Chapter 10 Chapter 10 Killing

Well, last night was a memorable day, doctor.It must please you that I fell asleep—in my own bed.Then, I wanted to go to the bathroom, so I walked to the bathroom in the dark.As I was walking back, I woke up with a sudden realization of what I had just done - I was so excited I didn't fall asleep all night. Going to the bathroom in the middle of the night was my habit before I was kidnapped, which means I'm slowly getting back into my old habits, which is a good thing, right?Maybe, that means, I'm back too.Don't worry, I still remember what you said, I may never be the same as before I was kidnapped, I have to accept this fact.But in any case, last night was an improvement.

Maybe it worked out because I had been sleeping before and didn't have time to think about it.I’ve always loved the saying, “Dance like no one’s looking at you.” For example, if you’re home alone and an action-packed song comes on the radio, you might start shaking your head to the music. Shaking, it felt good, so I followed the rhythm and danced seriously.You are dancing and dancing, having a great time.But if you're in a public place, you feel like everyone is looking at you and judging you.You wonder, is my ass shaking too much?Am I keeping up with the rhythm?Are they kidding me?Then, you don't dance anymore.

Every day I was locked up on the mountain, I was tested.If he's in a good mood, I get an extra bonus.If I didn't do something fast enough or well enough, he'd slap me in the face or take away the reward, but that didn't happen very often because I was always very careful. While the freak was busy checking my every move, I was also analyzing his behavior.But even after that conversation about his adoptive mother, I still can't figure out what might be driving him crazy, and each thing is a clue for me to collect and put them in my mind. Organize and archive.Understanding his needs and desires became my full-time job, analyzing every nuance of his expression, every tone of voice he spoke.

Over the years, the experience of living with my mother has taught me to judge the degree of sobriety from the degree of drooping eyelids, which has exercised my ability to perceive words and emotions.But I also learned from my mom's school that it's like trying to predict a tiger's behavior—you never know if you're going to be its playmate or its lunch.All depends on its mood.Sometimes I might make a mistake and he wouldn't react at all, and other times I might make a more trivial mistake and he would completely lose control. By March, I was six months pregnant, and once he came back from hunting and said, "Come out, I need you to do me a favor."

come out?Get out of this room?I stared at him to see if he was joking or if he was trying to take me out and kill him.There was no expression on his face. He threw me a coat and a pair of wellies. "Put it on." Before I could zip up my coat, he grabbed my arm and dragged me out the door. The fresh air hits me, and I feel like I've hit a wall, and my chest tightens.He led me towards the carcass of a deer about six or seven meters away from the hut. As I walked, I looked at the surrounding environment.The sun came out that day, and the light refracted by the white snow on the ground made my tears flow.All I know is that there is an open space around us.

It was cold and I felt pain all over my body.There was snow on the ground up to the top of my wellies, but I'm not used to being outside, and my legs were still bare.My eyes began to adjust to the light outside, and before I could fully see, he pushed me, and I fell to my knees beside the deer's head.It had a hole behind its ear and a cut in its throat that was still bleeding, turning the surrounding snow red.I wanted to turn my head, and the pervert turned my face again so I was facing the deer carcass. "Listen up, I want you on the butt end of the deer, and we turn him over together, and then you grab his hind legs and spread them apart so I can gut them out. Do you understand ?”

I understand what he wants me to do, what I don't understand is why he wants me to come - he's never allowed me to go out before.Perhaps he wanted me to see what he was capable of, and more specifically, what he could do to me. I nodded, not to look at Xiao Lu's dull eyes.I went to the back of the deer, crouched down in the snow, and grabbed its already stiff hind legs.The pervert laughed and hummed, knelt down beside the deer's head, and we turned the deer over. I knew the deer was dead, but seeing it sprawled on the ground made me feel so helpless and humiliated.I've never seen dead animals this close before.Maybe the baby in my stomach sensed my sadness and began to move restlessly.

My stomach began to move as I watched the blade in that freak's hand plunge into the venison's leg like it was cutting butter.When he took the knife and cut off the whole genital part of the deer, I smelled a metallic bloody smell.It occurred to me that he could tear me apart with that same earnest expression, and suddenly I panicked.I shuddered and he glanced at me. I whispered, "I'm sorry." I gritted my teeth in the cold wind and forced myself to remain calm.He began singing again while dismembering the deer. While he wasn't paying attention to me, I looked around.We were surrounded by a large fir forest, the branches bent under the weight of the snow.Footprints, drag marks, and what looked like the occasional drip of blood disappeared on the other side of the hut.The air is fresh and moist, and the snow crunches underfoot.I've been skiing in some mountains around Canada and the snow smells different, drier and feels different elsewhere.The amount of snow here, the topography, and the smell lead me to believe that I must still be on Vancouver Island, or, at least, somewhere along the coast.

