Page 22 of Blood Ties
Chapter Ten
Kai
When I check on Rileythe next morning, her food and water are untouched. I replace them with fresh ones, take a sip of the water to demonstrate that it’s safe, but she doesn’t even look at me. At least Riley can’t hear the screaming from the barn down here. It’s been on and off all night; I could hardly sleep. Then again, even if it was audible, I’m not sure she’d be aware of it. There’s a hollow, faraway stare in her eyes.
It reminds me of Momma, curled upstairs in bed.Shit, Momma. I need to feed her later, too...
Dad continues having his fun all day while I tend to my chores. The screams continue as I clean and cook and tend to Momma, trying not to think about Caleb suffering under my father’s tools.
The animals are restless with the noise, too. The chickens flutter and cluck around their coop; I murmur soothing words as I sprinkle their food. No food for the pigs, since they’ll be feasting soon, but I keep them company for a while, leaning against the wooden fence while they stare up at me with their weirdly human eyes.
The screaming stops around sunset, leaving behind a deep silence. I breathe a sigh of relief, and when the slam of the front door announces Dad’s return, I go take care of what’s left of Caleb’s body. I wash off the tools one by one: scalpel, saw, screwdriver, chainsaw.
Dinner is quiet. Dad is uncharacteristically content; he doesn’t even complain that the ham is overcooked. At least he’ll be sated for a while, his urges quieted after glutting himself on pain and fear. Frank doesn’t show up; he’s off tending to his own sick needs, I’d guess. Knox eats quickly and heads to his room, grumbling about his sore shoulder.
I push my food around my plate until everyone else leaves. I’ll take the rest to Riley. It’s always a little hard to eat pork after getting rid of a body, anyway. If the pigs eat people and we eat the pigs, then...
Best not to think about it.
Another morning comes, and Riley still hasn’t eaten or drank. She looks weaker. Her shoulders are slumped, her eyes glassy, her lips cracked and dry. I try to pour some water into her mouth, but it just dribbles down her chin, leaving streaks down the dust and dried blood covering her torso.
I feel a pang of guilt when I realize how filthy she is. It’s not going to fix the real problem — that she’s choosing to wither away — but the least I can do is clean her up. I grab a bucket of water and a rag. Then, crouched in front of Riley, I carefully, painstakingly wipe the grime and blood from her face and neck. I clean her arms, her hands, each slender finger.
The whole time, her eyes stare off into the distance, unfocused. She is completely limp in my hands.
My breath hitches as I drag the rag lower. She’s still not wearing anything besides a crop top and underwear, and all that bare skin makes my heart race. My stare lingers, and I imagine trailing my fingers over her soft skin. Touching her stomach, her thighs, the lace that covers so little of her...
My pants grow uncomfortably tight, and I force myself to look away, hot with both desire and shame. Knox would say I can do whatever I want with her, but it doesn’t feel right. It makes me ill that I even thought about it when she’s in this state. I shut my eyes and force myself to think of other things until my blood cools, and then I return to my task.
When the bucket of water is dark with filth and Riley is as clean as I can get her, I sit back on my heels and study her face. Is she really going to let herself fade like this? Did I save her only to condemn her to a slower death?
It was selfish to bring her here instead of letting Knox kill her. I know that. But I thought she would at least try. I thought she would want to live.
If she doesn’t, then... maybe it would be kinder to do it quickly. It plays out in my head in a sudden, vivid flash: me grabbing one of the knives from the kitchen, turning the blade on her. Or maybe I’ll steal Dad’s shotgun. That would be even faster. I imagine her gratitude when she realizes my intent. The peace in her eyes as the light dies from them.
I imagine placing the barrel of the gun in my own mouth next, and pulling the trigger.
A sense of calm settles over me. Yes, that... that feelsright. Maybe I can do something selfless, for once in my life. Maybe this will give me the courage to finally end it.
I trudge up the stairs with that thought in mind and head toward Dad’s room. Only he and Frank are allowed to touch the guns, but Dad’s out right now and Frank is probably in his shack. The door is likely locked, but maybe...
