The Butcher and the Wren(5)
“Who is missing you tonight?” she asks quietly as Jane Doe passes in front of her.
A police officer nearby chuckles.
“A stiff ever answer you back?” he teases.
Wren looks him in the eyes before slamming the door shut and walking to the driver’s-side door.
“You’d be surprised how many secrets the dead have told me.”
CHAPTER 3
MORNINGS ARE NICE. JEREMY CRAVES a strong cup of coffee, and he always makes sure to eat breakfast. The remainder of the day is often scattered and unpredictable, with his lunch breaks spent doing research, so he cannot always make time for full meals. He glances up at the small television on the kitchen counter. The news is in its second week of covering the story of two escaped convicts from Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York. Even in Louisiana, people are captivated by the tale of a lovestruck prison worker helping two convicted murderers escape like a real-life Shawshank Redemption.
While watching, he scrambles some eggs and eats them with turkey sausage. He has considered becoming vegetarian for the health benefits but fails to rationalize it properly. He does hold animals at a higher level of respect than he does most members of his own species, but mostly due to their ability to survive as soon as they enter the world. Empathy doesn’t enter the equation, which is why he doesn’t feel the need to deprive himself of an easy source of protein. After cleaning his plate, he makes his way downstairs to check on his guests.
Katie is noticeably quiet.
“She must value those mouse teeth,” he muses to himself.
Her left hand is caked in blood that has dripped and dried around the leg of her chair and the floor below. She’s slumped into a self-soothing position, which makes him feel an intense desire to disrupt her. Unfortunately, he is running late and doesn’t have time for extraneous pleasure this morning. Instead, he gives her a wink. Upon seeing him, Matt begins to throw a testosterone-fueled tantrum, spitting and cursing at him while trying to tear his arms free of the chains that bind him. He can see that Matt spent his night trying to dislodge the chair from the basement floor, but all he’s managed to do is splinter some of its leg. These chairs were cemented into the foundation long ago. They’re not going anywhere. As a matter of due diligence, he thinks for a moment about what Matt’s plan would be should he miraculously topple the chair over, but he quickly decides not to waste his time. Matt is too stupid and increasingly too weak to best him. He checks on their IV bags and starts to replenish them while Matt does his best tough-guy impression.
“I swear I will fucking rip you apart, you pussy!” he screams, spraying foul spit onto Jeremy’s cheek.
He thinks about taking some pliers to Matt’s front teeth but doesn’t have another clean ironed dress shirt to change into now. Besides, it is hard to feel anything but disgust for a man sitting in his own piss and still using words like pussy. He responds instead by aggressively grabbing Matt’s face and planting a deep kiss right on his mouth, biting hard enough on his bottom lip to hear a satisfying crunch. Sometimes he allows himself to give in to hedonistic instincts, and rarely does he regret it.
“You came here willingly. Remember that,” he growls as Matt’s mouth fills with blood.
Matt sputters and yells incoherently while Katie quietly whimpers beside him. Jeremy smiles in return as he heads upstairs, using a tissue to wipe away Matt’s blood from his mouth and giving himself a quick once-over in the hallway mirror. He pushes a stray blond hair back into place and walks out the door.
His day job is data entry and billing for a warehousing and logistics company. It is exactly as dull and mindless as it sounds, and he loathes that he has to spend the bulk of his week regurgitating numbers into a computer program. Today he walks into the lobby of Lovett Logistics after leaving the thick atmosphere outside. Summertime in Louisiana makes walking across a parking lot feel like trudging through warm butter. Heavy, humid, and oppressive. Inside, he feels his body struggle to acclimate to the canned cold air that pumps out of every direction. Between the overused air-conditioning, the slack-jawed company men, and the knowledge that he’ll be crammed into this petri dish for the next few hours, it is an absolute waking nightmare for him. He reaches into his bag and realizes that he forgot the ID card that grants him access into the building, thanks to Katie’s distractions last night. With a quiet sigh, he approaches the woman behind the front desk. She is slightly overweight, with arms that remind him of oiled, crispy chicken skin that she routinely shows off with sleeveless dresses and blouses. Her round face is framed with overprocessed blond hair that clearly doesn’t grow from her dark roots. He has never bothered to see what color her eyes are, because the amount of makeup she applies to them makes him sick to his stomach. Today, he spots shades of green, like a fungus has taken up residence in her ocular cavities, breaking through her eyelids to colonize the rest of her plump face. As usual, she is swiping away on her phone, no doubt checking on the masses of heathens who fill her inbox with vaguely assaulting propositions on whatever dating app she hopes will bring her to her soul mate.
“Can I do something for you, Jeremy?” she asks as he approaches.
He winces when she uses his name, as he has made it a point to deny committing hers to memory. He plasters on a friendly smile and leans his elbow on the desk in front of her.
“You can be an angel and override the door lock for me,” he charms, gesturing to his bag, “I forgot my key card, and am just itching to get in there and get to work.”