Page 11 of Bottoms
“I want my questions answered, Fynn,” I said, leveling him with a stern version of the mothering glare.
“And I want to eat a fart out of a unicorn’s ass. We don’t always get what we want, but here you sit, trying anyway. I applaud it. I do,” he said, his tone more playful than anything else. Maybe it was the fuzz of the alcohol or the drug withdrawal that made this exchange feel somewhat like the banter between old friends. Or perhaps it was because this was the first time I had been awake in a week, and I was glad to have any company.
“There was a glittered-covered unicorn at Tops on Halloween. She looked like the type to let someone suck a fart out of her ass. You should go see what she’s doing. Chase your dreams,” I said, laughing lightly. I imagined Fynn walking around after her throughout Tops that night, trying to catch a fart.
“I’ll chase my dreams if you try to run,” he said, still giving me a playful smile. But inside, something cold washed over me, and I decided I didn’t like the hidden meaning behind that. Fynn had made comments a few times now about being interested in me sexually, and I did not want to give him a reason to act on that.
“Good. Let me leave, and you can go off chasing unicorns. She might have had a New Zealand accent. You should try there,” I said, knowing that wasn’t what he meant.
“Did you want to know how Colten is?” Fynn said, his smile disappearing like a storm cloud erasing the sun.
The bottom of my stomach felt like a pit of twisting and turning snakes as I fought to remain calm and remind myself that I hadn’t heard a shot.
“He woke up rather pissed off, I would imagine,” Fynn started, drawing out his words dramatically, as he seemed to enjoy watching my reaction. “Seems he shot all three of your ski mask friends and left their bodies for the police to find.”
I gasped lightly, and a twinkle shined in Fynn’s eyes, spurring him on.
“I had to make sure you were stable and in a safe location before I went back to find and finish them. Seems like Colten beat me to it. He always was the one with the twitchiest trigger finger.”
My head reeled as I tried to imagine quiet, bookworm Colten as an emotionless killer. There was no way that could be right. Fynn was most likely lying to try to manipulate me. I took a deep breath, hardening myself. In the game of psychopaths, surviving is the only goal.
“So, he’s alright then?” I asked. Making my voice as passive as possible, like that was the only part of the story that mattered.
I couldn’t trust anything Fynn said, even if it was that Colten was okay. But my heart wanted to accept it, even if it was a lie. I wanted to think they were out there, trying to figure out a way to come and save me. My GPS tracking bracelet was still on my wrist, and I hoped there was a way for them to look at my location.
Don’t you think they would have been here now if it was working?
“You don’t seem bothered that he killed those men,” Fynn stated, drawing me back from my mental conversation.
“I honestly thought you said before that you had killed them, so either way, they were dead in my mind before this conversation. Did you need me to write a note for their funeral arrangements?” I knew I had overstepped a line when that sentence flew from my lips. He seemed to tolerate my bratty side up until this point, but his features' quick menacing turn told me that I would have hell to pay this time.
“They are all sitting around in Bottoms right now. Mike is there too. Decorating the Christmas tree without you, since tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Fynn said, using the words to cut into me. He hadn’t moved towards me, finding the cruelty of his words effective.
They weren’t out looking for me anymore. After only a week, they had given up. Or maybe they had given up from the moment I was taken. I was only useful when I was there to be used. They failed a mission to protect me, but at least I was someone else’s problem now.
I tried to remind myself that Fynn could be lying, but seeds of doubt had planted themselves in my mind. I could feel them rooting inside me, taking hold of the fertile ground in my anxiety-riddled mind. Grabbing for the bottle, Fynn didn’t stop me as I covered the bottom of my glass again, downing the shot much easier this time. My pain, fear, and anxiety melted away, and all I was left with was a deep sense of resentment and anger at the whole universe.
“What are our Christmas plans?” I asked Fynn. He sat, watching me for a moment before deciding to answer.
“Every Christmas morning, you get out of bed and grab a cup of coffee before sitting on the couch watchingDie Hardin front of your Christmas tree. The only thing I’m missing now is a tree, so I thought our first bonding exercise would be going to pick one out together.” Fynn smirked and raised a single eyebrow, as Tanner often did.
“Are you planning on stealing the tree?” I asked, deciding to roll with things. Getting a tree might get me close enough to other people that an escape may be plausible, even in my current state.
“No, I am not Nik,” Fynn responded, but I didn’t miss the edge when he mentioned Nik’s name.
“Shame. Nik really did find the perfect Christmas tree. But if you want to go out and see what we can scrounge up the day before Christmas Eve, I’m down,” I shrugged like it didn’t matter to me one way or the other.
“I’ll get the axe,” Fynn said, his face lighting up like the embodiment of the holiday spirit.
All hope inside me deflated in one deep sigh as I realized he meant to pick out a tree amongst the hundreds of them surrounding us. Not a trip into society.
“Really,Fynn,thisoneis fine,” I huffed as my fingers started to get cold. The sun had begun to set behind the rundown old farmhouse Fynn kept me in. It told me it was late in the evening and where the cardinal directions were.
“Is it better than Nik’s?” Fynn asked. White puffs of fog came out from his beard like he was a dragon.
“It’s the most perfect tree in this whole damn forest. Can we please get to the choppy-choppy so I can get back inside before you play surgeon on me to remove frostbite?” Even the winter coat Fynn had helped me into before we came outside was beginning to fail, and the deep cold was starting to eat at my extremities. I didn’t realize how cold my head would be without hair, and I pulled the hood around me tighter.
Fynn moved the axe off his shoulder, gripping it tightly with two hands. He gave me a wink before setting his sights on the five-foot pine tree. His arm moved in a sure arc down the sides, letting the weight and sharp blade shape the outer branches. Moving around the tree, he trimmed and molded it into perfection. Then he started working on removing the tree from its roots.
