She stops to let him catch up with her. They’ve reached the fork in the path. Luca blinks in surprise, then grins.
“And I thought you were a nice girl.”
Is he going to refuse? She’s not sure she dares go on her own. She needs someone who has a better grip on reality than she does. Someone who’s properly anchored into their own life, committed to staying in it. Someone who will make her come back again.
“God, the face on you, woman! Like you’re about to shit a brick. No wonder you wanted me with you. Don’t worry, I’ll look after us. Make sure you keep quiet and we’ll be fine.”
It’s annoying to have Luca take charge as if this was all his idea, but there’s something comforting about seeing him go up the path ahead of her. He’s making no effort to be quiet. Does he know more than she does, or less? Has he been here before? Has he read the signs?
“Shit.” Luca stops to look. “Visitors not welcome at any time. Nice. If you trespass on my land I will not be responsible for my actions. Possible armed response, what the fuck? You can’t put a sign up with that on it. And there’s barbed wire as well. This is insane.”
Willow lifts the strand of wire and ducks beneath it.
“Hey, no. We’re not going any further. It’s not safe. Come on, don’t be a dickhead, Willow. This isn’t somewhere we ought to be. Look, come back here, I’m not coming in after you, it’s fucking stupid. Oh for God’s sake—” She hears the rustle of leaves and the scuttle of footsteps behind her as he follows her beneath the wire and catches up. “This had better be worth it, all right?”
She reaches up and puts a finger to his lips. She’s surprised by how warm they feel, how plump and vulnerable when the rest of him is hard-edged and skinny. She can feel the warm flow of his breath down her finger.
“Okay, good point,” he murmurs. “Christ, this is weird. This is so fucking weird.” He looks at her sternly. “Have you been here before?” She nods. “When? Did you see him? What’s he like?”
She stops his questions by turning away and leading him on. She treads as carefully as she can, conscious of each snap and rustle. Behind her, Luca is trying and failing to be quiet. Why can’t he look where he’s putting his feet, keep his arms still so they don’t swish against his sides, try breathing like a human being and not a steam engine? Or perhaps she sounds as loud as this to him.
“Christ.” Luca’s voice makes her jump. “Look at that place.”
She wants to tell him to shut up. She settles for a glare, but he’s too enthralled by the house to notice.
“How did anyone build that out here? It’s not like some shack, is it? It’s a proper house. Come on, let’s get a bit closer, I want to see more of it.”
No, she thinks. He might be in there. But it’s too late, Luca is already striding closer, the threatening signs forgotten, confident and loose in his stride, as if nothing bad can happen to him because he’s a boy. He walks up to the door, knocks hard on it with his knuckles. She forces herself to follow him, trying not to cower, carefully not looking at the bare, burned place where once, there was a fire and a pot full of bones. What are they going to do if the Slaughter Man comes to the door? Can they pretend they’re lost in the woods and need some help? Will he recognise her?
“Anyone in? Hello?” Luca knocks again, tries the handle. “Nah, it’s locked. He must be out. It’s just a bloke lives here, right?” She nods, and he grins slyly. “Thought so. No way a woman could hack it out here.”
Fuck off, she thinks, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Her skin prickles with the fear that they’re being watched, from a window or from behind a tree. She strains her ears for the click of a gun.
“Hey, you know I’m kidding, right? I mean, I’ve been raised by my mum, I know how strong women can be. I reckon most blokes are pretty useless to be honest. You girls are better off without us.” He scratches restlessly at his arm. “Reckon we can get inside?” She shakes her head. “God, I’m kidding. I’m kidding! What kind of a dickhead d’you think I am?”
I think you’re the kind of dickhead who’s probably just about nice enough to stop me if I do anything too stupid. A kind of dickhead canary-in-the-mine, but with worse conversation and more hats. She leads the way around the edge of the house, and dear God, there actually is something like the place she dreamed of, not exactly the same but close enough to turn her cold. A big box-like structure, no windows and a separate door, that in a more normal home would be the garage. Or maybe it is a garage, and not a butchery workshop at all? When she tugs at the handle, the door swings open.
