Page 27 of Long Pig

He now had a front-row seat in the shadowy underworld most people only dared imagine. Even though the stories offered a mix of titillation and moral warnings where justice usually prevailed, it didn’t worry Larry. He could beat justice because he already had.

One afternoon, at a small store he’d only visited once before, another man perused the same magazines Larry was after. He knew others read them, but this was the first time he watched someone walk out with similar morbid choices.

The middle-aged man, dressed in jeans and a dark blue T-shirt, left the store and climbed into an 18-wheeler. Larry stared through the store’s front glass until the trucker drove away.

Trucking cross country might be the perfect job.

Larry researched everything he could find. The Motor Carrier Act of 1980 took the trucking industry out of federal hands and opened the field to independent truckers. Larry might not have the money to live his entire life without working, but he had enough to buy a long-haul truck and become an independent owner-operator.

A chauffeur's license was all that was required to drive a semi. It was easy enough to obtain. He just had to wait three months for his twenty-first birthday. He used the time to do more research at the library. His studies were no longer dreary. The ins and outs of the long-haul trucking business fascinated him and he absorbed as much information as he could find.

The library gave him access to something else. He was able to check out VHS tapes. In the small apartment he had finally rented above a bakery, two miles from the closed butcher shop, he watched them in privacy. His movie choices were mostly horror because of the gore, but he also crossed into science fiction. Over the next months, he watchedNight of the Living Dead,Soylent Green,The Hills Have Eyes,The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and his new favorite,Cannibal Holocaust.

These movies had a common theme: people eating human meat. He’d fantasized about eating a person for years. For him, it was the ultimate aphrodisiac. His movie choicesproved other people held the same fascination. He wasn’t alone, and he would be doing what they didn’t dare.

His father told him humans tasted like pig, but was it true? Thoughts of doing his own experiments gave him even darker cravings. When he did sleep, garish dreams filled with the terror and the blood of his victims had him waking in pools of sweat.

He turned observing people for their taste potential into a disturbing hobby.She’s thin,he would think to himself.So delicate, with bones pressed too close to the surface. There would be no richness, just the faint whiff of tendon and sinew.He imagined the meat would shrink on the pan, leaving nothing but stringy fibers and the flavor of fear.

Overweight people were different. They carried soft abundance. He could almost feel the warm, pliant give of it beneath his hands. They would have a slow-roasted sweetness, fat that would sizzle under heat. A feast for someone who appreciated excess.

These lurid images turned into workable plans. These thoughts consumed him. First, he had to leave the town where he killed his parents. Once he was out of sight, he would be out of the minds of the people he’d known since he was a young, strange boy they couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Second was buying an 18-wheeler. Nothing flashy. Something that would get him across the country without drawing attention. He checked out the Freightliner FLA Cabover, the Peterbilt 359, and the Kenworth W900.

The W900 was by far the best and could be customized to fit his needs. It was flashy, though, and he had to stay away from anything that would draw attention, so he settled on a used Peterbilt. He got it for a steal at forty-five thousand dollars. It came with a 63-inch flat top sleeper. Crucially, it had a storage area behind the seat that he could fit two large coolers in.

To get away with murder, you had to be smart.

Larry was beyond smart. He was brilliant.

Chapter Seventeen

Lonely Bones

Willow

Six months after Willow found the bones, her life had returned to something resembling normal. The memories of prison that had clung to her for so long began to lift. Her overall moods were lighter, though she remained cautious.

Dale had run into Deputy Wallard one afternoon outside the hardware store and told him to stay far away from her. Willow hadn’t asked what exactly he’d said, but the warning worked, and he didn’t come back to the property. For a while, she jumped whenever a truck slowed near her driveway, her stomach tightening until she recognized the vehicle. Eventually, though, the tension ebbed. Wallard had a wife; he didn’t need the trouble that harassing Willow would cause.

Still, she felt that strange hum she associated with danger especially at dusk when the sky turned shades of red and orange while coyotes gave far-off calls. She forced herself to breathe and let life happen.

She hadn’t let go of her dream, even if it had changed shape. The ache of lost purpose, of wanting to help women like herself, still visited her at odd times, but it no longer followed her as closely. The dream had turned into something she refused to let go of.

“I could give Liz your background story,” Dale told her one afternoon while helping her process a large bucket of green beans from the garden. “But I don’t think it would help. The shelter survives off grant money. Your situation is, sadly, a liability.”

The sincerity in his voice and the anguish on his face made her chest tighten.

“It’s not Liz’s fault,” she assured him gently. “Maybe just remind her that if they have someone who doesn’t fit their criteria, we’re here to help.”

“I can absolutely do that,” Dale promised.

Her furniture restoration projects filled half her day now. The scent of stripped varnish and lemon oil hung in the air of the barn, mingling with sawdust and coffee. The rhythmic scrape of sandpaper and the soft hum of the rotary sander became her background music. When she finished her grandmother’s dresser, she showed it to Louisa and Roger.

Louisa ran her palm along the smooth surface, the wood shining under the light. “It’s beautiful, Willow. Would you be willing to work on something for me?”

Willow started to refuse. “I couldn’t take your money.”