Chapter 16 Chapter 16 Killing is actually very simple

Well, I have considered your suggestion, doctor, and there is no way I can follow it.I know no one really wants to hurt me, it's all just my imagination, so it's really stupid to make a list of people who want to hurt me.However, let me tell you what I will do.The next time I feel like I'm paranoid again, I'll make a mental list like this and when I find myself unable to think of a name, I feel stupid and stop being paranoid up. By the way, this blue scarf you are wearing is very nice, it matches the color of your eyes.Even though you're old, you still dress very stylishly, you know, you look good in that black turtleneck and slim dress right now.It looks very elegant - no, it is very capable.Make it look like you're the type of person who doesn't sloppy, even when it comes to dressing.And I dress more traditionally, which is the complete opposite of my mom's style—she likes that Hollywood housewife style.Christina was my personal shopper guru, and she'd been trying to develop my breezy style of dressing long before I was kidnapped.

However, poor luck for her.I generally try to avoid shopping as much as possible, especially the ones she likes.My favorite clothes are the ones I picked up just by walking in front of a store window.If I have to attend something important, I go straight to Christina's.She would jump up and down, rummage through boxes, put all kinds of silk scarves and necklaces on me, and tell me which dress or which color is the most beautiful.She likes that, and I like having people make decisions for me. She is always generous with giving me clothes she doesn't wear - she always gets tired of buying clothes in a week - and I have a lot of her original clothes in my closet.So when I came home from the mountains and Christina was about to bring me my clothes, I couldn't figure out why I was so angry.

When I came back, my mother had thrown away all my clothes, so I had to go to the discount store.Gosh, you should have seen the look on my mom's face when she found out I brought home a load of plus size tracksuits.I don't care what color or style those clothes are, as long as they look soft and warm, and the looser the better. During my kidnapping, I could only wear the clothes that the pervert asked me to wear. They were all very ladylike skirts, which made me feel like I was wearing nothing.And the clothes I'm wearing now, how should I put it, no one will be interested in taking a second look at me after seeing it.

On Sunday morning, Luke called and asked if I wanted to take our dog for a walk together.The first word that popped out of my mouth was unwilling!Before I could think of a reason—credible or not—he had hung up the phone and was off to work on the restaurant. The thought of seeing him again scares me.What if he tries to touch me again and I avoid it?There was no way I could see that sad look in his eyes for the third time.What if he didn't intend to touch me at all?Does that mean he doesn't care about me anymore?I don't know if I will agree to him when he invites me again, and I don't know if I will be braver next time, but I know, I hope he can come to ask me out again.When I finally took Emma out for a walk, I couldn't stop thinking about Luke.I keep thinking about what it would be like if I were actually walking with him now.

The next morning, instead of wearing those baggy workout clothes, I pulled out of the basement the box of clothes that Christina had left at my door a few months earlier.When I looked at myself in the mirror in faded jeans and a lime green sweater, it dawned on me that I hadn't looked in the mirror for a long, long time. I wore baggy jeans and a sweater that didn't fit snugly.I can't remember the last time I picked out clothes by myself.For a second, I stared at the stranger in Christina's dress in the mirror, as if I saw a shadow of me before, and it scared me so much that I wanted to rip the clothes off.But, Emma couldn't wait to go out for a walk - she whined at my feet, and I had to go out in that suit.I don't care what Emma looks like, and she obviously doesn't care what I look like either.

Emma stayed at my mom's house while I was being kidnapped - it was definitely not my first choice, and clearly wouldn't be its first choice.I later learned that Luke and a few friends of mine had offered to take care of him, but Mom had declined.When I asked her why she cared for Emma, ​​she said, "So what am I supposed to do with it? Can you imagine what people would say if I gave it away?" When the poor puppy first saw me after my return, he was incontinent with excitement, which he had never done before, not even as a child.Moreover, it was shaking so badly that I thought it had a seizure.I knelt down to cuddle him and he buried his head in my chest and whimpered for a long, long time as if telling me all about his pain.It certainly has the right to complain.First, he was chained to a maple tree in the backyard while he was at his mother's house, and he had never been chained before.Mom said it was because he always liked to dig the soil in the garden.Of course, it must have thought that it had come to the hell of dogs, so it desperately wanted to dig a tunnel to escape.

Emma's nails are very long, and I guess they've been chained to the tree for most of the past year.Its coat was dull and its beautiful eyes were dull.I found a bag of dog food on the backyard balcony, the cheapest kind, and it smelled musty. This dog used to sleep with me every night, and I took him for walks twice, sometimes three times a day.He has all the dog toys on the market and has eaten all kinds of dog treats. I am worried that he will feel hot when he sleeps with me, and I have prepared the most comfortable kennel for him. I adjust my working hours so that It won't be alone for very long.