“You want to go in there?” She nods. “Are you trying to impress me? We don’t have to. I mean, if you’d rather go back—”
The air inside smells of bleach. The walls and floor are unfinished wood, but in the centre of the room the Slaughter Man has laid a slab of white tiles and put a steel table over the top. The gleam of the steel and the whiteness of the tiles make her think of operating tables, until she sees the two chest freezers side by side in the corner, and the implements hanging neat and orderly on the hooks above, and then she thinks of the autopsy table and the scar that Laurel has and she does not and she can feel the blood beginning to pool in her feet, and before she can get a hold of herself, take the deep breaths that will anchor her back to reality, Luca has his arm around her and is patting solicitously at her shoulder.
“It’s all right,” he says. “I know what it looks like, proper serial killer set-up, right? But it’s nothing to worry about. This is just, like, butchery stuff. All those survivalist maniacs have kit like this so they can process their kills.” He grimaces. “I mean, not kills like murders, kills like animals. Rabbits and deer and that.” He’s talking a little too fast, as if he’s trying to convince himself as well as Willow. “Have a look in those freezers. It’ll just be a bunch of meat.”
But we’re made of meat, Willow thinks. We’re all of us made of meat. We think we’re special but we’re only animals with clothes on. Luca is forcing open the lid of the freezer.
“Yeah. Look at this lot. He’s got loads in here. All in parcels and wrapped up properly and that.” He’s trying to be brave, to style it out, but she can see the nausea in the lines around his mouth. “It’s really big joints and all.”
She makes herself get to her feet, hating the wobble in her legs, and joins Luca beside the freezer. Slabs and rounds of thick dark meat, some with bones poking out like sticks. Despite the cold she can smell it, a faint tang that stirs something primal in the base of her brain. She’s glad of the cold air that pours out over their faces. Something clicks, and a motor begins to run.
“I mean, it’s not anything, like, dodgy,” Luca says, uncertainly. “Look at it, it looks like beef… or something…”
How would they even know if they were looking at human flesh? She doesn’t want to touch it but she has to. She reaches into the freezer and begins to rummage, glad each piece is wrapped in plastic, cringing when her fingers brush against a knobble of bone. At the bottom, she finds something pale pink and naked with a long muzzle and blank holes where eyes would once have been, something that is unquestionably a head and unquestionably not human. Something she last saw nailed to a tree, in her dream. Something she last saw alive, gazing back at her without fear, before turning to guide her away from this awful place and down the path towards the farmhouse. What has he done with the antlers? Are they mounted on the wall of his living room?
“Is that a cow head?” Luca looks as sick as she feels. “No, wait, I reckon it’s a deer.” His laughter is forced and over quickly. “It’s a deer, that’s all. Told you it was all right. God, I thought for a minute though…”
He’s loud and cheerful with relief, and he lets the freezer lid fall without any sort of caution. She feels the slam shudder through the floor. She wants to tell him to be quiet, because they’re still trespassing (VISITORS NOT WELCOME AT ANY TIME) and the man who lives here still has a gun (I WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS) and could be ba
ck at any moment. He’s high with relief, messing around with the knives and saws that hang on the wall, trying them out in his hand for size and weight, taking one down that she thinks might be a filleting knife and holding it up to the light to watch it gleam.
“Look at these,” he says, and she can hear the longing in his voice. “They could really do some damage.”
She stands beside him and takes the filleting knife from his hands. She can feel her pulse beating in her wrist, in her neck, in her chest, all the blood coming to the surface, ready to escape. Her body is a cavity to hold organs, that’s all. If she were to press into the right place, who knows what might happen? She tries it against her own thumb. The blood arrives first, then the white line of pain. She lays it down on the table.
