Page 27 of Bird on a Blade (Hunter’s Heart #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

EDIE

I don’t want to say it’s a relief to go into town. Being at Sawyer’s place isn’t exactly unpleasant. Sawyer certainly isn’t unpleasant. But it’s isolating, and sometimes it feels like the woods are squeezing in around me. The leaves are peaking and all the reds and oranges and golds make the clearing feel like it’s at the center of a circle of fire.

It doesn’t help, either, that every now and then I come across these little reminders about what Sawyer is. What he does. Every time I think I’ve become okay with it, him being a killer, I stumble across something that makes my stomach twist up tight and I think that I should call the police and get the hell out. Like his big hunting knife that he polishes each night before bed, tucking it away in its leather pouch before he slides into the sheets beside me.

Or the body parts I found sitting up in a tree a few meters away from the church, the flesh decaying away and perfuming the air with a curdled sweetness.

Little reminders. Not big enough for me to run away, although they should be. But whenever I see them, whenever I think about them, Sawyer’s own sweetness suddenly seems as dark as rot .

I shake my head, turn the music up. For all my doubts, I still can’t bring myself to leave. And I think that’s what really scares me.

I just need some normalcy, that’s all.

The drive is perfect in that regard. My car is familiar compared to Sawyer’s church, and I feel like I can appreciate the autumn colors better while I’m driving in them; the dappled, golden light reminds me of pumpkin spice lattes and cozy sweaters and the miniature pumpkins I’d buy every year to put on the kitchen table. It doesn’t remind me of fire. Of trees blooming rotting skulls.

When I pull into Altarida, it looks like a postcard. The shops have their Halloween decorations up, cutesy skeletons and big-eyed witches. The hardware store has strung fake cobwebs in their window. Normal. It’s all so fucking normal.

It doesn’t take me long to get the supplies. I keep an eye on the time; I don’t want to know what Sawyer will do if I’m so as much as a minute late. Not to me , of course. But just… in general.

Leaves skitter down the street as I load up the car. It’s the middle of the week, and no one’s out. The emptiness is both reassuring and unnerving, like the world is holding its breath for something. A moment of stillness before the cops descend on us. On me . Sawyer tells me not to worry, but he can just die again. I’m an accessory, a thought that bothers me more for the potential consequences than its actual moral weight.

Leaves billow up around the car as I drive out of town and onto the little farm-to-market road that winds deep into the mountain. I’m good on time; I’ll make it back to Sawyer’s with at least twenty minutes to spare, and then maybe I can start painting over the sigil. Sawyer seemed embarrassed by it, but I actually think it’s kind of beautiful. It’s primal and intricate: something Charlotte would like. I ought to take a picture for her, although I have no idea if it would be a safe thing to send. A god, Sawyer said, although clearly one he doesn’t believe in .

I’m on the farm-to-market, driving through the golden-dappled sunlight, when I see the car behind me.

It’s nondescript, dark blue, and it’s a least two cars’ length back from me. But something about it sends a siege of panic coursing through my chest. No one drives on these roads. No one lives out here.

I keep going, telling myself I’m being paranoid. Maybe people do live out here. Or, more likely, maybe it’s someone driving to one of the trailheads.

The trailhead where Sawyer dumped Baro’s body .

The road curves; I curve with it. For a moment, the car is gone. I’m no longer being followed.

It reappears.

My face feels hot. I want to turn off the road and see if the car follows, but there are no turnoffs, not until the dirt road that leads to the church.

Go to the church . Go to Sawyer.

The car drops back a little, enough that it disappears and reappears as I twine through the road’s sinuous turns. But it’s there. If I hadn’t noticed it, maybe I wouldn’t think anything. But I did notice it.

And now I’m sure it’s following me.

Maybe it’s a lost traveler. Maybe they think I’m leading them to civilization.

If it’s just a traveler, you can send them on their way. I squeeze the steering wheel. Yes, that does seem like the best idea. Just lead them to the church. If it’s nothing, I’ll give them directions.

If it is something—Sawyer’s there. Balancing on that ladder, a whole bouquet of power tools and blunt objects and sharp blades arranged at his feet. A million possibilities flash behind my eyes, all of them bloody, all of them terrible. I hate that I’m not disturbed the way I think I should be.

The road narrows; I’m almost to the turnoff. I tap on the brakes, slowing slightly. My skin is damp with nervous sweat, and I fiddle with the AC. It makes me too cold, too clammy.

The car slows, too.

Of course it would fucking slow down. Do you think it would just rear-end you?

The turnoff to Sawyer’s church materializes up ahead. I don’t slow anymore. I just grip the wheel, and breathe through my teeth, and then, at the very last moment, swerve onto the dirt road in a swirl of dust and dead leaves.

The car flashes by.

I let out a long, shuddery breath as I bump over the rutted dirt. It’s only another five minutes and I’ll be back at the church. I’ll be safe. I can tell Sawyer about this and laugh and?—

The car appears behind me.

I shrieked and slam my foot on the gas so hard my car jumps forward, suspension creaking. I can barely breathe. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get to the church. Jump out, scream? No, it could still just be a traveler, and I don’t want someone innocent to get hurt. Sawyer doesn’t have a phone. I can’t call ahead to warn him.

The trees part; the golden grass of the clearing appears. Sawyer’s church is a flash of white like a dot of sunlight. I roar up to it and sit with the engine idling as the blue car pulls behind me and slows to a stop.