It made me feel mad at my mom for doing this to him, and I wanted to say something, but then I thought I'd only just come back, and if being with outsiders felt like climbing a dirt track, talking to mom was like a backseat. Climb up that mountain with a heavy burden.Besides, what can I say? "Hey mom, next time I get kidnapped I won't let you have my dog?" When I finally moved back to my own home, Emma fell in love with the outdoors again, and within a few days, she was thinking of her old life, and now she is probably drooling on my sofa cushion Woolen cloth.Its fur had returned to a gleaming gold, and its eyes were full of life again.But it's not what it used to be.When we walk together, he will follow me closely, and if he gets ahead, he will look back every few minutes to see if I am still there.

I know my mom didn't mean to abuse my dog, and she'd probably be shocked if I accused her of cruelty.She never hit Emma—at least, not that I knew of, but I think she might have thought about it.However, over the course of a year, she didn't give it an ounce of love, which in my opinion was just as horrific as physical abuse.Mom will never understand that lack of love is also a form of abuse. After my daughter died, the pervert forced me to follow the rules and continue my original life, as if she had never appeared. The hatred for him made me temporarily forget my own grief. After about a week like this, one morning, he went out to cut firewood, saying it was for the winter.I think it was near the end of June, but I'm not sure.When life loses its purpose, time has no meaning.Sometimes, I even forget to mark the wall, it doesn't matter - I know I've lived there for almost a year, because when he opens the door, I can smell the earth and the warmth of the fir trees Smell, it smells the same as the day he kidnapped me.

While he was out chopping wood, I was at home buttoning his shirt.From time to time, I glanced at the little basket where my daughter used to sleep. When I saw her little blanket neatly folded by him and placed on the edge of the basket, I suddenly trembled and stuck the needle in my finger. After about twenty minutes, he walked in and said, "I have something for you to do." The last time he asked me to help or kill the deer, he gestured for me to follow him out, and my legs were weak from nervousness.I grabbed his shirt and the needle in my hands and stared at him.His face was flushed, and there was a glistening layer of sweat—I don't know if it was from anger or from labor, but when he spoke, his voice was still calm.