“It’s really sharp,” Luca whispers hungrily. When he takes her hands, her skin flares with heat. His caress dips into the line of blood that trickles from her thumb. She strokes his palms, then feels up towards his wrists, wanting to touch his pulse points, so she can tell if he feels the same as she does. He grabs hastily at her fingers.
“No. Stop it. Seriously, Willow, you have to stop. This isn’t safe.” He holds her hands tight within his own. She can see the movement in his throat as he swallows. “I mean, I’m not safe. I shouldn’t be here with you. I might end up hurting you. I mean, it’s not cos I don’t like you. Because I do like you. And sometimes when I like girls – I get, like, confused – I mean, I don’t want to hurt you, but sometimes I feel like—” He licks his lips. “D’you get what I’m saying? I think there’s something wrong with me, inside my head. I feel like it might, like it might feel good to hurt you. I don’t think I’m safe to be around you…”
They’re neither of them safe. They’re like two addicts huddled over a wrap, coveting the sharp cutting edge of the knife, waiting for the other to make the first move. She ought to be afraid. Instead she’s watching the movement of his mouth, thinking about the way his lips felt underneath her fingers earlier. How would it feel to bite them? How would it feel if he bit her?
“Fuck.” His voice is hoarse. “You’re so fucking dangerous, you know that? You are the most dangerous fucking person I’ve ever met in my life.”
His face is inches from hers. She can see the faint line of grease at his hairline and the small white smear where the wax he’s used to sculpt his hair into shape hasn’t quite melted away. He has a scab where he’s picked a spot by the side of his nose. His eyelashes are long and thick. No one knows they’re here. She’s completely at his mercy. If he put the knife against her neck, if he slid his hands up her t-shirt or between her legs, would she be able to stop him? Would she even want to try? The freezer clicks, the distant generator rumbles into stillness.
“Shit. Can you hear something?”
All she can hear is the sound of their breathing. She shakes her head.
“No, shut up, quiet. I need to listen.”
Funny, she thinks sourly, but she knows what he means. Sometimes just the sound of someone else thinking is enough to drown out what really matters. Like mice beneath an owl, she and Luca hold themselves in utter stillness.
Nothing. More nothing. Then, a slow breathy tune, coming out in bursts, the melody flattened by effort, as if the person singing is carrying something heavy and their breath is short.
“Yeah, Cape Cod girls… ain’t got no… combs…
Haul away… haul away…”
The Slaughter Man has come back.
“What do we—” Luca begins, then stops when Willow shakes her head.
“They comb… their hair… with cod-fish—”
The breathy singing stops as abruptly as if the singer has dropped dead. Then, a solid thud. The Slaughter Man must have come around the corner of his house, carrying something heavy, and seen that the door to his back room is open. The heavy thing, whatever it is, has fallen to the floor. Now he’s coming to find them.
“It’s all right,” Luca whispers. “If he tries to hurt you, he’ll have to get through me first.”
It sounds like something Luca heard someone say once and thought was cool, but her heart’s beating too fast for her to laugh. What can Luca possibly do against a man with a gun? A shadow falls inside the door.
“Hello.” The Slaughter Man’s mouth is wide and toothy. He is tall and thin and his shaven head gleams.
“All right, mate.” Luca tries to smile. “We’re a bit lost.”
The Slaughter Man isn’t listening. He’s studying Willow’s face, his expression peaceful, his eyes mild.
“I know you,” he says at last. “You… ought to know better.” His gaze turns to Luca. “I don’t know you. But you ought to know better too. You both look old enough to know better than to come here.”
“Hey, look, we’re lost, all right? You don’t have to be a knobhead about it. Hey, wait, don’t you fucking come anywhere near us, mate.”
“Do you know how terrified you sound?” The man takes a single step forward into the room. “How about you, little one? Are you going to say anything?”
“She doesn’t talk,” says Luca.
“So that’s why you didn’t scream the other night. Was it you watching me the next day, too? You were so quiet I wasn’t sure if you were even there. I think I could help you find your voice. Shall we find out?”
