The guy is topless, with a deep wound running up the middle of his abdomen from just above his pubic bone to his xiphisternum. His intestines are literally hanging out of his body, dropping down to the floor, with blood still dripping onto the ground below.
Just in case he miraculously survived being gutted like a fish, he has a bullet wound going straight through the center of his head, right between his eyes. I know from experience that the final bullet wound won’t have been delivered until he was near dead, if not dead already. Done as a final act of assurance.
This is The Feral Beast's signature kill. The equivalent of a calling card, telling everyone who this man wronged and who killed him.
It doesn’t matter though, nobody will ever find this guy’s body, or learn what happened to him. My guess is, this display of symbolism was for the victim. To let him know exactly who he crossed, so he could piss himself at the realization of how agonizingly slowly and painfully he would die.
Getting closer to the body, I recognize his face, but I can’t place where I know him from. Shoving that thought aside, I start to unshackle the chains attached to one of the posts, while Ty does the same on the other side.
It doesn’t take long until his body drops to the ground. Thankfully, whoever killed him had the forethought to place a plastic sheet on the ground, underneath his body, catching his blood so Ty and I don’t have to spend the rest of the night here bleaching the floor to remove any bloodstains.
Ty snaps on a pair of gloves and starts to check in the guy's pockets, searching for any signs of ID, or anything else that could be used to identify him. Meanwhile, I fill a bucket with bleach and water and start cleaning all the tools on the bench that may have been involved in his torture and death.
“Hey man, look at this,” Ty chimes, holding up what looks like a business card.
Walking back across the warehouse until I’m standing beside him, I reach out with my gloved hands and take the card from him, reading what it says.
Mr. Daniel Collenston.
Senator for the State of California.
A senator? What the fuck? What the hell is Kirk thinking? Someone is bound to ask questions if a bloody senator goes missing.
That explains why I recognize his face. I saw it plastered on banners and advertisements throughout our drive down here from Oregon.
I continue to mull over what this means and how this factors into Kirk’s plans, while Ty and I resume the process of disposing of his body.
The great thing about living in the mountains is the mountain lions. Our namesake. They are the perfect way to dispose of dead bodies. It’s rare for mountain lions to attack and kill people, but when that human has been chopped up into small, bite-size pieces, it’s suddenly not so difficult to comprehend.
Once we have the man, David Collenston I guess, chopped up and securely wrapped in plastic, we transport him to the trunk of our car. Our plan is to drive him deeper into the wilderness, well away from Crescentwood, the motel, and this barn, and spread out his body pieces in the middle of the forest, far away from any possible walking or hiking trails.
It’s an exhausting job, and one that takes forever to complete, but, finally, we have dumped the last body piece. Returning to the car, we start the three-hour car journey home.
“A senator? What the hell are they thinking?” Ty questions, mirroring my own thoughts
Shaking my head, both physically and mentally exhausted.
“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.”
Chapter 19
SOPHIE
All too soon, Monday morning rolls around and I’m climbing out of the car, making my way towards the school building. It never gets any easier, coming through those doors into a school where no-one will talk to me. While I’m used to being alone, I’m not used to people not talking to me just because they have been told not to. In the past, I’ve been the one to turn down invitations and friendships because I didn’t have the time, and I didn’t need to see the pity in people’s eyes or hear their sympathies when I would, inevitably, have to cancel plans.
From what I have gathered, though, from silently observing the student body here, most of them are lemmings, sheep, willing to do whatever is asked of them in the hopes of gaining favour with the one-percenters.
It amazes me how so many people can be okay with following the whims and orders of others just because they have more money or a higher social standing. Can none of these people think for themselves? Are they that desperate for attention that they will do anything to anybody, regardless of the impact it might have? I can’t get over their lack of a moral code.
What concerns me is that I don’t know how far these followers would go in obeying the one-percenters. Doing as they are told, not talking to me, is one thing, but what if the one-percenters told them to do something worse, something that could hurt me or cause me physical harm? The thought alone fills me with unease. Let’s hope Preston doesn’t feel the need to take things that far and I never have to find out.
As I’m striding across the car park, lost in my own dark thoughts, I hear someone calling out to me. Since I wasn’t expecting anyone to talk to me at all, I’m immediately stunned at someone saying my name.
Looking around, I see a girl just up ahead of me heading into the school building. “Fun party this weekend! We should hang out sometime,” she says before going into the school, letting the door close behind her. What the hell was that?
Similar introductions occur as soon as I step into the hallway and head towards my locker. It’s like I’ve entered opposite land, and I am immediately suspicious. I try to paint a smile on my face and return hellos to the nameless people I pass, keeping my confusion and wariness to myself.
Stepping into my English classroom, I take my usual seat. The seat beside me has been unoccupied since I first showed up here, but today a girl with long blonde hair tied back in a complicated looking braid sits down in the chair beside me.
Looking at her from the corner of my eye I can see she’s about my height, but she’s wearing heels to my Converse which gives her an extra few inches. She’s beautiful, in a natural way, and has managed to blend her make-up to enhance her delicate features.
Once she has unpacked her things and organised them on the desk, she turns to look at me. “I’ve wanted to talk to you since you first arrived, but the one-percenters put a ban on anyone interacting with you, and while I’m not one to always follow the rules, you just don’t mess with the one-percenters if they decree something,” she states bluntly, without apology, “but, thankfully, they have seen reason and lifted the stupid ban,” she finishes with a huge smile.
“They have?” I reply dumbly, hardly believing what she is saying. “Why would they do that?” I question, more to myself than her.
Does this have anything to do with what happened with Barrett the other night? Perhaps they both understand now that I’m not in league with my father? This turn of events only raises more questions, but it gives me hope that Preston and Barrett might finally see that I’m not associated with Robert.
Shrugging her shoulders, she replies anyway, “I wouldn’t worry about the why of it, the point is they have.”
Before I can ask her anything further, the teacher walks in.
“Quiet down class and pull out your books. Sarah, start reading the first chapter out to the class,” Mr. Davis, our English teacher, orders.