Chapter 5. All in the Family
The steady hum of cicadas fills the morning air, buzzing like exposed wires on a transformer that was about to blow and cause a major power outage. I realize that I'm starving, not having eaten anything "proper" for the last few days now, and wondered if the old man had anything in his refrigerator. I decide I might as well go ahead and check; now also wondering where the fuck that raggedy ass old dog was and what the fuck he was up to. I see he is still saddened by the recent events and his owner's demise, still balled up by the dried blood stains on the lawn, sniffing and searching every so often for any of trace of his scent that still might be lingering within them. He watches me walk by, eyeing me suspiciously as I head through the rusty screen door and into the kitchen. I swing open the refrigerator door and spot a few aging condiments, some moldy produce and one single Busch beer. I immediately crack open the beer and chug down a few big gulps, hoping to settle my nerves and possible curb my appetite with chilled carbohydrates. I finally decide there's plenty of fresh meat in the garage, due to the recent fresh kill per say, and why should we let such priceless flesh spoil and go untouched. I head back out through the screen door and make my way back into the shed, searching for a hacksaw or some bolt cutters to cut through ligaments, muscles and bone. I see the dog's curiosity getting the best of him as he has come to see what it is I'm up to, and what it was exactly I was going to do this time around. I can tell he's as hungry as I am, if not more so, judging by the look of his exposed ribcages and the sound emulating every so often from the bowels of his empty stomach. I grab the wire cutters and snip off the woman's ring finger, tossing it to the eagerly awaiting dog who already begun licking his chops in anticipation. He snatches up the finger and scurries off, giving off a slight yelp of appreciation before finding a safe place to devour his latest meal. I pick up a hacksaw and proceed to saw through one of her thighs, grinding and shredding my way through cartilage and tendons, sending blood spurting across my arms, occasionally splattering across my face. After I cut my way down to the bone, I grab the bolt cutters and hear the sound of metal scraping and cracking through deposits of calcium, before finally crushing through the last portion of her leg. I slump the meat over my shoulder and head back into the kitchen, whistling to my new found friend to follow behind me, if he wanted to eat that is. I find an old metal skillet and slap it down on the stove, grabbing my lighter to ignite the burner, preheating the pan. I find a butcher's knife, that doesn't appear to be very sharp, and attempt to slice off a couple of filets from her thigh. I manage to shred and tear free some steaks of flesh, dropping them into the searing hot skillet, causing the fat to sizzle and pop like bacon grease. The sound startles the dog, but he barks in agreement, as if to say, "No need for all that, I'll take mine rare!" I sear his steak for a couple of minutes, flipping it occasionally before throwing it down on the ground at his feet, watching him without hesitation tear into the supple flesh instantly. I continue to cook mine a few minutes longer, hoping to kill any bacteria or disease that might have accumulated on the flesh overnight, before slicing into it and eating the evidence of my sins. I can feel her begin to nourish me, providing the sustenance that I was yearning for, satisfying that primal urge that now dwelled deep down inside of me. I devour the fresh meat as if I haven't had anything to eat all week, tearing and chewing through her skin, swallowing up her dreams and any aspirations she might have had in her life. The dog has returned, licking the last remnants of blood and fat off his snout, before barking again to convey the message that he was still hungry. I toss him what's left of my unfinished steak, watching as he snatched it up willingly, before once again running off to wherever it was he found comfort in enjoying his meal. I decided I needed a hot shower and a fresh change of clothes, and began rummaging through the old man's wardrobe hanging in his open closet. Finding a pair of jeans, flannel, and a fresh t-shirt, I hopped into the shower and once again began washing away the sins of the night, scrubbing away at the stench and filth that in essence was my life. Watching the evidence run down the drain mixed with soapy suds reminded me that I had again gotten away with murder, living above the law and by any means necessary. Rinsing off I jump out and dry myself off, changing into the clean clothes and getting ready to head back into society. I noticed an old Ford pickup truck alongside the side of the house and started looking for the keys, hoping the goddamn thing would even run. I spot the keys hanging from an old screw by the door, grabbing them and heading back outside, I light up a cigarette to ease my morning tension. I take a few drags and them pop open the door and hop into the driver's side of the truck, putting the rusty keys into an even rustier ignition switch. After a few tries of pumping and giving it gas, the engine finally turned over sending a huge backfire through the exhaust, causing the dog to become alert and stand his ground. I give the truck some more gas, warming up the engine and clearing out all the cobwebs so to speak from the motor, until the steady hum of the idle signified she was warm. I looked over at the dog, curiously gazing at me in bewilderment, wondering if he was going to be allowed to ride shotgun and stick his head out the window the whole way. I whistled to him along with a "Come on Boy!!!, in which he immediately responded with a gleeful yelp, happily running to the now ajar passengers side door of the truck. With one final leap, he planted himself on the seat next to me, causing me to reach over and stroke the hair behind his ears, assuring him that I meant him no harm. I put the truck into drive and head back down the road, heading back towards the highway, as well as past the scene of the grisly murder that occurred here earlier. As I approached the Mercedes that I hid in the wood line, I could see a flock of blackbirds circling the corpse, every so often flying down to perch upon her before tearing away a piece of decomposed flesh to eat before flying off. She was barely even recognizable, more like a huge chunk of blood and tissue slumped over in the front seat of an old shitty convertible. I hit the highway and signal my blinker to make a left, turning onto the deserted highway, wondering where the darkness of my mind was taking me and wondering if I could ever escape the darkness that was my past.