His Eighth Kill

Chapter- 5 A room for one

Blood strains traced the floor from the counter, all around it menacingly, discerning that he had an easy job dragging the body parts for his pleasures, and what if it was to instil fear in her and Dinesh? Leaving the rotting body on the counter, he went outside with his basket trolley, and he must have left the chain-saw motor by the counter by mistake, but this wasn't the case because he carefully wrapped an arm it in the polythene and papers, placing it a box with precision and sane mind so there was no way he forgot the motor. Was he careless? No. He did it on purpose. Besides, the horror of the human meat hanging lop-sided on the counter was enough to instil fear in both; its dismembered arms strewn on the floor.

The dead body had only one arm intact while the rest of the limbs were chopped off, its reds poked out in circular cuts; its torso had its red, black and brown organs spilling and sliding from the rib bones to the counter. Holding back the feeling of vomit, disgust and fear, she examined it for information. She needed an upper hand. For that, she had to inspect everything about him. Murderers have an air of arrogance that their victims don't have power, unable to overpower them, feeling that no one could catch them, especially their victims, and that's where their shortcomings lie.  As long as she gives the impression of a meek girl, he won't suspect a thing.

When he crouched to talk, his expression twisted into a sinister opera. Her piss smell nauseated him, his hands cringing at the thought of touching her dirt-laden dress, yet he extended a hand towards her hair, firmly grasping a handful of her hair, causing her to flinch back and hastily retreat on her elbows to create distance between them. She processed the situation afterwards when he stood up with her hair strands in his hand, holding back a creepy grin. His emotions took control of him, his face contorting into a creepiness she had never witnessed in her whole life and that sent chills down her spine. What was he thinking? What was he planning?

Retreating to the safety of her cardboard box, she eagerly consumed half of the contents from one bottle and set the bottle aside. She needed to find out what his plan was. 

A putrid smell hung in the air, but there was no sign of an exhaust fan. Even if the room had one, the cardboard papers covered the walls up to the ceilings, hiding most of it that there was no use in searching for it.

 'If he leaves this place as it is, it will become difficult to breathe'.

She thought he didn't even want to bother about her. Leaving her here to starve was an intelligent move. He already knew how to dispose of bodies without leaving fingerprints, and he could easily dump her body later, and everyone would believe she died of some natural cause.

Myra sprawled her legs on the floor, laying her body on the elbow. Her eyes gazed up at the dark stained rust on the ceiling before she shut her brains down and closed her eyes to sleep. When she woke up, a faint breeze replaced the putrid smell. There was no sound of an exhaust fan, so how did it happen? There must be an opening in the wall. Otherwise, it was impossible to air this huge ass room, and this system could lead her to the outside and a possibility hinged on her mind that people walked by, close enough to hear her if she raised a ruckus or, upon discovering the opening, she might directly seek their assistance. Earlier, when she asked the muscular man to separate Dinesh from her, granting her a better understanding of the room's layout, she formulated a plan. Of course, she wanted her safety before anything, but she had another motive in her mind while she watched him dragging Dinesh to another side of the room, and it was time to execute this plan.

She walked up to the counter only up to where her chains allowed her to, ignoring the mutilated human meat in front, searching for Dinesh, her gaze shifting to his leg, poking out from the insides of one makeshift bed.