Page 43 of Run

That’s what it is, just the sunrise. Fucking sunrise.

“Well, H, you’ve officially lost your mind.” I huff at myself, throwing the chair backwards until it almost tips over.

Sounds are filtering in through the open bedroom door. Soft sounds that I don’t recognize.

“Magnolia? Is that you girl?” I call out to my best bitch and listen for her customary little woof, but no sound comes, and she doesn’t appear through the doorway.

An intruder would be impossible, unless she left and didn’t turn the alarm system back on. Still though, getting past the dogs would be nothing any human could do, they’d have a robber shredded before they made it more than ten feet past the gate or the surrounding garden walls. Then again, she got past them without a fight.

Grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants from the walk-in closet, I step into them, tying the drawstring as I leave the bedroom and pad barefoot down the hall. I know exactly where to step in the old house to avoid any creaks or groans in the floorboards, and I make my way silently towards the library on the first floor.

I don’t need a weapon, there’s no guns needed, or knives warranted. I’ve killed with my bare hands so many times before that it’s become second nature to me. I’m not worried if anyone is lurking around a corner with a gun either, at this point a bullet to the chest might just be the best thing for me. Still I give myself a second to prepare myself for what I will find before I grab the knob of the door and turn it ever so slowly.

The heavy wooden door slides open silently across the carpet, and the scent of all the books, their pages worn with age enters my nose, along with something else. Something floral and sweet is filling the room, and when I look over to the fireplace, my heart stops as dog tags jingle.

Sitting on one of the overstuffed leather chairs, with a throw blanket up to her chin, and Magnolia at her feet, rests Lily. Her hair is disheveled, but her face has been cleaned up, and she looks almost normal as her eyelashes flutter slightly on her cheekbones. Her color is a little pale, and she feels chilly to the touch as I approach her, squat down next to the chair, and brush a lock of that red hair from her forehead.

She stirs, her head lolling, her face tilting into my hand, allowing me to cradle it in my palm.

“I couldn’t run.” She murmurs in her sleep, her subconscious aware of my presence.

“Oh princess, you should have.” I whisper to her kissing the faded mark above her brows from where she headbutted me the day I took her. “Because now I really can’t let you go.”

“Don’t.”

The amount of times this woman can take me down with a single word is astronomical, and as I stare at her, my legs give out and I flop on my ass, literally floored by her and her misplaced devotion. My dog looks at me, then up to Lily, assessing the scene, and I’m happy when she puts her head back down and closes her eyes.

“Good girl. I won’t hurt her again. I promise.” I say, petting her head, smiling at the little woof she gives me. “You really like her huh?”

I want to lift Lily and take her back to bed, to hold her, and warm her up with the heat from my body. I want to touch her, caress her, make her feel some of the safety I took away. Touching her though, without my animalistic urges taking over would be nearly impossible. How could I caress her face and not kiss it, or snuggle against her ass without wanting to slide myalready hardening cock between her legs and thrust it up into her?

Instead, I grab another blanket from the chest by the window and drape it over her, tucking it around her to keep her body warmth under it. I light the fireplace and pick up the book that has fallen haphazardly to the floor, placing it on the mantel.

“Sleep princess.”

The door clicks closed quietly behind me as I fight every urge in my body to take her. It’s for the best, to leave her sleep. She needs her rest, and I need to find a way to repay her for the gift she has just given me. The only gift I’ve gotten from anyone since my ninth birthday, the day before mother died.

I leave her and Magnolia in the library and make my way through the house, back up to my room to get dressed and do my errands with the overwhelming desire to make her a big breakfast. A feast made for a queen is what she will get, chocolate chip muffins and all. I just need to take care of something first while she sleeps.

Chapter Twenty-Four

It’s the first morning where it’s warm enough at daybreak to not see my breath as I walk through my gardens towards the dogs’ house in the back of the property. The pack is lazily patrolling the fence line, but when they see me enter their cabin, they come trotting over, wagging their little tails, waiting with little feet taps as I fill their automatic feeder with one of the hundred-pound bags of food from their pantry.

“Sorry guys. I didn’t realize you were getting low on grub.” I say as they file in and wait their turn to eat. “Someone has kept me pretty busy lately. So busy you haven’t had any fresh meat this week.”

The dogs never eat as fast as they are now, their mouths scooping up huge bites. They need a feast too, only breakfast won’t do for them. They need what they are used to getting, warm, freshly cut parts. Human parts.

“I’ll get you something later okay?” I say to them as I leave them to their food. “I have something I need to do first.”

Saying to them the exact thing I thought to myself when I left Lily sleeping in the library, I head down the path from the backyard to the other side of the garden, towards my gazebo.The pit has been calling me for hours since I awoke from that nightmare. The one ghost that lives under the hatch of the wooden structure, that won’t shut up in my head, needs to go.

The stench of rotting flesh, with the sound of the maggots and grubs feasting is intense as I open the wooden door and jump down in the pit.My boots squish in the mess, making horrible squelching sounds that normally wouldn’t bother me, but this morning they do, and I curl up my lip in disgust.

With the warmer weather coming, the insect activity is increasing. It’s good for decomposing the bodies faster, but it’s downright nasty hearing them feast on the remains. Like crispy rice cereal in milk, crackling and popping they devour what I’ve left hidden after the dogs have had their fill.

“Where are you, you motherfucker?” I grunt as I dig through the gooey, dismembered parts.

Kicking piles of bugs away with my foot and feeling them crawling between my fingers as I move the fresher kills out of the way is foul, but a necessity. The one I’m looking for is at the very bottom. The first set of remains have been down here for many years and are long buried under over a decade of my kills.

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