While dissecting the deer, the pervert said to me: "We'd better find something to eat from nature. These things are pure and have not been touched by humans. When I was in the town, I bought A few new books, and you can learn how to cure meat and how to can it. In the end, we'll be completely self-sufficient, and I won't have to leave you alone again." It's not exactly what I had in mind, but I have to say, the thought of doing something new, anything, makes me happy. After he cut open the whole deer, the internal organs of the deer were exposed, he turned his eyes from the deer to me, and said, "Annie, have you ever killed a life?" Wasn't it scary enough that he had a knife in his hand? , Do you still want to discuss the topic of killing with me?

"I've never hunted before." "Answer my question, Anne." We looked at each other, with the dead deer under our feet. "No, I've never killed a living being." He held the handle of the knife and swung it back and forth like a pendulum.Every time you flick, repeat: "Never? Never? Never?" "there has never been……" "Liar!" He threw the knife up, grabbed the hilt as it fell, and drove it into the deer's neck, all the way to the bottom.Terrified, I let go and fell back on the snow.I struggled to my feet and he didn't say a word.I squatted down again and quickly grabbed the deer's hind legs, expecting him to throw a fit, but he just stared at me.Then he turned his gaze to the cut in the deer's belly, then to my belly, and then to my eyes.I started talking incoherently.