“Don’t you touch her. Don’t you fucking dare—”
“Or else what? Or else you’ll attack me with my own knife?”
Why hadn’t they thought of the knives? She’d been so afraid he’d have his gun with him that she hadn’t considered anything else. The knife fits into her hand as if it was made for her. She holds it up in front of her, willing her hand to stay steady.
The Slaughter Man leans against the doorframe. He seems amused.
“You do realise I could take that knife from you and put you both in hospital before you got anywhere near me.”
“Come on then,” says Luca. His voice has changed, as if he’s found a different and darker part of himself. “Come on then. You think you’re so fucking tough.”
“Oh, you adorable little shithead. Was that what you came here for? To impress your girlfriend? Come with me into the woods and I’ll show you where the bad man lives? Do you really think you’re tough enough to take me on?”
It was me, thinks Willow. It was me. I brought him here. You think I’m a poor little girl but I’m the reason we’re here. In lieu of the words she wants to yell in his face, she lifts the knife and lets it catch the light.
“That’s a brave effort.” The Slaughter Man scratches his chin. “But have you ever heard the phrase, Never bring a knife to a gun fight? It’s a good thing I don’t have my gun with me right now, isn’t it? Because if I shot you out here in the woods, no one would ever find out. I could hide your bodies somewhere they’d never find them. They’d look in my freezers, of course, but I have other places where I process the meat I kill. Nice damp places where it can soak up the salt, and nice dry places where it can hang up to cure. And without a body, they’d have no evidence of any crime. They might think it was the weirdo who lives out in the woods, but they’d never prove it. You’d just be… gone. And I’d still be here.” He licks his lips thoughtfully. “Then again, so would you be. In a manner of speaking.”
This is pure fear, the kind that wastes no time on what if and but maybe and shouldn’t we try and focuses only on survival. The same instinct moves them both at the same moment. Without pausing for thought, without worrying about what might happen next, without thinking about whether he might hurt them or catch them or if they might provoke him or make things worse for themselves, they bolt for the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
And incredibly, shockingly, they make it out. Perhaps the Slaughter Man is surprised by the speed of their run. Or perhaps he was only ever playing with them. Perhaps he simply let them go. They pound across the clearing, ducking beneath the wire in perfect synchronisation, leaping over branches and roots until they reach t
he place where the two paths join. Finally, they stop, whooping for breath and feeling the adrenaline trickle down through their feet and out through the soles of their trainers.
“That fucking bastard weirdo,” Luca gasps. “I ought to go back there and fucking kill him. He needs putting down.” He clenches his fist around an imaginary weapon.
Willow shivers.
“Hey, it’s all right.” Luca’s hand around her waist feels hot and intrusive. “I’ll look after you.” He teases a strand of hair that has got stuck against her lip and strokes it back behind her ear. His touch is frighteningly gentle. “One quick smack on the back of the head and he’d be fucking gone. When someone hurts someone else, you got to hit them back harder.” He looks at her and laughs. “Bet you’ve never hit anyone in your life, have you?”
As it happens, as far as she can remember, she never has, but she doesn’t see how he could possibly know that.
“Course you haven’t. I can tell by looking. Jesus, put that fucking thing down before you hurt yourself.” She realises she’s still holding the knife. He takes it from her as if she’s a small child. “What were you thinking, running with that in your hand? If you fell over you’d have your eye out. You want to store it somewhere, only get it out when you’re ready to use it.”
He sounds authoritative and convincing, as if he’s passing on a lesson he’s been taught by someone older than him. Where on earth would he learn something like that? When he sees the look on her face, he laughs.
“Now you reckon I’m some kind of knife-wielding gangster boy who’s going to carve you up, don’t you?” He lays the knife down on the ground. “Feel better now? You are way too easy to read, mate. Or maybe I’m getting to know you.”
The Slaughter Man Page 17