“Let’s go back to the hotel, Deb. I’ll grab Rudy, and you can have our room. That’s what I should have done in the first place. Then I could have interviewed you over dinner, and we wouldn’t have almost hit that guy, gotten soaked in deer blood, and then wound up here, on the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre 8.”
It was funny, but she kept a straight face without much difficulty. “Do you have a press pass?”
“Sure.”
“Can I see it?”
Mal seemed to study her, then he reached for his back pocket. He pursed his lips.
“My wallet is in the trunk. In my other pants. Look, if you’re still mad about me touching your prosthetic legs, I was just trying to be friendly. I knew I was going to ask some hard questions, and I didn’t want you to think I was a jerk.”
So he hadn’t been flirting. He’d been softening her up before the interrogation.
Deb went from paranoid to hurt.
That’s when the rear tire exploded with the sound of a thunderclap.
Deb’s eyes went wide as Mal lunged at her, his expression crazed as his fingers wrapped around her neck.
# # #
Felix hadn’t ever dwelt on the necessity of good hygiene, but its importance overwhelmed him when John climbed into his truck.
The hunter reeked.
It was a pungent stench; body odor, sour milk, and some sort of perfume that smelled like the soap his father used. Sandalwood. Felix tried breathing through his mouth, but it left a lingering taste on his tongue, so he opened his window and inhaled the air coming in.
“Am I going the right way?” he asked quickly before turning back to the window.
John didn’t answer. Felix flipped on the interior light. John’s eyelids were drooping, and his jaw hung slack as he stared straight ahead.
“John? Are we going in the right direction?”
“Huh?”
“The Rushmore Inn. Is this the right road?”
John scratched his hairless cheek with dirty fingernails. “Yeah. It’s right up here. Pull over.”
“Where? Here?”
“Yeah.”
There were no crossroads. No buildings. It was just highway and forest.
“There’s nothing here, John.”
“Driveway is hard to see.”
John still had that vacant look on his face. Felix wondered if the guy was crazy. Or taking some sort of drugs. But on the off-chance that John was telling the truth, Felix pulled the Chevy off the road and onto the grass.
“Okay, now what do—”
The hunting knife was at Felix’s throat so fast he felt it before he saw it, the blade pressing against his Adam’s apple, forcing him against the headrest.
“Here’s what we gonna do, Mr. Type A. You gonna climb out, slow and easy, and then we takin’ a little walk in the woods. Your blood ain’t no good, so I won’t have no problem spillin’ it.”
The knife was incredibly sharp. Felix could feel the sting when it lightly broke his skin. Like a long paper-cut. John’s other massive hand was tangled in Felix’s hair, cupping his head like a basketball.
Fear smothered Felix like a wet blanket.
When Felix was able to speak, his voice was hoarse, barely audible. “My money is in my wallet. In my back pocket.”
“This ain’t about money, shit-brain. This is about poking your nose in what’s none of your goddamn business. Now get out of the truck.”
The knife sawed forward, giving Felix another, deeper cut. He thought about his Beretta, just under his seat. It might as well have been a hundred miles away. There was no way for him to reach it without his throat being slit.
Every system in Felix’s body went haywire. He got very hot, which was incongruous with his shivering. His bladder seemed to get smaller, tighter. His stomach churned, and his bowels were ready to burst. His breath came out in quick pants, making him even more light-headed.
This isn’t happening. It’s not happening.
Please don’t let this be happening.
He felt around for the door handle, thinking that maybe he’d have a chance to run when he stepped out of the truck, depending on how tight a grip John kept on him.
John kept his grip tight as a vice. He pulled on Felix’s head, keeping it at waist-level, as he followed Felix out the door.
“Let’s mosey on into the middle of the road. Won’t no one mind a big pool of blood there. It’ll look like a deer got hisself hit.”
John tugged him away from the car. Felix’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and at the same time he was finding it difficult to walk. Mixed in with the terror was a sense of detachment. Like it was happening to someone else.
Am I really about to die?
He’d never thought much about death before, and certainly never thought this was how his life would end. He wondered if he should be concentrating on something important. Or praying. Or looking back over his life and trying, in his very last seconds, to make sense of it all.
But all he could focus on was the knife.
“Unlike some of my kin, I don’t take no pleasure in killin’. Momma says it’s on account I’m too soft. But I done some bad things. And right now, I reckon I’m gonna do some of those bad things to you.”
Felix heard someone say, “Please, don’t,” and realized it was coming from him.
“I gotta. Maybe Momma won’t think I’m no softy no more if’n I bring her your head. But heads don’t come off easy. Takes lots of cuttin’ and hackin’. I ‘spect you’ll feel most of it.”
“Please...”
“On your knees, boy.”
Felix was forced down in the headlight beams. He stared at John’s waist, smelled his body odor, and realized these were the last sensations he’d ever experience.
Except for pain.
How will it feel when he cuts into my throat? Will it hurt a lot? Will I choke on blood?
Will John slit my neck, or dig the tip of the blade in?
What’s in a throat, anyway?
Jugular vein.
Carotid artery.
Adam’s apple.
The cartilage part. What was that called?
The trachea.
How will it feel when he pokes through the trachea?
How about when he goes even deeper?
Will the pain stop when he severs my spine?
Felix felt like sobbing. He didn’t want his last thought to be about the pain to come. He wanted it to be about something more important. He wanted it to be about Maria.
He pictured her face. Her eyes. Her smile.
He wanted so badly to see her, one last time.
I’m so, so sorry, baby. I failed you.
“What happened to her?” Felix croaked.
“Them questions is what got you into trouble, boy. You still asking ‘em?”
“I have to know.” Felix swallowed. “Please.”
John snorted and spat. “We bled her. Same as the others. Nice and slow. Not fast, like you’re gonna be. Just try not to splash any on my new truck.”
Rage overtook Felix, burning away the blanket of fear, filling his veins with electricity.
“If’n you take a deep breath, maybe you’ll be able to look ‘round for a bit after I get your head off.”
Felix lashed out with his fist, connecting with John’s crotch, feeling his hand sink in while simultaneously trying to twist away from the knife.
John grunted, jerking to the side, dragging the tip of the blade across Felix’s chin and cutting to the bone. Felix flinched away, but John’s hand was too big, his hold too tight. He cut again, the jagged back of the hunting knife catching Felix across his scalp. Felix reached out with both hands, his fingers wrapping around the cruel, sharp steel.