The sound of the chainsaw ceased.
I rose from the bucket and wiped my mouth. “Shit.”
Yoshiro went to the black bag and took out three long silver objects. “I’ll dig out the bullets from his head and crotch. We don’t want the hog to poop it out and possibly the police to find it years later.”
Grabbing the chainsaw, I inhaled, exhaled, and then walked over to the Wyatt’s headless body. “Any advice on what or how to cut?”
“We want no more than foot long pieces. It’s easier for the hogs and Sam appreciates not having to cut up the limbs himself.”
My stomach twisted, but I pushed through it, turned on the chainsaw, and lowered the blade to Wyatt’s left knee.
“I love you, Mommy.”
I sliced into the kneecap. Blinking as blood splattered onto my goggles.
Holy shit.
A minute later, I cut into the other leg.
Okay. Okay. If I don’t even think of it as a body. . .maybe. . .Jesus. . .this smells bad.
I made myself keep going. The cutting was necessary. Yoshiro had killed many and wasn’t sitting in anyone’s cell. I had to get it over with and I wouldn’t let him do all of this by himself.
Thirty minutes passed. After Yoshiro dug the two bullets out of Wyatt’s body, he placed them in a Ziploc bag. Once he set those down, he helped me finishing cutting. I’d already detached all of Wyatt’s limbs and tossed the cut-up pieces in a bucket. Yoshiro handled Wyatt’s ribs.
The room filled with noise. The buzzing of the chainsaw. The cracking of bones. The sloshing of cut-up pieces being thrown into the wagon.
And blood was everywhere. It soaked the plastic under our feet. The space looked like someone had smashed hundreds of watermelon. Wyatt was no longer a person or a corpse. He’d been transformed into large chunks.
The whole time, silence filled my head. The smell of Wyatt’s death seared my nostrils, but I continued on. Every part of me felt numb. Soulless. But I didn’t feel evil, I just felt unreal, Like a ghost. And the moments went by in a dreamlike state.
An hour later, we finished. Wyatt’s blood drenched my shirt and decorated my pants. We took off our gloves and sick masks and then tossed them onto the plastic. Yoshiro grabbed new gloves out of the black bag he had filled with supplies earlier. We put them on and got rid of all the plastic, tearing it away and rolling it up so the blood splattered part remained inside.
Yoshiro produced large plastic bags next. We stuffed all the plastic in the bags, along with Wyatt’s shoes and socks.
A knock came from the door.
I stiffened.
Yoshiro checked his watch. “That’s Kevin. He was supposed to come now.”
Still, Yoshiro grabbed a gun, headed to the door, and pointed.
When he opened, Kevin scanned the place and covered his nose. “Fuck. You’ll need more than incense to deal with this smell.”
“Take the bags to the dump.”
Kevin grabbed them and glanced at me. “You helped?”
I nodded.
He smiled. “Well. . .that’s a good sign for you too I guess. Usually most couples don’t cut up a body until the third date.”
Yoshiro pointed at the bags. “Get the bags, Kevin. Unless you want to haul the body to the hogs.”
“Hell no. I’ve got the bags.” Kevin picked up a few of them. “You think I can sleep at my place tonight?”
“No. Let’s wait it out, just in case we have problems with the agency.”
“I was thinking about that.” Kevin stood in the doorway. “If Wyatt took those boxes from the agency, maybe if you deliver them, then they’ll forgive you for killing Wyatt. That’s assuming they care.”
“That’s something to consider in the morning. For now, I just want to finish and take a shower.” Yoshiro got behind one wagon, lifted the handle, and dragged it.
I hurried to the other wagon, grabbed the handle, and followed.
“Let me know, if you get tired. I can—”
“I’ve got it.”
He smirked.
“What?”
“You’re a soldier, Ebony.”
“I don’t know about that. I did throw up.”
“Everyone throws up.” Yoshiro shook his head. “You did a hard thing. Stomached through. Did what you had to do and didn’t shed one tear, not that it would’ve mattered.”
I blinked.
We pulled the wagons out in silence. It probably sounded crazy, but I was happy that Yoshiro was proud of me. But what was crazy anymore? What was insane?
I’d just shot my husband twice and cut up his body. Now I was taking him to the neighbor’s to feed him to a bunch of corpse-hungry hogs. The concept of crazy had left me long ago.
The monster was gone.
I didn’t know if we would get problems from Wyatt’s agency or not. He probably didn’t even work for them anymore. He’d chased after me like a jobless man and Yoshiro had discovered stolen files at his girlfriend’s house. With all of that knowledge, no fear came.