Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 32)

 Chapter 32

For the pigs…

 Ollie’s body was how he left it, untouched. The room was dark and his body cast a silhouette over the stainless-steel table tops. There was a metallic smell in the room, one of iron, of blood. He knew he had to work quickly. The sun was up, the chances of getting caught were great. He hoped that even now he could send Ollie to the light, but he was unsure. The fire raged in the pizza oven, the heat baking against its inner walls. He placed the head of his friend as gently as he could into the flames. The skin instantly blistered and blackened. He hoped it would be enough.

The rest of the body would have to be disposed of. Mike cut the flesh away, light, the bone with easy. His Wüsthof boning knife was so sharp it was like cutting through soft butter. He paid no attention to detail like he did with the ones before. He would cut the bones on the saw and freeze them for a sauce in the coming weeks. Unfortunately, he thought the meat would go to waste. He would have to grind the meat, the organs and skin in the grinder they use for their sausages. He would dump it all into the bins for the pigs. The farmer will come tomorrow and take them away; he has his own key for the small refrigerated box outside. He knew that they would mix it with the waste from the other restaurants in the area. Soon the only thing left of Oliver Jackson Watson would be his fire kissed skull.

***

Back at Trish’s house, she was wrought with panic. Bill hadn’t called. The police were of no help, and she didn’t know what to do. Her anxiety was getting the best of her, she hadn’t slept all night, now at ten in the morning Bill still hadn’t returned. 

Her hair pulled up in an unkept ponytail; she wore an old grey T-shirt with an Old Navy logo on it with black shorts. She wasn’t the same radiant woman that she was just a few days ago. Her skin had lost its glow, and the bags pulled under her tear-reddened eyes. She didn’t care. She had to get out, get away from the house. Scribbling Bill a note, she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door. 

Mike stood in the drive as she opened the door. The blinding sunlight was a total contrast to her mood. She would have preferred rain and clouds. The blue skies forecasted hope and love, all she had was fear and terror. Mike smiled.

“Hey Trish,” he called. “I wanted to check on you and Bill. Everything ok?”

She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. His black eyes twinkled in the sunlight; this will be easier than he thought. She cried onto his shoulder there on the drive. The majestic maple tree, that he had once hid under, cast a long shadow over them, its green canopy cooling the humid air. He wrapped his arms around and led her back to the house. 

“It’ll be alright,” he said, soothing her. He talked smoothly, comforting. The house was still. He strained his ears, testing to see if he could hear the man she searched for through the walls. 

“I don’t know what to do… I’m so scared.” She stuttered and tried not to shake. 

“Let’s sit down, talk. We’ll figure it out.” He led her to the kitchen table. “Tell me what happened.” 

The stupid, ugly bitch, he thought. This fucking cunt, his thoughts raged. But on the outside he was calm, considerate, caring, everything Mike is. She stared at him, like she knew that he was different. Maybe she can feel it, he thought. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her hands shook. He savoured every second.

“The calls… the messages… he was here. Someone killed the neighbor’s cat and baked it” she blurted it all out, her voicing rising and almost hysterical. He had to stifle a laugh. He found her pain and terror funny. 

He held her hands and talked with her for a long time. All the while imagining all the wonderfully evil acts he will commit to her. She stopped crying and even laughed at a few of his silly jokes. The same laugh that she used when they would lie in bed together. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed it or it made him angry. 

“I’m thirsty,” she said after a little while. 

“Here, let me get you a drink. Why don’t you go wash your face? You’ll feel better.” He stood up to get a glass.

She walked towards the bathroom to do as she was told. On the second try, he found the right cabinet and took a glass out. He filled it full of water and squirted a clear liquid into it. Rohypnol. He handed her the glass while she was in the bathroom. She drank in one long gulp. He smiled at her. 

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,”

“No, you look like you want to say something.”

“It’s just...” he smiled again and laughed, almost flirting with her. “I’m happy, that I can bring you to the light.”

Her brow crinkled. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in real close to her and whispered. “I hate you… you fucking whore,” and punctuated the air with his maniacal laughter.

Her eyes bulged, she screamed and shook. She tried to push past him, to get out of the tiny bathroom. The drugs were slowly taking effect. She couldn’t see straight. The world tilted. The last thing she saw was her blow dryer. Why was that the last thing that she would think about, she thought? Shouldn’t she see her life flash before her eyes? She collapsed in a heap. Mike making sure that she didn’t bump her head. He wouldn’t want his trophy to become blemished.