"When I was a teenager, I hit a cat with my car. I didn't want to hit it. I was coming home late that day and I was very, very tired. Then I heard a bang and I saw it fly up. God. I watched it hit the ground and run into the bushes, and I pulled over." The freak kept staring at me, and my words kept coming out of my mouth like that. "I went into the bushes to look for it, and I cried and yelled, 'Mimi, Mimi', but it was gone. I went home and told my stepdad about it, and he came back to the bush with me with a flashlight. We searched for about an hour, but couldn't find it. He told me that maybe the cat was fine and ran home by himself. But the next morning, I saw the wheels of the car, which were full of blood and cat hair." "I'm surprised," he said with a smile, "I didn't know you were so cruel." "No! It was an accident..." "Yeah, I don't think so. I think you see the cat's eyes lit up by the headlights, and for a split second you're like, don't know what it's like. And all of a sudden, you hate the cat , and just hit the gas. I think, when you hit the cat, that bang, you know you hit it, but it makes you feel powerful and makes you…” "No! Absolutely not. I felt bad, even thinking about it now." "If the cat was a murderer, would you still feel bad? You know, it might be out for food—have you ever seen a cat torture its prey? And if the cat was seriously ill, no Home is home, and no one loves it? Doesn’t letting it die makes it a relief, Annie? If you know that the cat’s owner is abusing it, denying it food, kicking and beating it?” His voice became louder. Getting bigger, "Maybe you did it a big favor, didn't you think about it?" I felt as if he was asking my permission for something he was doing.Is he trying to confess to me, or is he playing tricks on me?The latter seemed more likely, and after a long wait before I spoke, we were both taken aback. "You... have you ever killed someone?" He stretched out his hand and gently stroked the handle of the knife. "A brave question." "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never seen it... You know, I've read a lot of books, and I've watched a lot of TV shows and movies, but it's still different talking to someone who has actually killed someone." I said It's so easy to be interested in myself—I've always been fascinated by psychology, especially abnormal psychology, and murderers definitely fall into that category. "In your words, if you could 'speak to a man who actually killed someone,' what would you ask him?" "I... I want to know why. But maybe sometimes they don't know why, or even understand why?" I must have got it right, because he nodded affirmatively and said, "Killing is a lot of fun. People make all kinds of rules about when it's okay to kill." He smiled. "Self-defense? No problem. Kill someone, but find a doctor and prove you're insane. That's okay. A woman kills her husband, what if she has PMS? As long as the lawyer is strong enough , probably no problem." He tilted his head at me, standing in the snow, shaking back and forth: "If you knew what was going to happen, and you could stop it, what would you do? If you could see something, something What do you do with things that no one else can see?" "Like what?" "It's a pity you didn't find the cat, Annie. Death is just a continuation of life. If you can see death, you'll know it. It's like opening up a new realm of life. You'll realize that there's no need to Limit yourself to this one life." He still hasn't admitted to killing anyone, I don't know if I can say it again, but I've always been a person who doesn't know how to advance or retreat. "So, what does it feel like to kill someone?" He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows: "Are we planning to kill someone?" Before I answered, he continued, but the content was beyond my expectation. "My adoptive mother died of cancer, ovarian cancer. Her body rotted from the inside to the outside. In the end, I could even smell the death on her body." He paused for a moment, his eyes dimmed.I was still thinking, what should I ask him next, and he spoke again. "I was eighteen when she got sick - her husband died a few years ago - and I didn't mind taking care of her. I knew how to take care of her better than anyone else. She was Crying for her husband all the time. I told her he was gone and he didn't care about her at all and only me, but she still just wanted me to find him. After everything I did for her... in my own eyes After seeing what he did to her, she still cried for him." "I don't understand. You say her husband is dead. What do you mean by telling her that he left?" "Before, he would go away for a few months, and we had a good time in those months. Then, he would come home, and I would always know before he was coming, because my adoptive mother would let me help her dress. Pretty dresses and make up. I told her I didn't like it and she said he did. He wouldn't even let me eat with them. I knew my adoptive mother wanted to feed me but he made her wait until He finished. To him, I was nothing more than a stray dog ​​his wife brought home from the kennel. After dinner, they would go to the bedroom and close the door. One night, it must be when I was seven years old. They forgot to close the door tightly. I saw...she was crying. And his hands..." His voice trailed off, his eyes fixed on the air in front of him. "Is your adoptive father beating her?" I noticed early on that whenever he talked about his adoptive mother, his voice would become hollow, and this time, when he answered my questions, his voice was almost robotic. "I'm soft... when I'm with her, I'm always soft. I'm not going to make her cry. That's not right." "Is he hitting her?" His eyes were fixed on my chest, but his eyes were empty. He shook his head and said repeatedly: "No." He stroked the back of his head: "She saw me...in the mirror. She saw me." For a second, he clutched his throat so hard his fingers were red, and then he He rubbed his hands vigorously on his legs again, as if he wanted to rub something off his palms. He said in a hoarse voice: "Then, she laughed." The pervert grinned a smile, and the grin grew wider and wider, and the smile almost turned into a bloody grin.He kept that expression for a long time, it must have been painful.My heart tightened. Finally, he finally looked me in the eye and said, "After that, she always left the door open. She kept the door open for many, many years." His voice became calm again: "When I was fifteen years old, she began to shave me too. My whole body is as smooth as hers. If I hug her too tightly when I sleep at night, she will get angry. .Sometimes, I'd dream, and the sheets would... and she'd tell me to burn the sheets. She's changing." Trying to keep my voice calm, I asked, "How?" "One day, I came home early from school. There were some noises coming from the bedroom. I thought it was him coming back from a business trip. So I walked to the door." He rubbed his chest, as