Time Warp

Ch8-Fawn's

When we eventually made it home, it was around mid afternoon. Having to walk from place to place took ages.

But it wasn't awful.

The weather was nice, and...Killeen actually isn't that bad of a guy when he's not trying to murder you.

Anywhere we went, he held the door for me. When we walked, he made sure I was on the inside of the sidewalk away from the street. He was patient, and overall just a sweet person.

You'd hardly recognize him had you met the same version of him I met last night.

It makes me wonder why and or what makes him kill. Did something happen to him? Was he abused? Does he just have that itch?

I'd love to know, but at the same time I don't want to know.

Once again, he walked around my side of the car, opening the door for me. On one arm he held all the bags we'd accumulated over the course of the day, and with the other he offered me his hand.

"Careful..." he hummed softly as he helped me out of the vehicle.

My feet were aching and I was itching to take these damn shoes off. I was also beginning to feel really hungry.

When I was out of the car, door shut behind me, I reached for some of my bags to help him carry them inside.

He pulled away from me, c*****g an eyebrow before giving me a confused look.

I rolled my eyes, "I'm trying to help? I don't want to make you carry all that stuff," I explained like it wasn't obvious.

He simply chuckled and held the bags up above my head where I couldn't reach them.

"No worries, darling," he said with a teasing smile on his lips as he looked down at me. My eyelids lowered and I sighed heavily, turning away from him.

"Whatever," I mumbled as I walked towards the house.

He was quiet before I heard the gravel crunch as he began walking to catch up with me, which didn't take him long. Our steps stopped crunching as the gravel turned to grass, but a slight nudge on my arm made me turn to him.

Then I paused when I saw he was holding a smaller bag towards me. I wanted to tell him he doesn't have to treat me like I'm weak, but then I caught myself and thought for a second.

He's not doing any of this to be condescending.

He's doing it because I'm a lady, and whoever raised him must have raised him to treat women with respect, which is nice. He's being chivalrous and sweet, not withholding these things from me because he thinks I'm weak but because he thinks I shouldn't have to do it for myself.

I took the bag and gave him a tiny smile before turning forward again.

In all, this situation could've been a lot worse for me...I could've gotten a murderer who also thinks women are objects, not people.

It's just weird for me to feel grateful to him, because he's housing me and feeding me and making sure I have clothes to wear...but then I know he could snap on me at any second and slit my throat.

He walks a very, very fine line.

Once again he opened the door for me, letting me into the house first. Back inside this warm, cozy space...that belongs to one of the most violent killers in Louisiana history.

Shaking my head, I turned to head upstairs, him following close behind. As we were walking down the upstairs hallway, I noticed one of the doors had several locks on it, and I paused curiously, looking at it.

Until I felt a hand against my back that gently, but firmly, nudged me to keep moving.

Glancing up at him, he looked over into my eyes for a moment.

"Off limits."

That's all he said, and I quickly nodded. I mean, of course he has a secret room, why the hell wouldn't he? Serial killers always have a secret room with all of their gross serial killer s**t in it.

But why the hell is it locked if he's the only person that lives here...? Or he was until yesterday, and there's no way he could've put all those on there without me hearing anything.

We made it to my room without anymore strange interruptions, and he sighed quietly as he sat the bags onto the bed.

"I've got to go handle something down in the cellar, dear," he started, and I simply hummed. Then my eyes widened when he grabbed me by the arm and spun me to face him.

He held me firmly, looking into my eyes with an intensity that made me feel two feet tall.

Immediately a cold fear spread through my chest and my lips parted as I stared up at him.

"Do not try to go into that room we passed, do you understand me?" He said, narrowing his eyes on me. I was shaking just slightly, the feeling of his fingers digging into my arm creating an ache.

"Y-your—you're hurting me..." I managed to whimper, and his expression shifted as his eyes went to where he was holding me.

He let go, but I didn't even have to look to know that was going to bruise.

"I—I'm sorry, dear, but...please, don't go in there," he said, mumbling slightly before he turned and exited my room swiftly, leaving me to stand there.

When he was gone, my hand absentmindedly raised to rub my arm where he'd grabbed me.

I sighed and took my shoes off, immediately rubbing my poor feet with a quiet hiss. Setting those aside, I took off this ugly box dress and tossed it onto the bed.

Opting instead for the admittedly very comfortable night clothes he'd given me.

Once I'd slipped them on, I felt much more comfortable. Curiously, I brought some of the fabric close to my nose and sniffed it.

Warmth crawled up to my cheeks when I realized these clothes smell very much like him. He has a very earthy smell, but it's nice. It's warm and reminds me of a campfire almost.

I had to shake off the nearly embarrassed feeling I got from the fact that these smell like him, and I decided to venture out into the house. He said he had to go do something in the cellar, so I can only assume he won't be gone too long.

Again I passed that door with the locks, and curiosity tugged at my conscience, making me pause to observe it. There's definitely something eerie about it...it just feels...dingy.

Slowly I kept walking, my eyes lingering on the many locks for a moment longer before I just shrugged it off and set my eyes forward.

I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. The tile felt cool against my feet, and a short hunger pain made my stomach produce a rumbling noise.

