Page 72 of Long Pig

He left and went downstairs to get the chain. He didn’t want to see disappointment on her face, but it couldn’t be helped. He attached it to one of the wooden supports that was more for decoration than anything, but it served the purpose.

“I need to go to Show Low, and I didn’t want to leave you downstairs. I’ll buy you a few clothes, underthings, too.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I can reach the kitchen. I’ll bake a cake for tonight’s dessert.”

There wasn’t an ounce of resentment in her voice, and his heart swelled.

“Chocolate cake?” he asked.

“Is there any other kind?” It was said saucily, and he smiled.

“Make a list and write down your sizes. I’ll pick up a good pair of hiking boots, too. I have something I want to show you tomorrow.”

Her lips didn’t just tip at the corners; she smiled full out. He gave her paper and a pen. She went through the pantry and refrigerator and made a grocery list.

“I’ll pick you up another pair of jeans and some T-shirts, too,” he told her when she handed the list over.

She looked down at her hands and didn’t say anything.

“Is there something you want to add?” he asked.

Willow lifted her head, and their eyes met. “I don’t need to add anything. You might not like this idea, but I wondered if I could wear your T-shirts?” Her eyes shifted shyly to the side.

A thrill went through Butch.

“I have more than I need, and several dozen with my truck logo on them.”

“Thank you, I like the ones with the logo.”

He placed the chain on her foot after she came out of the bathroom. The chain only went ten feet. She started on the cake before he left.

Driving down the dirt roads, Butch’s thoughts turned. For the first time, he wondered how she would taste. How her delectable aroma would dance across his tongue. She was different. The moment he saw her, he felt it in the same place hunger usually lived. Most people stirred appetite; she stirred recognition, until now. The air between them carried something different, like the scent just before it rained. Willow would feel familiar and have a flavor made of control and quiet madness. Not sweet, not tender, but complex. She was built of the same dark craving that lived inside him, a reflection rendered in breath and skin. If he ever consumed her, it would be like tasting himself for the first time.

???

Willow

As soon as she heard the truck drive away, she began the search. There were several small knives, but she had no place to hide them, and they would do little damage unless she was able to slit his throat. The scenario wasn’t likely, and one attempt was all she would get.

He’d taken the rifle, but he would put it back when he returned.

The chain bit into her ankle and clinked against the tile as she walked across the floor. She stretched until her hamstrings burned, one hand braced against the floor, the other clawing toward the desk that was just out of reach. The cuff bit deep with each inch she gained, tearing at her skin.

Her fingertips brushed the bottom drawer handle. She hooked it with a trembling finger and yanked. The drawer slid open with a groan. Blindly, she groped through its contents until her hand struck something small and square.

Her pulse spiked.

She pulled it free: a box of ammunition. She fumbled inside, pulling out two .308 rounds. She closed her fist around them and almost cried.

Would he check?

Terror traveled down her spine. It coiled in her gut, tightening until her thoughts frayed and reason began to slip away. If he discovered them missing or searched her, the game was up. She had no doubt he would kill her. She thought of Deputy Wallard and those who came before him. She fought not to gag.

Willow replaced the box carefully, hoping he wouldn’t see anything disturbed if he opened the drawer. An idea occurred to her, and she smiled. She’d learned much during her years in prison. She found the drawer where he kept plastic wrap, bags, and foil. She covered the ammo in plastic.

He was smart enough to find them, but she hoped he wouldn’t think to look where they were hidden. Her ankle required attention. She soaked a cloth and placed it between the cuff and her skin, hoping it would reduce bruising or even swelling.

She went back to preparing the cake while trying to stop her fingers from shaking. The bowl rattled against the counter as she stirred. If she had poison, she would fold it into the batter. The thought steadied her pulse, absurd as it was. For a moment, she could almost picture him eating without knowing what she’d done.