Page 49 of Morsel

Chapter 18

It takes a long time to come down from something like that.

I stare at the open front door of the mobile home for hours. I tell myself that Mona is gone for good.

Deep down, I hope that’s not true.

Eventually, I go to the processing plant. I don’t have a shift, and the supervisor says he can’t pay me overtime. I dress in my jumper anyway and hang out in the break room. It’s better than waiting for her at home when she’ll never show up. She can’t, because if she does, there’s a chance I won’t be able to stop myself from killing and eating her.

And I’m not a cannibal.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Jerry looks up from his phone. “What’s up?”

“I can’t stand women.”

A grin spreads across his face. “That artistic slut again?”

I nod, and he slaps me on the shoulder.

“I know a chick. Real artsy, since that’s your thing.” He nudges me. “She’s always listening to her earbuds. Wears these sexy fishnet stockings. I swear, one night with her, and you’ll forget about your ex.”

My ex? Is that what Mona is to me now?

Jerry flips through his phone and shows me a picture. The artsy chick is attractive: brown hair and nice, round tits. Tits like that would taste fantastic, and yet I know this stranger would ultimately taste worse, because she isn’t Mona.

I shake my head. “Thanks, man. I’m taking a break from pussy.” I shove my head in my hands. “The bitches are crazy around here.”

The break room cackles into whoops and laughter. I get up and head to the large window facing the work floor. To one side, an industrial furnace stretches up and puffs smoke through the vents. The furnace’s opening is big enough for the unnecessary shit we don’t keep here, like the scraps we can’t sell to the rendering plants that the higher ups like to call “toxic waste.”

A random thought crosses my mind: Artemis could fit in the furnace.

I grimace. I don’t even know why I’m thinking of him. I don’t like wasting food, but the idea of eating him makes me sick. The pompous bastard probably tastes stringy and metallic like lean turkey meat. Flavorless, like his personality.

Not that I would kill him. I’m not a killer. And, for fuck’s sake, killing Artemis won’t bring Mona back. Though I would probably kill him if it meant keeping Mona safe.

If it meant keeping me safe.

I get bored of the mindless break room chatter and head back home. A mist hangs over the empty fields, and with the sun rising over the landfill’s huge pile of waste, it’s almost pretty. Hopeful. The kind of thing an artist paints to represent heaven. That idea soothes me as much as it hurts. Would Mona paint something like that?

No. It would be too simplistic for her.

My throat drops to my stomach. I keep driving. I didn’t want to end things with Mona, but I did what was right for her. I can live with that.

As I drive closer to the mobile home, the fog clears, and an SUV comes into view.

Mona’s car is parked in the driveway.

My mind stops. A thudding pulse clangs in my chest, my mind racing a marathon.

She’s not in the front seat of the car. The SUV is empty.

I check the offal pit, where she was last time she came by unannounced. There’s an empty bucket next to the hole, similar to the one she used for the pig’s blood. It may even be the same one. I don’t remember exactly.

The flies rise from the bloated rabbit corpse. There’s no Mona.

Is she inside? Did I forget to lock up?

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