Page 62 of Long Pig
“Eat,” he said softly.
Her throat felt dry, but she lifted the spoon. Her fingers trembled. The first bite tasted of vegetables with the faint flavor of onions. She chewed and swallowed, her stomach tightening as if it wanted to reject it.Does dread have a taste?she wondered.
He smiled faintly. “Keep eating.”
She kept her eyes on the bowl. Looking at him brought back thoughts of the notebook.
“Take another bite,” he urged.
She obeyed; the spoon pausing halfway to her mouth when she caught the look in his eyes. She took the bite. He shifted closer. She heard the faint rasp of his breathing.
“You don’t like it,” he murmured. “I made it special for you.”
Her voice cracked. “It’s fine.”
His smile deepened. “Then eat every bite.” His expression softened, almost gentle. That was somehow worse.
When she finally set the spoon down, her hand ached from holding it so tightly. He reached out and ran his thumb along the rim of the bowl. Such a small, meaningless gesture, yet her body went rigid. It felt like ownership.
“Would you like to take an apple back with you?”
Her stomach lurched. The thought of returning to that room with the body and smell made the bile rise again.
“Please,” she said quickly. “The smell down there turns my stomach. I’ll sit here and not move if you give me time for my food to settle.”
He considered her, then walked toward a cabinet. She tracked his movements from the corner of her eye. He took down a wooden box, about the size of a bread pan, then reached next to the cabinet and drew out a rifle. She froze.
He rested both on the table. “Will gun cleaning oil bother your stomach?”
Her exhale trembled out. “No, I don’t think so.”
He began cleaning the rifle, the same one, she realized, that had ended Wallard’s life. His motions were methodical. The bolt clicked, and the metallic whisper of the rod moved with a deliberate rhythm. It wasn’t just habit; this was ritual.
Was he trying to intimidate her? Maybe. The weapon on his hip already did that. But as she watched, she realized his attention had drifted inward, focused on his task, not on her. The smell of gun oil filled the air and, oddly, it calmed her. She and Dale had done this together many times. Her throat tightened. She blinked hard, forcing the tears back.
When Butch finished, he reassembled the rifle and replaced the kit.
“My stomach feels better now,” she said quietly. “And if the offer for the apple is still available, I’ll take it back with me.”
He handed her one from a small basket on the counter. Its red skin gleamed under the light. She rose, careful not to move too quickly, and walked toward the door with him close behind.
The moment the basement smell hit her, she stopped breathing through her nose. She took shallow, controlled breaths and walked to the bed.
He locked the cuff around her ankle again and left.
The light went off and the darkness swallowed everything.
Willow stared into space, the apple still in her hand, her pulse hammering beneath her skin.
Had she passed the test?
Chapter Forty-Two
Monsters in the Dark
Dale
The only thing Dale was happy about was his former employers’ absence when it came to the investigation. Deputy Taylor from Navajo County arrived at the scene and offered to help.