Page 51 of Long Pig

His smile sent shivers down her spine.

“You will do exactly as I say, or I will shoot you like I did the deputy.”

Willow had so many questions, but no words came from her throat. She only nodded.

“Good. I’m going to load the body in the truck, but first I’m going to secure you in my truck so you’re not in the way. Where’s your cell phone and car keys?”

Willow moved her hand slowly to her front pocket and removed the keys, then to her back pocket and pulled out her cell.

“Good. Toss them toward me one at a time.”

She obeyed instantly.

“Because of you, my plans are changing, and I don’t like change. Remember that. You will sit in the back seat, and I’ll prop the deputy in front with me. There are child locks on the back doors, so don’t bother trying to get out.”

He took a forward step, bent over, picked up her keys and phone. He smashed the iPhone against Wallard’s bumper, and tossed it about fifteen feet away into the tall grass after rubbing his fingerprints off with his shirt. He pocketed her keys, then took out his own. A short chirp sounded from the other side of the road.

Willow hadn’t noticed his vehicle. The paint blended into the forest. Larry walked toward her, and she almost turned and ran. The rifle was no longer pointed in her direction.

“Your ability to survive relies on the choices you make right now,” he said.

Willow’s shoulders dropped. He would lift the rifle and shoot her before she could find cover, and then what? The gun she’d brought was still in the glovebox.

“Cross the road and get in the back seat.”

She did as he said.

“I’m going to collect the deputy, and you’re going to wait here patiently. I’m aware you can jump into the front, but there are no weapons, and I have the keys. Be good, and I won’t hurt you.” He closed the door after she nodded again.

His eyes had stayed cold and glassy the entire time he spoke. Willow had no doubt that he would kill her. She watched him take a plastic tarp from the bed of his truck, cross the road, and walk out of sight. Could she run and escape?

The trees weren’t dense enough to cover her, and she had no idea how far it was to the lake. Would someone drive down the road heading home after a day of fishing? Willow closed her eyes. Larry would kill the person, or, God forbid, a family.

He walked back into view with the deputy over his shoulder, the tarp tight around his head. He managed to get the passenger door open and prop Wallard inside. Larry didn’t look at Willow.

“Blood,” he muttered, and reached into the glovebox for a package of wet wipes.

He used one to wipe the side of his face, and another to wipe his hands. He grabbed a baseball cap from beneath the seat, and affixed it to the top of Wallard’s head, or what was left of it. The sight froze Willow, and it finally sank in that the deputy was dead, and she was in the hands of the man who killed him.

Larry came back to the truck, and removed a shovel before crossing to the deputy’s vehicle again, and walking out of sight. She thought about running again, but there was no place to hide.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Larry ordered when he returned.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Room of Death

Butch

Butch had gone to town to pick up a few things, and saw the deputy leaving St. Johns. It was easy to follow, and it surprised him when he pulled off the highway and went towards the lake. Was he going fishing? Butch drove past when the truck pulled off the side of the road and stopped. He parked around the next bend and left his vehicle, carrying the rifle. In the scope, he watched as the deputy began pacing next to his truck.

Even though the circumstances were strange, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take the man out. It was a clean shot, and he quickly moved his truck so it was on the opposite side of the road across from the deputy’s vehicle.

Then he saw Willow drive up and park her old truck. Why was she meeting the deputy after he’d been stalking her? How could she be involved with him? Were they friends? Anger burned deep in his gut. The Willow of his vivid dreams was almost holy, and now his head spun. Maybe his dreams had been trying to tell him something completely different.

The dreams that afflicted him since he was a child were called olfactory hallucinations. Most people didn’t smell things in their dreams or solve complicated problems like him. The internet had provided a window into his mind, though he kept his search to a minimum. The government could be tracking him, and he had to appear like a normal trucker.

Now he was taking her to his place. Willow moved slightly, drawing his attention back to her. He tipped the rearview mirror so he could see her clearly. She didn’t look at him. Would she tell him the truth about the deputy if he asked?