He sobs as I push against his chest again with my boot, knocking him flat onto his back and pinning him beneath me.
When I use the sharp edge of the hoe to chop off his left hand, he screams again, so loudly that there’s a commotion in the trees in the distance, like the crows are scattering.
His hand comes clean off, severed beneath the weight of my blow, and he sobs, immediately choking on his tears, his screams, his own fucking blood.
I'm impressed, particularly when the fingers still twitch on his disconnected hand.
I've half a mind to chop them all off one by one as he watches, but time is of the essence. It's why I don't take my time letting the horror sink in before I heft the hoe again and sever his right hand at the wrist just the same.
He's too horrified to do anything other than wail like a little fucking bitch.
His cries have no effect on me; I wonder if he felt anything when she cried. And I know she did... I can see the tear tracks down her face.
I don't mind him crying; it makes it easy to heft him onto the stake. I didn't bring rope, but I've got what's left of what I cut her off of, and I make quick work of wrapping him up with it. He's not a big guy, but he's surprisingly solid, leaning forward as his body strains to pull away from the rope.
I'm grateful it holds, though, as I slip the sack from my back pocket and drop the hood into place, tugging it down over his now ruined face.
It's the blood loss that kills him, I'm sure. That or shock. Either way, his sobs and screaming cease before I even get the hood in place.
When I step back to admire my handiwork, I can't help but smirk.
It looks so real.
The crows won't dare come around here... but the sheriff?
Well, I'm counting on that.
Chapter 9
Ishouldhavetakenthe letterman jacket to drape it over her, to at least try to offer her some warmth on the way back to the house. It's not a short walk, but I make it in record time, whispering assurances that it will be fine soon, soothing her sticky hair out of her face, willing her to hang on.
I throw the door open with more force than I mean to, and it blows back on its hinges, creaking in protest as the bitter wind follows us inside. I don't stop to close the door; Natalie will be upset with me for letting the leaves in, but if a couple leaves are all that stands between this woman's life and her death, Natalie will just have to get the damn broom.
"What's all the commotion?" Herb asks, poking his head out from behind the newspaper. When he sees the girl in my arms, his pale eyes widen.
"I've gotta get her into the bath." I explain, not pausing for chit-chat.
"What's going on?" Lizzie steps in my path, and then immediately stumbles backwards.
I don't wait, heading up the stairs to the bathroom, ignoring my roommates as they poke their heads out of their rooms, curious.
The woman is practically weightless; I know she wasn't out there longer than the night, but she looks like she's been there for days. The abuse to her body is less horrific under the halogen glow from the lights, the bruising less vivid and more mottled, darker. The true test of how extensive it is will be once I wash away the dirt, the paint on her face, the straw in her hair.
I turn the water on, watching as it churns out a russet brown.
The pipes are old, full of rust, but it clears after a moment or two, and I transfer her gently to the old clawfoot tub, careful to make sure her head doesn't smack against the porcelain.
I don't stop the tub, letting it continue to run as I work a washcloth over her tender skin. She doesn't moan or wince as I do, letting me wash the grime off of her body, dirt and blood off her feet, blood and vomit off her chest, cum and blood from her thighs, and streaks of something I don't want to consider too much.
She’s absolutely wrecked, and it makes me want to murder Toby Connors a thousand times over. How could anyone be so cruel?
It feels wrong to be in such intimate spaces as I clean her, but I'm not going to leave her in filth.
I'm careful, using a feather-light touch to swipe between her legs, gentle circles to lift the grime off of her flesh.
When I've done a decent job avoiding getting too familiar with her body, I drop the cloth on the ground and stop the tub, drawing the chain and fitting the little rubber plug in place.
The water fills the tub fast, and her body slips into the water a little more as it rises, so I grab a fresh cloth and tilt her head a little, setting her up so that I can see her face.
