I turn the corner, only one foot across the threshold of the kitchen, and I find Edwin leaning over the counter. His white apron is splattered with blood, a huge, wet stain to the right of the smiling cartoon lobster printed over the middle. A carving knife is clutched in his right hand. Shocked, I grab the wall to steady myself, a small gasp leaving my lips.
He's still bent over the counter when he slowly turns his head to look at me. A sly grin inches across his mouth as he straightens up a touch, takes the knife, and places it over a chunk of blood-soaked meat. "You sure do startle easily." He glances back at the mess on the counter. "It’s just a fresh kill." There's a long pause. The grin on his face deepens—I think, or maybe I imagine it. "Venison has the highest level of iron out of all meats, you know?"
My heart sits in my throat. With each hard pound, my vision pulses. My mouth has gone dry, and I swallow before I clear my throat. "Is that so?"
He arches his brow and nods as he works at cutting a filet, which he drops on the counter. The wet, slapping sound makes my stomach lurch.
"Did you need something?" he asks.
"Uh…" Another quick swallow. "No, I just, um…" My gaze darts to the phone on the wall beside him. "I was just gonna call Janine."
He stops cutting the meat and glances back at me, his empty eyes boring into me.
"Just, uh…" I stall. My breathing grows ragged. Uneven. Think, Miranda. Fucking think. "I just need some stuff from the market. I'm out of, um… out of toiletries and stuff like that. Want me to pick you up anything?"
One side of his mouth kicks up. "No, dear." His eyes slowly drag down my body, and chill bumps sweep across my skin. "Don't need anything from the market." And he goes back to hacking away at the meat, singing along to the song.
Nodding, I scoot behind him, my nerves on edge. I take the receiver from the wall and quickly jab Janine's number into the keypad. Adrenaline is pumping through my body, and my senses are heightened. I guess that's why I can literally hear the shredding sound of that knife tearing through the meat. For a fleeting moment, while the phone is ringing, my mind gets away from me. All I can see is Edwin in his damn apron, going at me with that knife as his dead eyes stare into mine. I imagine he'd be shouting for me to look at him. Angry. Filled with rage—
"Hello?" Janine's voice is a welcome distraction from my thoughts.
"Hey, Janine. Would you be able to take me into town for a few? I, uh, I need some stuff from the market and maybe some Starbucks or dinner or something." That feeling that someone is staring at you washes over me, and I cut my eyes to the side to find Edwin watching me, twirling that damn carving knife.
"Absolutely, honey. Give me half an hour to get washed up, and I’ll head that way."
"Okay. Thanks."
I hang up the phone and turn around just as Edwin tosses his head back and holds up a piece of raw meat, dangling it between his thick fingers. He opens his mouth. The chunk of meat falls inside, and a satisfied groan rumbles from his throat. Dropping his chin, his eyes lock with mine as he chews then makes an exaggerated swallow. One brow arches as he sticks his fingers in his mouth—one by one—to lick the blood from them.
"Jesus… Jesus…" he sings along with the song, and the blood drains from my head down to my toes, that weightless feeling nearly knocking me to the floor.
"So I'll be back later. We may have dinner in town, and I'll just, uh…" I skirt around him, and he turns, following my every move like a fucking predator stalking prey. "I just need to decompress. Can we pick up on writing tomorrow? I mean, if that's okay with you?"
I'm to the doorway by the time he answers. "Anything you want, my dear Miranda, is more than fine with me."
"Thanks," I blurt as I make my way through the living room and down the hall.
I gently close the door to my room, locking it before I take a deep breath. Anything can seem creepy as fuck if you make it. Anything can seem like a scene out of a book if you want it to. But that—that little encounter—was too much like the stories I've fallen in love with.
I grab my purse from the dresser, stopping to stare at my reflection. All the color has washed from my face. My eyes are wide with fear, my chest rising in uneven swells. It's only fiction. Just words. Only words…
I stare at the bottles of shampoo in a daze, replaying the sight of Edwin and that piece of raw meat in my head. A woman in an oversized T-shirt reaches in front of me for some shampoo, and that snaps me back to reality for the moment.