if out of breath . "He was right behind her. There was another man, a stranger... I walked away before she saw me. I waited outside, on the porch..." He stopped suddenly, and after a while I asked, "Porch?" "Reading. I hide books in the porch. I can only read at home when my adoptive father is home. After he left, my adoptive mother said that reading would interrupt our time together. If she found out that I was reading, she would Tear up the books." Now, I know why he is so careful with books. "An hour later, those two men walked past me, and I could still smell her on them. They went for a beer. She's still home—singing." He shook his head. "She shouldn't have let them do that to her. She's sick. She doesn't understand it's wrong. She needs my help." "So, did you help her?" "I have to save her, save us, or I can't help her anymore when she gets too much, you understand?" I know.I nod. Satisfied, he continued: "A week later, she went to the store to buy something, and I asked him to drive me out, and I said, I'm going to take him to see an old coal mine in the woods." He lowered his head and stared at the deer The knife around the neck. "When she came home, I told her he had packed up all his stuff and he was gone, he went to find another woman. She cried, but now, with me taking care of her, it's like Same as before, no, better than before, because I don't have to share her with anyone anymore. Then, she got sick, and I do for her whatever she likes, anything she asks, anything. So, When she got sick and she asked me to kill her she thought I would do it. I didn't want to. I couldn't. She begged me and said I wasn't a real man, a real man He can do it. She says he can do it, but I can't." While he was telling all this, the sun was setting and it was beginning to snow—a thin layer of snow covering us and the deer.A strand of blond hair on the pervert's head was stuck to his forehead, and his eyelashes were glued together and sparkled.I don't know if it was the snow or the tears, but he looked like an angel. I squatted for so long that my thighs started to ache, and if I got up and stretched, it was impossible to keep asking him.My body may be motionless, but my mind is running at high speed. He shook his head and looked up from the knife. "Now to answer your question, Anne, that feels good. Now, we have to move faster, otherwise, the beasts will follow the bloody smell here to chase us down." His voice sounded very happy. For a minute I wondered what question he was answering.Then, I remembered.The question I asked him was what it was like to kill someone. I grabbed the deer by the hind legs and he reached into the cut in the deer's belly and gently gutted it, piling it on the snow the size of a beach volleyball.One end of the mass of internal organs is still connected to the chest cavity, and it is connected to something like an umbilical cord.He pulled the knife out of the deer's neck—the knife jammed once, and then came out with a pop.He plunged the knife into the deer's stomach again and cut off the heart and other organs.He tossed these next to the pile of offal he started with like they were a pile of garbage.The smell of raw meat made a nausea rise in the back of my throat, and I tried to suppress it. He said "wait here" and disappeared into a shed next to the hut.Seconds later, he was back with a small saw and some rope.When he knelt down beside the deer's head, I felt like I was going to stop breathing.The sound of a saw cutting a deer's neck breaks the tranquility of the winter wilderness.I want to look away, but I can't.He put the saw down, took the knife, and went to the end of the deer's tail.I flinched when he held out his hand to me, which made him laugh, and he just took the deer leg from my hand.Then he cut a hole with his knife at the ankles of the legs, and passed the rope through the holes. We dragged the deer to the shed, each holding a front leg.I looked back.The deer carcass left a long trail of blood behind us, and a bloodstained mark appeared in the snow.I will never forget the sight of that poor fawn's head, heart and other internal organs lying on the cold ground. The outer wall of the shed is made of solid metal, and no wild animals can get in. There is a large freezer against the wall inside the house.There was a machine humming behind the house, I thought it might be a generator, and there was a pump next to it that supposedly drew water from a well.There are six big red barrels lined up in the opposite corner, with the word "diesel" written on them.Next to the oil barrel is a jar.I didn't see the firewood, so I guess it should be placed elsewhere.The air smelled of diesel, gas, and deer blood. He threw the rope from the deer's hind legs over the beams of the ceiling, and together we pulled the rope and hoisted the deer up.Will my body be hung here one day? I thought that was the end of it, but he started sharpening the knife again on a rock, and I was shaking all over.He looked into my eyes, with a slight smile on his lips, and moved the blade rhythmically back and forth.After about a minute, he picked up the knife. "What do you think? Is it sharp enough?" "Do you want to do it?" He started walking towards me.I cover my stomach with my hands.I had trouble wearing wellies and tripped backwards. He stopped and said with a puzzled expression, "What the hell is wrong with you? We still have to skin the deer." He cut along the ankle of the deer's legs and grabbed one of the legs, "Don't just stand There, grab that leg."We ripped the hide off - he'd use his knife now and then to cut through some joints, mostly on the legs, and when we ripped the hide it looked like it had been sunburned Fall off like dead skin. After the skin was peeled off, he rolled it up and put it in the freezer.Then he made me stand outside the house where he could see me, and he went and fetched the saw, and put it in the shed, and locked the door.I asked him what he was going to do with the offal and the head, and he said we'd wait. When we got back into the house, he found me shivering, and made me sit by the fire to keep warm.Our conversation didn't seem to irritate him.I'm still thinking about asking him if he's killed anyone else, but the thought of his possible answer scares me again.I just said, "Can I take a shower, please?" "Is it time for you to take a shower?" "No, but I..." "Then you should know my answer." That whole day I was covered in deer blood.It gave me goosebumps but I tried not to think about it, I tried not to think about anything - not about the blood on my body, not about the dead deer, not about the man he killed his adoptive father.I just focused my attention on the fire in front of me, watching the flames dance in the fire. That night, as he was falling asleep, he said, "I like cats." He likes cats?This sadistic murderer likes cats?I felt hysterical laughter was about to pop out of my throat, and I covered my mouth tightly with my hands in the dark.