"Come on, we don't have a whole day to spend." I followed him outside to a pile of cedar logs, and he turned around and said, "Now pay attention. Your job is to wait for me to split the logs Later, pick them up and pile them over there." He pointed to a neat pile of firewood next to the hut. Every once in a while he would go out, and while I was inside, I could always hear the chainsaw, but didn't see any fresh stumps or branches dragged nearby.There was a wheelbarrow where he cut the wood, so I guess he cut the tree deep in the woods and wheeled it over and cut it into small pieces for firewood. The place where he chops firewood is three or four meters away from the firewood pile.I thought, why didn't he pile the firewood next to it, or push the branches to the side of the firewood pile with a cart and split them, wouldn't it be more convenient.I always feel that this is the same as hunting the deer last time, he is demonstrating to me. I hadn't been out much since the boy's death, and when I took the wood to the pile I searched the ground for signs of recent turning.Nothing was found.I took a quick glance at the creek in front of the hut, and remembered my daughter lying on a blanket, basking in the sun by the river, and the memory swept over me. We worked for about an hour, and I took another pile of firewood, piled them up, and went back to where he was chopping, standing a few steps behind him.He's done chopping, so I should be safe now to gather firewood.He took off his shirt and his back was covered with sweat.He stopped and took a deep breath, his back to me, the ax slung over his shoulder. "We can't let this interfere with our ultimate goal," he said. "Nature has its way." What the hell is he talking about? "But I also have arrangements." He raised the ax again, the ax blade shining brightly in the air, "It's a good thing we found her weakness as soon as possible." I get it, I feel my cold heart tearing apart in my chest.He continued to chop the wood, gasping for breath every time he chopped, and he said between chopping wood: "The next one will be stronger." Next. "You're less than six weeks after giving birth, but you're pretty much on the mend, so I've decided to get you pregnant again early. We'll start tonight." As I stood motionless, a scream came from inside my head.There are still more children to be born.This will never end. He swung the ax over his shoulder, the blade gleaming silver in the bright sun, ready to split a log. "Why don't you answer me, Anne?" His ax got stuck in the middle of a piece of wood, and I didn't have to answer his question.Putting his foot on the log, he pulled the ax out and placed it next to the pile of logs on the right.He stood on the side of the wood pile with one foot, leaned slightly, bent down, and tried to break the half-split wood with his hands. I tiptoed up behind him and stood to his right - he was facing left.As long as I stretch out my hand, I can feel the sweat on his back.He broke the piece of wood hard with his hands, still grumbling. "Ouch!" He raised his hand and sucked a prickly finger into his mouth, and I held my breath.If he had turned around now, we would have been face to face. He bent down again and continued to break the piece of wood.I stood directly behind his body, facing the same direction as him, and I stared at his back for fear that he would turn around. Then, I slowly reached out and took the axe.I held the warm, smooth wooden handle, slippery with his sweat on it, and held it tight.The heavy weight made me feel good and grounded, and I lifted the ax up and rested it on my shoulders. While breaking it hard, he said, "We will have a second child next spring." I raised my ax high. I shrieked "shut up, shut up, shut up!" as I smashed the ax into the back of his head. A voice that couldn't be more strange, a little wet and a little muffled. For a few seconds, his body curled up, and then he fell face down on the ground, pressing his hands and the piece of wood under his body.He twitched a few times, then stopped moving. Shaking with rage, I bent over his body and yelled, "How does this taste, you perverted bastard!" The whole forest was silent. There was a bright red mark on his golden curly hair, and the blood flowed down from the side of his head, tick, tick, tick, dripped onto the dry soil, and quickly formed an ever-expanding pool of blood, and then, the ticking sound also stopped. I waited for him to turn around and beat me up. Time passed by, and my heartbeat gradually calmed down. I took a few deep breaths.The ax didn't split his head, but his blond hair beside the ax was blood-stained and gleaming crimson—half of it had been embedded in his skull, and some of it seemed was chopped off.A fly came down and circled around the wound, and then two more came. I dragged my weak legs and walked back to the hut, holding my trembling body tightly with my hands.The straight-up handle of the ax and the bright red blood around his head dangled before my eyes. I went into the cabin, thinking I should be safe, slipped off my sweaty skirt, and turned on the hot water in the shower until the water was so hot it was about to peel off my skin.Shaking all the time, I sat down in the tub, resting my chin on my knees and wrapping my hands around my knees so they wouldn't shake.I hugged myself as scalding hot water rushed over my bowed head, trying to figure out what the hell I had done.I'm still not sure he's really dead.A man like him deserved to die from a silver bullet, an arrow from a crossbow, or a bad heart attack.What if he didn't die?I should feel for his pulse.What if he was struggling to get back to the cabin now?Although I was drenched in scalding hot water, I couldn't stop shivering when I thought of this. I thought he was going to come at me at any moment, and I slowly opened the bathroom door, white steam wafting out into the empty room.I slowly picked up the skirt from the ground, put it on my body, and then walked slowly to the door of the hut, and slowly put my ear to the cold iron door, listening to the movement outside.There was silence. I tried turning the doorknob, hoping it didn't lock itself.The handle is turned.I opened the door a crack and looked out through the crack.He was still lying in the middle of the clearing, his posture unchanged, but the position of the sun had changed, and the handle of the ax stuck on his head was like a sundial, casting a long shadow. I was very nervous and planned to run away at any time, so I slowly approached him.Every time I take a step or two, I have to stop, open my eyes and ears, and pay attention to the slightest movement.When I finally got to his side, his body looked a little odd, with his arms tucked under his body, making him look very small in this prone position. I held my breath, put my hand around his neck, and checked his pulse.He is indeed dead. I slowly backed away and sat on the rocking chair on the balcony, trying to figure out what to do next.Every time the rocking chair rocked, I seemed to be repeating in my mind, he died, he died, he died, he died, he died. On summer afternoons, the cottage and the surrounding open space gave me an idyllic