I don’t move, just stare at my rearview mirror, waiting. The car has dark-tinted windows. I have no idea who’s inside, but they aren’t getting out, like they’re waiting for me to do it first. Someone lost would get out. Wave. Make themselves look friendly.

I peer through the windshield, but there’s no sign of Sawyer. That concerns me, too. Shouldn’t he… smell that I’m in danger? Or sense it? Whatever he does?

I kill the car’s engine. I know I can’t just sit here all day. I clutch the car key in my hand the way I learned in college, a dull metal blade jutting out from between my fingers. Then I step into the cool wind.

Immediately, the other car’s door swings open. I squeeze my key tighter, my breath fast and panting, as a man steps out. It’s not Scott, which is a relief. But it’s not someone vacationing in the mountains, either. He wears a neat dark suit, his brown hair cut close to his scalp. If this is Baro’s partner—and I can only assume it is—he looks meaner. More dangerous.

“Mrs. Hensner,” he says brightly, flashing me with a blinding smile. I step backward, heart hammering. “So you are alive and well.”

“Who are you?” I glance sideways at the church. Where the fuck is Sawyer?

Waiting. He’s waiting to strike.

“Logan Greer,” the man says. “Your husband hired my partner and me to find you.”

The way he says partner bubbles with menace.

I swallow. Despite the cool autumn wind, my skin slicks with sweat beneath Sawyer’s flannel. The key is slippery in my palm.

“Tell my ex-husband ,” I stress the word, “that I don’t want to be found.”

Greer tilts his head. His eyes have a flatness to them that makes my skin go cold.

“I’m not sure you completely understand.” He steps toward me, his movements smooth and easy. I step backward and will Sawyer to come around the corner of the church. Why isn’t he here? What is he doing?

“Your husband doesn’t want you to be found ,” Greer continues. “He wanted us to find you . And then—” He takes a deep breath, gives me another one of those blinding smiles. “And then take care of you.”

He lunges at me, tearing across the grass. I dive sideways, swinging my clenched fist—and my car key—up just in time to slice across his face. The victory’s short-lived, though; Greer howls and latches out, grabbing my wrist. The key disappears in the yellow grass. He wrenches me up to him and presses his ear into my mouth.

It’s nothing like when Sawyer does it.

“I know my partner was squeamish about this,” he snarls, wrenching my arm painfully back along my spine. “Is that what happened to him? He actually found you out here, and then he hesitated?” His breath is hot and humid, and he squeezes my arm tighter. “I’m not going to hesitate.”

Something sharp and cold presses into my waist, and I finally find the will to scream, my voice echoing across the mountain.

“Shut the fu?—”

A dark blur slams into him, yanking him away from me. I stumble forward and land hard on my hands and knees, panic and terror slicing through my body.

Scott really is going to kill you.

I don’t have time to dwell on the thought, a confirmation of what I already knew. Greer shouts behind me, but it’s cut off with a heavy, metallic thud. I flip around and am not remotely surprised by what I see:

Sawyer in his grey Halloween mask, one hand clutching his hunting knife, the other clutching Greer’s brown hair.

“Who the fuck are—” Greer sputters out most of the question before Sawyer slams his head against the frame of my car. Greer lets out a wet choking sound.

Sawyer glances over at me.

I can’t see his eyes, only that twisted, snarling demon face. But I know what he’s doing.

He’s giving me the opportunity to leave. To not see him do what he does.

I should take it. I know I should take it. But I can’t move. My body feels weighted in place, my fingers digging into the cold damp earth. I’m too scared, and I don’t know who I’m scared of: the ex-husband who nearly strangled me, the man he sent to kill me, or my boyfriend.

Sawyer turns away from me and slams Greer’s head against the car again. Then he flings him down and steps over him. His knife catches the sunlight.

“I wasn’t gonna touch her!” Greer shouts. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I was just lost, man! I was just?—”

Sawyer bends down and picks a knife out of the grass. It’s smaller than his. A switchblade.

He slams it into Greer’s left eye.

Greer screams, a horrible and inhuman sound, his hand scrambling frantically at his face. His blood is bright red, so bright it doesn’t look real.

Sawyer looks at me again. That bright red blood splatters across his mask. I wish, suddenly, that I could see his face.

I still can’t pull myself up to standing. I’m petrified by fear.

Sawyer’s shoulders hitch, ever so slightly, and then he draws back his hunting knife and slams it down into the still-screaming Greer. I jolt at the suddenness of it, and then feel dizzy when Sawyer yanks the knife back out with a spray of blood and does it again, and again, stabbing and slicing. Greer’s screams turn to gurgles and then fall silent, but Sawyer’s still slashing at him, bathing himself in Greer’s blood. I can smell it, a wet coppery scent that makes my eyes water.

It reminds me of that night at Camp Head Start, cradling Gavin’s head in my lap as he died, offering him a kindness he never once showed me.

It reminds me of Blake’s body in the food hall, the way Sawyer turned me around so I couldn’t see it.

It reminds me of my own blood when Sawyer sank his teeth into my shoulder as he fucked me.

Sawyer straightens up. He’s drenched in blood, and I know, seeing him like that, how I should react. I should be frightened. I should be disgusted. I should be retching into the grass .

Instead, I just feel a strange, terrifying calm. It’s the same feeling I had that night fifteen years ago when I found Michelle Evan’s body. A hollowness. An absence of emotion.

That’s what scares me. That’s what drives me up to standing, my legs wobbly and weak. The knowledge that I am okay with this, this bloody, mangled corpse, because I’m in love with the monster who did it.

And that is why, when Sawyer reaches out to me, I run.