“You all think you’re so smart don’t you? He thought he was hot shit too,” he said, his eyes focused on some distant spot behind me. “That bastard isn’t laughing now.”
What the fuck?
“Who’s not laughing?” I asked, not really sure I wanted to know the answer.
“She’s not laughing anymore either. Serves that dirty cunt right,” he said, ignoring me. His gaze continued to dance around the room, unable to settle on anything for more than a few seconds before moving on to something else. “I do miss her though, my darling Cheryl,” he went on, seemingly oblivious to my presence. “But she shouldn’t have done it, not that. She should’ve known better. She knew I hated those filthy beasts. She shouldn’t have done it.”
“Who’s Cheryl? Who’s not laughing? What did you do?” I asked, though I was beginning to get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I already knew the answer.
He didn’t answer me, and I was surprised. He was quickly coming unhinged. It made him unpredictable and a hundred times more dangerous, but it also left him unfocused and sloppy. Maybe I could use that to my advantage. Provided that I lived long enough, of course.
Before I could think of some way to use his distraction against him, he crossed the room in a couple quick strides and gripped the edge of my chair. The legs of the chair grated on the rough concrete floor as he whipped me around to face the wall behind me. Vomit rose in my throat as I stared at the gruesome trophy nailed to the wall. I wanted to look away, wanted to scream, but my horror left me frozen and unable to do anything but stare at the bloody pelt.
It was obvious that Johnson had no experience skinning an animal, but despite his shoddy attempt there was no mistaking what the creature had once been. I was sure that at one point the fur had been thick and beautiful, silken to the touch, but now it was matted with blood, dirt, and gore. Hot tears began to track down my cheeks, stinging as they dripped over my split lip before falling to my shirt.
“You sick bastard,” I said, my voice weak, little more than a whisper.
“She was mine!” he thundered. “My wife! He had no right, no right to put his disgusting were hands on her. He ruined her!”
“Where is she? What did you do to her?” I demanded, struggling against the ties that secured me to the chair.
“Cheryl?” he answered distantly. “She’s sleeping.” His eyes drifted to the large freezer against the wall. A smear of blood was stark on the white top and handle.
He’s totally lost it, gone completely fucking mad, I thought, lightheaded.
“Oh god. What have you done?” I asked, tears wetting my eyes.
In a brief moment of numb horror, I thought it almost funny that I should weep for Johnson’s dead wife, reduced to meat piled up inside the freezer. Would I end up the same way? Or would Johnson mount me on the wall as another gruesome trophy?
“Shh. You’ll wake her up,” he answered, dragging my chair back around to face the stairs, though I couldn’t get the image of the skinned were out of my mind.
“Let me go, Johnson. Let me go and no one has to know about Cheryl or the wolf. I won’t tell anyone,” I pleaded, unnerved by the hysterical edge to my voice. I didn’t like him to see me so weak and afraid, but there was no repressing the terror that roiled in my gut like a thousand snakes twisting and turning over one another.
“Let you go?” he asked in a hollow voice, blinking several times and then turning to look at me, his eyes clear and bright as if he had just awakened from a dream. “Oh no, I can’t do that. Someone has to pay.”
“Has to pay? What the hell did I ever do to you?”
“You didn’t have the good grace to die when that mangy dog Reed tore you open. Everything would be so much better if you had just died.”
The doctors had considered it a miracle that I survived the attack since the rate of virus transference was so rare and the severity of my injuries so great. Johnson, however, appeared to see my survival as some twisted cosmic oversight. There was nothing I could say in the face of such unbridled hatred that would change his opinions. So I did the only thing I could—I let my smart mouth run free.
“Aw, come on, Johnson. We’re not all that bad. After all, once you go were you never go back. Even Cheryl knew that,” I said with a crooked, leering smile.
“Don’t you dare say her name!” he bellowed, his hands shaking with rage at his sides.
“Who? Cheryl? Your dead wife that you crammed in the freezer because she liked wolf dick more than yours? That Cheryl?”
“I said, don’t say her name. Your filthy mouth doesn’t get to sully her name!” Johnson snarled, spittle flying from his lips.
“But you’re the one who chopped her into pieces. Your logic is a little skewed, Harry.”
“Stop talking,” he muttered, his gaze once again shifting to unfocused mania.
“I mean, I’ve never killed anyone. How many people have you killed?” I rambled on, ignoring him.