feeling.The river is also very gentle, without the roar after the heavy rain in spring, just flowing gently, and occasionally there will be robins, swallows or blue jays making melodious calls.The only sign of this murder was more and more flies, circling frantically around his wound and the pool of blood.I remembered his words: nature has its own arrangements. I was free, but I didn't feel free.As long as I can see him, he exists.I must dispose of his body.How should we deal with it? I really want to set this bastard on fire, but it's summer and dry and I don't want to start a forest fire.Moreover, the soil on the ground was dry and hard, and it was almost impossible to dig a hole to bury him.I can't just leave him there.Even though I'm sure he's dead, I always feel like he's coming to hurt me. work shed.I can lock him in the shed. I walked back to his body, turned him over, and looked for the keys in his front pocket.When I found it, I bit the key ring and reached out to grab his ankles with both hands, but let go because I touched the skin on his leg, which was still warm.I don't know how long it takes for the body to cool after death, and as he lay there in the sun, I felt another wave of terror and checked his pulse again. I grabbed his ankles again, ignoring the residual heat on his body. I tried to drag him backwards, but only pulled him off the firewood pile. The handle of the ax wobbled.I tried to suppress the nausea rising in my throat and turned my back on him, trying to drag him away like this.Before I could drag a few steps, I had to stop to take a breath. My skirt was already wet with sweat, and sweat dripped into my eyes.The work shed is not far away, but I feel as if it is far away in the sky.My eyes searched everywhere, hoping to find another way, and I saw the little cart. I pushed the cart next to his body, bracing myself to touch his skin again.I was afraid to look at the axe, I grabbed his arm and tried to rip his hands out from under him.I looked away and grabbed his arm. My heels dug into the dirt. I tried to lift him up with all my strength, but I could only lift him 10 centimeters high.I spread my legs apart, stood above his back, and tried to lift his waist up, but when I lifted it less than 10 centimeters high, my hands began to tremble.It seemed that the only way to get him into the cart was to bring him back to life and climb in himself. Wait a moment.If I could have something to wrap his body around, maybe I could drag him away.The carpet under the bed is not smooth enough, it may not be able to drag on the ground.I also didn't find a tarp next to the firewood pile, he must have a tarp linoleum or something, maybe in the shed. I took his huge key chain and tried five of them before finally unlocking the padlock of the shed.My hands were shaking badly, like a thief who came to steal for the first time. I thought I'd see the deer hanging from the ceiling of the shed, but I didn't.On a shelf above the freezer, I found an orange tarp.I went back to his body and spread out the tarp and I thought, he still has the ax in his head, how am I going to push him onto the tarp. Damn.I must get the ax out. I gripped the handle of the ax tightly, closed my eyes, and pulled it out vigorously, without moving.I pulled it out even harder, and I felt like I was about to throw up when I thought about the blood splatter scene that might appear after pulling it out.But I must get the ax out quickly.I stood with my feet on either side of his shoulders, closed my eyes tightly, took a deep breath, and finally pulled the ax out.I threw the ax away, bent over, and retched. After my stomach felt a little better, I squatted down next to his dead body. On the other side of the dead body was the pool of blood. I pushed him and rolled him onto the tarp.He lay on his back, his pale blue eyes staring at the sky above him, leaving a blurred trail of blood on the orange tarp.His face was already pale, and his mouth was crooked. I quickly closed his eyes—not out of respect for the dead, but because I didn't want them to keep staring at me.Well now, in a few more seconds, I'll be able to fix that and I'll never see those eyes again. I turned my back to him, grabbed both ends of the tarpaulin, bowed forward, like an old cow pulling a heavy load, and moved towards the work shed.It was not easy dragging him up the ramp by the door because he kept sliding down the tarp.In the end, I had to rip the tarp out again, put him back in place, and fold the other end of the tarp over.Then, holding both ends of the waterproof cloth at the same time, he pulled, pulled, and dragged, and finally got him into the work shed.At one point in the middle, one of his hands fell out and touched my knee.I was so scared that I quickly let go of my hand, dodged backwards, and hit my head on a pillar.It hurt like hell, but I couldn't care less about the pain or not. I stuffed his hands into the tarp and wrapped his whole body in the tarp.I found some rope and bound his legs and upper body tightly.As I wrap him like a mummy, I keep telling myself that he can never hurt me again.But in my heart, I couldn't believe it. I was thirsty and tired, sweating profusely, my head was buzzing, and my whole body was aching.I locked the shed and went back to the cabin to get some water to drink.After drinking the water, I lay on the bed, holding his bunch of keys in my hand, and I saw a pocket watch he hung on the keychain.It's five o'clock—for the first time in nearly a year, I know the time myself. At first, I didn't think about anything, just listened quietly to the ticking of the hands of the pocket watch. Later, my buzzing head finally calmed down, and I began to think that I was free.I am free at last.But why don't I feel free?I killed a man.I am a murderer.I'm actually like him. The only thing I got rid of was a corpse. At my first press conference since I got back, I foolishly thought that if I could tell the whole story at once, they wouldn't be pestering me, calling me or laying in ambush around my house.At the press conference, a bald man held up a "Bible" and shouted: "Don't kill. You will go to hell. Don't kill. You will go to hell!" When several bystanders dragged him away, everyone shouted. Exclaimed, then turned to look at me.The camera flash went off and someone shoved a microphone in front of me. "What was your response to what he said, Anne?" I looked at everyone, at the back of the bald man, still yelling, and I thought, I'm in hell already, asshole. Doctor, sometimes, I really wish I could talk about these things with my mother, about my feelings of guilt, remorse and shame, but my mother always likes to avoid these topics, just like I always like to bear the criticism of others .That's one of the reasons I haven't spoken to her since our last fight, but she hasn't come to see me either.I wasn't surprised at all, but I had expected Wayne to call. Hell, I'm feeling so lonely these days, and I might actually try what you said about facing my own fears.I always felt like there was still danger, and it made me feel stupid.That pervert is dead.I couldn't be more secure.But, is there anyone who can tell this to my heart?