

“Fuck you,” she screams. People are so unoriginal.

I clutch her hair, holding tightly while I bash her face off the wooden slates of the stall. It still isn’t enough.

I walk to my bench, restart my CD, and grab my knife. I make several cuts and run my fingers through the wounds. Blood flows over my fingertips and coats my palms as she screams into the air.

I attempt to carve the tattoos off, but it’s pointless. There is nothing of her I can use, but I keep cutting and gouging her to satisfy the rage monster within me.

Using the bone saw, I hack away at her ankle. She deserves nothing less than this sort of death for the way she has treated my Lou.

She’s a mess. Blood and shit pour out of her. I’ve never killed someone off the table, and as thedarkness fades away, the anger curls back into my stomach like a coil.

Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m going to have to have a fire tomorrow to take care of the rest of the evidence.

Reaching down, I check but can’t find a pulse. Kicking her for one last measure, I slam the door of the stall and store my tools away.

I head out the back door and push around the last of the fire before putting the lid on.

Twenty-Four

Lucy

Ican feel Billy’s arms wrapped around me, creating a sense of security. I came home and passed out for six hours.

Since waking up, I’ve found solace in his comforting embrace. The lines on his forehead aren’t as relaxed as normal, and I wonder what happened last night.

His magenta hair is a mess, and as I continue to stare at him, I take in all his details—tobacco scent mixed with his favourite bar of soap, tattoos that line every inch of him, the way he curls around me like I might fade away.

When my phone vibrates on the nightstand, I groan. The last fucking thing I want to do is head into the office and regret agreeing to be on call since Leah fucked off, but it made Artie happy.

That’s all I want in my professional life, for my friends and Billy to be cheerful.

“Hello,” I whisper into the phone.

“Lucy, we need you down here. Leah has been found, and she’s in rough shape,” Artie replies.

“If you got her, doesn’t that mean you don’t need me?”

“I need you to come to the hospital right away.”

Billy’s arms circle me tighter and I struggle to not throw the cell across the room.

“I’ll be there soon,” I say.

Squirming around, I look back at Billy’s face. “Was this you?”

“Was what me?” He stretches his arms and props his head up on his hand.

---