Page 38 of Snowman

I walked to the edge of the woods, the axe heavy in my hand. My grip tightened around the handle as anger roared in my chest. The thought of ending this, of walking into that hospital and telling her the truth, burned in my mind. I wanted to say,"I'm here now. I failed you, but no one will hurt you again."But then again, she probably thought all men were the same, that I was just a stalker who was willing to hurt her, while I was willing to hurt the world for her.

I could see them. Josh was hung unconscious, his arms stretched above him, attached to a tree, he just dangled inches from the ground in a frozen rigor. His face was slack and pale.

Vic was lashed against the trunk, a dead flesh of cock stuffed in his mouth. Their skin had taken on a sickly hue, mottled with purple from the cold. When Vic's eyes met mine, there was a flicker of hope—pathetic and misplaced—that I had changed my mind. But he didn't understand.

I wasn't here to negotiate. I was here to finish what I started.

"Cold?" I asked as I stepped closer and watched him shiver. His body was trembling violently, but he just shook his head, refusing to answer.

I crouched before him, my hand slipping into his mouth. The gag of cold, dead cock was slick as I yanked it free, tossing it onto the ground. His breathing fogged in the icy air.

"Why did you do it?" I asked calmly, yet sharply, like a blade at the ready.

I wanted an excuse, a reason, any scrap of justification that would let me, finally, end this thing. But he gave me no reason.

"She was pretty," he rasped, coughing wetly. "She was running away. We wanted to show her no one runs from us."

My jaw locked, and my hold on the axe tightened so much my knuckles burned white.

"Is that so?" I whispered, deadly edges slipping into my words.

"Yeah," he went on, not noticing the oncoming storm behind my eyes. "She didn't put up much of a fight." A sly grin quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Even let us switch sides."

The words hit like a hammer, each one driving nails into my chest. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might tear free. Before he could spit out another word, my hand shot forward, fast as lightning, and seized his tongue. His eyes widened in shock, but it was too late.

I forced his tongue onto the cold iron of the axe blade. The muffled screams filled the air, steam rose from his breath. In a second, his tongue was sliced, warm and bloody, into my hand. I dropped it in the snow as if it was trash.

"You should have chosen your words more carefully," I said, trying to keep my voice calm against the rage that flooded through me. I stepped backward, kicking the severed tongue towards him.

"You stole her life, her freedom, her choice. And all you can say is that she did not fight much?"

"God," I snarled, lifting the axe high. The blade came down hard, cleaving through his wrist. His scream tore through the forest as his severed hand fell into the snow. I didn't pause. The axe swung again, severing his other hand in a spray of red. His body, fueled by adrenaline, trembled while his wide, disbelieving eyes stared at the roots of the tree.

I moved away, ignoring his desperate cries.

The untouched snow gleamed under the pale light as I knelt and began to roll it into balls. Slowly, I packed the snow, the wet crunch filling the silence. I rolled the snowballs larger, stacking them one on top of the other until the snowman stood tall, up to my knees.

I dunked my thumb within the blood pooling at my feet and painted crude eyes and a jagged mouth on its face. Finished, I stepped towards the tree, took his severed hands, and pressedthem into the sides of the middle ball like crude bloody arms. Stepping back, I observed the perfection of my work.

"See?" I said, turning to him with a satisfied grin. "Perfect."

He attempted to mutter something, his mutilated mouth fumbling over the sounds that never formed a word. I cupped a hand to my ear, mocking him.

"What's that? Can't hear you..." I chuckled, lowering my hand. "You don't have a tongue, do you?"

He sobbed, the bloodied tears streaming down his face. His cries were pitiful, a wretched gurgling mess.

"Aw, poor thing," I said, laughing. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

I motioned to the bloodstained snow and burst out in a cold, cruel laugh.

"Don't cry about it. You're the king of a silent party now!"

His eyes rolled back, and finally, his shock and pain caught him, but I leaned over into them, grinning.

"Oh shut up," I mocked. "Oh wait, you can!" I laughed as I turned back to glance at the snowman. "At least you are good at keeping secrets."

My laughter echoed through the woods, cold and hollow, as he hung there, silent, broken, defeated.

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