Sighing softly, I figured he wouldn't mind if I make myself something to eat. I don't want him waiting on me hand and foot, after all.

My feet carried me to the fridge, and I hummed softly to myself as I opened it, and then immediately I froze.

I slammed the door shut so hard that a few items inside rattled, then my hand flew over my mouth as I slowly backed away from the horrific kitchen appliance.

Inside were jars...and what was inside the jars was blood red, but that wasn't what caused me to react the way I did.

They were labeled.

One said liver...another said intestines...then there was one that said tongue and so many more. There were also several wrapped, bloody pieces of what I'm assuming was meat...

Slowly, I came to a disgusting realization.

"I really wish you had asked before you opened that, sweetheart."

My body froze, tears stinging my eyes at the very harsh reminder of who I'm staying with. I guess our somewhat normal day made me forget what he really is.

A monster.

I turned to face him, my hand still firmly over my mouth. My other hand was trembling and he was just standing in the doorway, hands behind his back per usual.

His eyelids were lowered and he wore a simple grin on his face.

Completely speechless. I was speechless as I stared at him, slowly shaking my head. Then, suddenly, I felt violently sick.

Rushing past him, I almost didn't make it to the bathroom before I was on my knees dry heaving into the toilet. My stomach was currently empty, so all that I was expelling was small amounts of stomach acid and older food that hadn't digested from this morning.

My throat burned, but I couldn't stop. I felt like I was on fire, my face was burning up.

Finally...after what felt like forever...I stopped. I stayed leaned over the toilet, trembling and breathing heavily as saliva and vomit dripped off my lips.

At the feeling of a hand against my back I jerked away, keeping my head down as I shrunk away from him.

Not only am I stuck with a killer.

I'm stuck with a cannibal.

A small whimper passed through my lips as my vision slowly clouded with tears.

He sighed, "Fawn, you can't get mad at me because you went poking around," he said, and I turned to face him as tears spilled over my cheeks.

"Then can I get mad at you because you f*****g eat people!" I nearly screamed at him. He was knelt next to the toilet, his sleeves rolled up. He just stared at me before he furrowed his brows and looked down.

"What I do with my victims is none of your concern...it would be better from now on if you ask permission before opening anything."

For some reason those words pissed me off. I was still in front of the toilet, but I was supporting myself with one arm against the seat as I faced him halfway.

"You're sick!" I snapped at him as tears streamed from my eyes, "you're a sick f*****g freak, and I hate that I'm stuck here with you!"

Too late I realized my mistake...I just insulted him to his face, not only that but I screamed at him.

So it was no surprise when he retaliated.

Suddenly he had me by the back of the neck, and he grabbed me at the nape of my hair and yanked me forward.

I screamed and sobbed, pushing against his chest.

"Listen to me you little brat," he hissed, his eyes and smile looking insane, "if you don't watch that damn mouth of yours, I'll cut your tongue out of your face and force you to watch me eat it."

I was shaking violently as whimpers fell past my lips while I sobbed pitifully. His face was barely visible to me through my tears, but I could clearly see he was angry.

He pulled me closer, making me cry out slightly from the pain of him yanking my hair. His mouth opened like he was about to say something else, but he hesitated.

All I could do was look up at him and cry. His eyes, that a few seconds ago looked completely livid and insane, slowly lost that edge.

The grip he had on the back of my neck loosened until he was just holding me, his eyes flicking back and forth across my face as he shook his head.

"I-" he started, but never finished his thought. He just sort of hung his head and sighed, using the hand that wasn't holding me to run through his hair.

"Dammit..." he whispered so quietly I barely heard him, and then he sighed again and reached into his vest, pulling out a handkerchief.

Soft whimpers were still falling past my lips as my tears started to calm. My body was still trembling and the taste in my mouth was beyond foul.

"Shhh..." he hushed me softly, using the handkerchief to wipe my face, drying my tears.

Once he'd done that, he let go of me completely and I just sat back on my hands, watching him.

He moved to the sink, wetting the rag with some water before he knelt back in front of me. When he motioned for me to come closer to him, I just stared at him for a second.

I didn't want him to grab me again, though, so reluctantly I moved closer to him until I was just in front of him.

His hand lifted, coming closer to my face. I flinched, nearly pulling away from him, but I managed to keep still. My flinch only caused him to hesitate a moment before he laid his hand on the side of my face.

Using that hand he gently held my head still, taking the wet handkerchief and wiping my mouth off. I just watched him, not making any noise or moving.

He didn't say anything, either...just wiped my mouth with an indecipherable look on his face. When he was done with that, he folded the rag and used the clean, also damp, side to wipe the rest of my face.

Gently pushing my hair back, he ran the cool cloth over my burning skin.

Although it felt amazing, I still felt a tad bit sick, and the taste in my mouth hadn't gone anywhere. My body was still trembling, but I was slowly beginning to calm down the longer he gently wiped my face with this handkerchief.

Once I had finally stopped shaking, he took his hand from my face and stopped cleaning me.

He sat back slightly, resting his arms on his knees before he motioned for me to leave.

"Go on...go cool down in your room, I'll retrieve you when dinner is ready..." he said quietly, keeping his eyes to the floor.

So, without saying a word, I got up and scurried away.