Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection Read Free Page B

He shook his head and
wiped her mouth once more, offering her water. She shook her own
head, and the movement sent shards of glass rolling around through
her skull.
    She drifted out again.
    * * * *
    It took Silas almost a full day to clean and
dress the elk. He started in the early morning as the snow came
down heavily outside the shed, making it hard to even see the house
through the little window on the side. He stopped every hour to
wipe his hands on his apron and trudge back to the house to check
on the woman, just opening the bedroom door a crack, too afraid to
show himself, masked and blood-stained. She’d think he was a serial
killer for sure.
    She slept on. The room with its twin bed
served mostly as extra storage. He boxes full of books and
magazines stacked against the walls and tools littered the floor.
He had thought about putting her closer, in his own room, but there
was only the one bed, and she was already afraid of him. Not that
he blamed her. The poor girl clearly had plenty to be afraid of,
and he couldn’t expect her to trust him.
    There had been nothing to tell him who she
was, no purse or wallet, no identification at all, and the woman
was silent, like a beautiful ornament tucked away in his spare
room. He had been forced to get her out of her wet clothes,
undressing her quickly, doing his best to just take care of
business, but he couldn’t help his reaction. He’d almost forgotten
he wasn’t an animal, a monster living in the middle of the woods,
but a flesh and blood man.
    She was a stunning beauty, her tawny against
the dark waves of her hair, her limbs long and lean. He checked
them carefully for breaks, her skin almost painfully soft in his
hands, like velvet. Her flesh was too much of a temptation and he
was embarrassed by his raw, immediate response, glad when he was
done and she was dressed and tucked back under the covers.
    He took a break to try to feed her some
turkey noodle soup about mid-day, but she just stared at him, her
speech fuzzy, eyes glazed. He drank the soup himself instead,
watching her drift off again and wondering if he should take her to
the hospital. There was no way to get there that day anyway, he
decided, even though he’d just winterized the Duramax. The snow was
thick and heavy with ice and already another foot had fallen
overnight. The main roads would be difficult and the back ones
impassable, even with his plow.
    Once the elk was taken care of, Silas took a
shower, standing outside in the cold under the nozzle attached to
the side of the shed. He could run the well on the diesel generator
or use the hand-pump inside and there was a composting toilet and a
sink in the bathroom in the cabin, but no shower. He’d never
installed one, never saw the point. He got dirty outside, might as
well wash off the dirt outside, he figured. Besides, the needling,
freezing spray felt like good punishment, the warmth of the
woodstove in the house a relief when he came back in, dripping wet,
to dry by the fire.
    Then there was another mess to clean up.
    He tried feeding the woman again, but she
just groaned and rolled over and slept. It was a gamble, but he
decided to leave her. She probably wouldn’t wake at all, he told
himself, and if she did, who would be crazy enough to go out in
this storm? Only him. He didn’t take the diesel Arctic Cat—he made
his own biodiesel fuel—but instead had gone on foot in snowshoes,
not wanting to draw attention to himself if someone had discovered
the accident.
    The car and the bodies were where he had
left them, undisturbed. The extra foot of snow now covering the
two-track made it tough going. The BMW got stuck twice, and riding
in the blood-and-gore-covered driver’s seat left him in desperate
need of another shower. He’d stowed the bodies in the back, both of
them cold but the remains of rigor mortis beginning to fade, making
them easier to move.
    He drove twenty minutes before he found the
spot he was looking for, a place where the