Lost Highway(7)

“Whose house is this?”

“He said his name was Tom Hallward. I met him sometime after I arrived in the Lost Highway. I’d seen him in the woods. He eventually invited me into his home to look at his trophies.”

Odessa examines her bandaged leg. Her gaze reveals relief at knowing she’ll heal.

“He tortured women in his basement,” I continue. “He also had a woman in your room. He’d become lonely with his life here and wanted a companion. Someone he could talk with like he couldn’t with his trophies.”

“What happened to him?”

“He wanted me to share this cabin and help hunt the other Death Dealers. He promised to share his trophies with me.”

Odessa watches me and waits for an answer. She needs things spelled out because she is trapped in the old way of thinking. I wonder if that’ll slow her descent into madness.

“I don’t share, so I waited until Tom told me everything he knew, and then I snapped his neck right over there,” I say, pointing to the kitchen table. “When I released the trophy from your room, she ran out of the cabin. It was just after sundown, and I assume the wolves ate her.”

Odessa glances at the window where the world hides behind a curtain of darkness.

“Wolves? Is that what you hunted earlier?”

“Wolves only come out at night here. They’ll eat anything. Never go into the darkness unless you wish to be torn apart by wild animals.”

Odessa glances around the room and considers her next question. I haven’t spoken this long to someone since Mary. She had a million questions, and none of the answers helped her in the long run.

“Why couldn’t you leave me locked in the room? Why that coffin?”

“Anyone can take you from the room. I did you a favor.”

“I could have suffocated in the coffin.”

“It’s a closet, and you didn’t suffocate.”

“Would you have cared if I did?” she challenges.

“I don’t know.”

Odessa’s anger fizzles. I don’t know what she expects me to say or promise her. Now she only stares at her hands resting in her lap.

“The TV doesn’t get good reception here in the woods,” she says.

I don’t answer because she hasn’t asked a question, and I don’t speak unnecessarily. Besides, she wouldn’t appreciate the answer.

“What scratched your face?” she asks after some time.

“A woman.”

“Did you clean the wound?”

Staring at her, I don’t answer. Should I lie or share the truth as I did with Mary? I have no preference either way, but I think keeping Odessa around longer would be best.

“What now?” she asks after the channel goes out and we’re left in a dark room with only the static to keep us company.

“You return to your room.”

“Is there anywhere else I can sleep?”

Standing up, I stare at her long legs spread out on the couch. “This cabin has three bedrooms. One is mine. One is yours. One is the trophy room.”

“So no.”

When I reach for her arm to lift her up, Odessa shrinks away, and I hesitate. Her expression rips away my confidence for only a moment, but it’s long enough to startle me.

“Why did you kill the man?” I ask.

“He wanted to kill me.”

“Why did he want to kill you?”

“I didn’t love him.”

“Why didn’t you love him?”

“He wasn’t worth loving.”

“Few people are,” I say, grabbing her arm and forcing her up.

Odessa stumbles a few times on the way to her room down the hallway. I sense some of her clumsiness is to test my reflexes. Does she plan to escape? I don’t doubt she’ll try. They always do.





Chapter Nine


Odessa




The mind can’t sit idle for long before fighting back. I’m trapped in a room with no stimuli. The view outside is blocked now by a wooden plank. Quill made the adjustment the morning after his hunt. I pretend this gesture is to protect me from what’s in the woods rather than to drive me mad.

I stumble around the small room, examining every marking. How many trophies left behind their blood? Would any of them find relief in knowing Tom was dead? Why did so many violent perverts gravitate to this place? What did it say about me that I ended up here too?

Without the sunlight through the window, I lose track of time. Quill only visits to bring water and bread. He doesn’t speak to me. He shows no reaction when I ask if I can come out.

Losing my appetite, I stop eating the bread. I sit on the ground and hum any songs I can remember. Ain’t No Sunshine by Bill Withers becomes stuck in my head. Even when I dream, I hear the song and can’t forget I’m trapped.

My dreams offer no reprieve. In every single one, I run through the woods, never finding an escape.

I notice something about Quill during one of his visits. Despite not knowing how long I’ve been in the room, I do know it hasn’t been long enough for the scratches on his face to heal completely. However, after a few visits, his cheeks reveal not a single mark.

Stunned by how the deep cuts are completely gone, I reach for his face. He snatches my hand mid-air and frowns at me.