Mother still had my knife. I had searched the house high and low but found no sign of it. I shook my head.
Father frowned. “You should always carry your knife.” He reached into his back pocket, retrieved his own, and handed it to me.
“Are we gonna kill her?”
“You should say ‘going to,’ not ‘gonna.’ Smart boys don’t use language like that.”
“Sorry, Father.”
“The only time you should talk like that is when you want those around you to think you’re less intelligent than you are. Sometimes it’s best not to be the smartest guy in a room. Some people are scared of those with a higher intellect. If you dumb yourself down to their level, they’ll accept you. Makes it easier to blend with the crowd. No need for false pretenses when it’s just your old man and our lovely neighbor, though. If you can’t be yourself around friends and family, what’s the point, right?”
I couldn’t help but agree. “Are we going to kill her, Father?”
Father took the knife from my hand and held the blade up to the light. “That’s an excellent question, champ, but it’s not mine to answer. You see, Mrs. Carter holds the cards for that particular game of chance, and she’s playing them close to the vest. Personally, I’d rather not kill her. I’d prefer to keep her around for a little while. I hear Mrs. Carter is quite the party girl, and I have yet to experience her virtue firsthand.” He tapped her leg again. “Isn’t that right, Lisa? You’re a little burst of pleasure?”
Her eyes were locked on the knife blade. It shimmered nicely under the glow of the sixty-watt hanging from the ceiling.
Father’s paper bag sat on the floor at his side, skittering softly against the concrete. He handed the knife back to me. “You’re a big boy now. How about you take the honors?”
Mrs. Carter squirmed, her feet kicking and eyes bulging. She shouted something behind the gag, but it was impossible to make it out. I wasn’t sure why Father had gagged her. Wasn’t half the fun in hearing the reaction?
Father tugged Mrs. Carter’s white blouse out from her jeans. “I want you to cut this off her. It’s a shame to ruin such a pristine garment, but unfortunately there’s no other way to get the job done with her secured to the cot like this. Too bad she didn’t wear a nice button-down.”
Mrs. Carter was shaking her head furiously, but she didn’t get a vote where Father was concerned. I gave her my most reassuring smile, then slipped the blade into the thin fabric of her blouse and gave it a little tug. The sharp edge cut through the cotton with little effort, and I pulled it along. My knuckles brushed against the smooth skin of her belly, and I felt my face flush. I couldn’t look at Father or Mrs. Carter for fear of revealing the flood of emotions surging through me. I’m sure I was warm to the touch—my temperature rose by the second. When the back of my hand rubbed against her brassiere, I thought I might explode. I forced the knife past and sliced until the blade came out at her collar—the blouse split in two. Mrs. Carter was crying now.
“Cut off the arms and shoulders too. Get that pesky thing out of the way,” Father instructed.
I did as I was told, and soon the blouse was lying in a tattered pile at my side. Mrs. Carter grew increasingly anxious, her breathing labored by the gag. Her chest rose and fell with increased urgency. Would she pass out?
“Should we take the gag off?”
Father glanced down at Mrs. Carter for a brief second before shaking his head. “A person screaming in fear is one thing, but someone screaming in pain? That’s a whole other animal. And this is going to hurt. I’m quite certain of that.” He took another length of rope and wrapped it around her stomach just below her breasts, then circled the cot and tied a tight knot. He repeated this four more times until he ran out of rope.
This did nothing to calm Mrs. Carter. She kicked at her restraints and bucked at the cot with renewed vigor. Father placed his large hand on her knees and forced them down before tying them to the cot as well with another length of rope. When he was through, Mrs. Carter could no longer move. “Best to get on with it. Can you hand me that bag and the salad bowl?”
I nodded and reached for the paper sack. It was heavy. Whatever was inside weighed at least half a pound. I felt it sliding around inside. It had peed too. The bottom of the bag was soaked in urine and stank of warm ammonia.
Father took the bag from me and set it on Mrs. Carter’s stomach. She drew in a deep breath and tried to sit up as the soaked sack touched her skin, but the rope held her firm. She craned her neck enough to see the bag, but she couldn’t hold the awkward position for long before falling back.
Father peeled back the top of the sack and let in some air, then quickly placed the salad bowl on top, sealing the bag between the dome of the bowl and Mrs. Carter’s stomach.
He produced a roll of duct tape, tore off a few strips, and taped the bowl to her chest. It was clear plastic, so we could see the happenings inside very nicely.
He tapped at the top of the bowl. “This little guy is your typical field rat. I scooped him up right outside without much trouble after feeding him a piece of cheese laced with methyl trichloride. It’s starting to wear off, though, and when he wakes up he’s going to be angry and battling an epic headache. Rats aren’t fond of confined spaces, so I’m fairly certain he is going to want out of this bowl. He may try clawing at the plastic, but the surface is too smooth to get any kind of worthwhile purchase. Once he gives up on that route, I think he’s going to turn his attention to what lies beneath, and that’s when the real fun will start. Unlike plastic, his sharp, pointy nails will have little trouble tearing through your tender torso, and if he gets his mouth into the game and starts chewing . . .” Father smiled broadly. “Well, let’s just say teeth like those were made to devour much more difficult substances.”
Mrs. Carter was squirming again, and breathing had become a battle. She tried to suck in air but couldn’t get enough through her nose. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy.
I leaned closer. The rat was curled up in the bag, barely moving, but it was clear the drug was wearing off. When the black little rat poked its head out of the top of the sack, I nearly jumped out of my shorts.
Father laughed. “Don’t worry, champ. He’s not coming after you. If he gets out of there, his belly will be so full, another meal will be the last thought on his little mind.”
“She’s going to pass out.”
I’m sure Father already thought about that possibility, but his expression said otherwise. He appeared puzzled at first, then frustrated. “You may be right, champ. I guess this may be a little overwhelming. We’re almost done, though.” He ran his hand through Mrs. Carter’s hair. “You can hold it together for a few more minutes, can’t you, Lisa? You’re tough enough to do that, right?”