I drive the shovel into the ground one last time, sweat stinging my eyes as I throw the dirt to the side. The hole'sdeep enough now—six feet of emptiness waiting to swallow what's left of Justin Chambers.
"Done," I grunt, climbing out of the pit. My muscles burn, my hands raw from blisters that have formed and burst over the last hour.
Penn's still on that fucking tire swing, now scrolling through his phone like we're at a goddamn picnic instead of a murder scene. "About time. I was thinking about ordering pizza."
"You want to help drag the body, or are you just going to sit on your ass all night?"
"Oh, now you want my help. You didn’t want my help when it came to killing him, and that’s really the only thing I’m interested in."
Flipping him off, I walk back to the shack and grab the body underneath the armpits and drag it toward the grave.
I drop him unceremoniously into the hole. His body crumples at odd angles, limbs twisted beneath him. I don't bother arranging him. Fuck him.
I grab the shovel and start filling in the hole, dirt hitting his body with hollow thuds. Each shovelful covers more of him—his legs, his torso, what's left of his face. Soon there's nothing visible but a hand-shaped lump in the dirt.
"Hold up," Penn says just as I'm about to throw the final shovelful on top. "You know what? On second thought, dig him back up."
I pause, shovel hovering midair. "What the fuck, Penn?"
He grins, with that manic gleam in his eyes that always means trouble. "I feel like desecrating a corpse."
"Are you fucking serious right now?" I drop the shovel, dirt spilling over my boots.
"Dead serious." He cracks his knuckles. "You got to have all the fun with the slicing and dicing. Now I want my turn."
"I just spent an hour digging this fucking hole!"
"And now you can re-dig it because you were going to have to anyway. You forget his hands and his face. Unless you planned on going all Leatherface and making a mask out of his face? I mean, who am I to judge? Am I right?"
I groan and grab the shovel again. "Jesus fucking Christ."
Penn's already jogging back to the cabin, shouting over his shoulder. "Don't be such a pussy, cousin! This'll be fun!"
It takes me another twenty minutes to dig up enough of Justin's body to expose his mangled torso.
Penn emerges from the cabin with the face and hands, holding the flayed skin by the forehead hairstrands like it's a fucking Halloween mask.
"Look at this sad shit," he says, dangling the face in front of me. The empty eyeholes and gaping mouth cavity make it look like some fucked-up sock puppet.
"Just do whatever sick fuck thing you're planning so we can finish this," I mutter, leaning on my shovel.
Penn grins, stretching the skin over his own face. "How do I look? Am I pretty, Ramsey?" His voice comes muffled through the dead flesh, his eyes gleaming through the empty sockets. The effect is fucking nightmarish, even by our standards.
"You look like a goddamn serial killer," I say flatly.
"That's rich coming from the guy who took his face off in the first place." Penn adjusts the skin, positioningit better over his features. "This is some premium Buffalo Bill shit right here."
He prances around the grave, making exaggerated model poses with the face still stretched over his own. "Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard."
"Are you done?" I check my watch. "We've got about four hours before Reese expects me back."
"Alright, alright." Penn peels the skin off his face and tosses it into the grave. It lands with a wet slap across Justin's exposed chest. "But I'm not done with my fun yet."
He kneels by the edge of the grave, the severed hands clutched in his fists. "You know what they say about idle hands, right?"
Without warning, he leans into the pit and shoves one hand up the corpse's ass, forcing it deep with a sickening squelch. "That's for hurting my little sister, you piece of shit."
I can't help but laugh, the sound harsh and ugly in the night air. "Jesus Christ, Penn."
