Cellar Door

Not the best restraint, but… “If you try to throw yourself from the car, that would be stupid. You’ll just end up being dragged by the belt.”

With stubborn effort, she yanks on the belt a few times before giving in. She deflates against the seat. “What’s my other option? The cellar?”

I slap the leash on the dashboard in answer.

I can’t see her eyes, and I need to. The delicate way in which I push her hair aside feels odd. My muscle memory of that action out of practice. I can tell by the way her eyes spear me. Those dark pools alight with abhorrence.

She moves her head aside, and I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “Do you want to kill me, or run away? You can’t have both, Mak. Make your lunatic mind up.”

She spits in my face.

I don’t react. I hold still where I am, staring into her eyes, my hand latched to her face. Then I lick her spittle from my lips with a depravity that stirs embers of lust long ago doused.

“Keep provoking the monster, and I’ll give him to you.”

I slam the door closed. No more toying with her. I have only a few hours, and I want to get there before daybreak.

The clearing is just how I left it, with a scattering of newly fallen limbs from the storm. I parked farther back and left Makenna in the car while I clear away the tarp.

The putrid aroma of a dead body is nauseating and distinctive. The scent greets me with a hard slap as I peel the thick plastic back. I’ve set up animal traps around the border; the scent drawing anything from bears to cougars.

Fortunately, it seems the rare downpour drove the larger animals farther into the forest. Rain helps with the smell some, too.

I track my way back to the Charger and pop the trunk. From across the front seat, I eye Makenna. “You’re helping me. And it would be exceedingly stupid for you to try to escape out here. If you don’t die from exposure, then you’ll certainly be mauled to death by a bear.”

I unlock her door and draw my hunting knife. I give her one long, calculating stare as I slide the blade between her wrists.

“I’m not helping,” she says.

I cut the tie. “You are.”

As she climbs out of the car, she checks her surroundings. She seems more calm, stable. The ride must have chilled her out. I admit, I get stir-crazy in the cellar, needing to be outdoors to ground myself in reality.

But my reality is very different than hers. Maybe it really only took a few days to make her lose her mind.

I grab ahold of Myer’s corpse and look at her from over the roof of the car. “Get his feet.”

I don’t need the help. Myer was a slight, waif of a man when alive. Dead, he’s a bit more of a pain to lug around, but it’s like I’m built for this shit. I was in the wrong career before. I should’ve majored in homicidal revenge in college.

To my surprise, Makenna takes ahold of his ankles, nothing squeamish about her. She’s a cop, I remind myself. She’s seen dead bodies. Thing is, I honestly don’t know enough about her. I was so invested in Royce Hudson, I overlooked his partner. She wasn’t on my radar.

Once I get Myer situated at the edge of the pit, I jump down inside and remove the lid from the barrel. Makenna covers her nose with her jacket.

“You left Keller here all this time.” It’s an accusation. Like I was supposed to bury the piece of shit.

I exhume the gas can from the dirt and douse Keller. As I climb out of the hole, I say, “You can’t torch a fresh body.” I take a place beside her slight form, digging a book of matches from my pocket. I strike one and watch the small flame dance in the open air before I toss it into the barrel.

There’s a pregnant pause as the match catches, a flare, then the fire roars to life in a burst of high flame, quickly becoming a contained inferno.

“People think it’s like TV,” Makenna says. “I’ve investigated burn scenes. Bodies half charred. There’s always something left behind.”

I steal a peek her way, wondering how much of that snide statement was meant to insult me. “Unless you make sure there’s not.”

I realize we’re having a conversation. A disturbing conversation—but it’s the first time since this tragedy began that I’ve wanted to talk to another person.

“Gas gives out,” I say. “You have to keep adding fuel. A burned body produces a fatty residue from thermal damage, a burn stain. So you can’t burn a body like a camp fire. Using a metal enclosure reflects radiant heat, thermal energy. A body burns faster and more thoroughly. And no mess

to clean. Two birds, one stone.”