“I love it,” I whisper, grazing my fingers over the cool metal.
It feels like a relic meant to be worn close to the heart, and after closing the locket I put it over my head. It hangs heavily on my chest. It's less of an ornament; if anything, this is a vessel for memory and devotion. His way of saying I hold his life, and all the quiet things love refuses to forget.
I fling myself into his arms as warm tears begin to collect and slowly fall to their demise, coating my skin in their salt. He holds me tightly and kisses them away.
“You are everything to me, Starling.”
It’s all he says, and it’s all I need.
Miraculously, Tammy still breathes, clinging to life by some invisible thread. I almost admire her stubborn refusal to let go. Her eyelids twitch as she struggles to open them, the glue preventing it, while her instincts respond to us nearing her. I wonder if the hairs on her neck try to prick up, and how it feels since they’re stuck in the hardened wax.
“Seems like our little lamb is still alive, Starling,” Jasper says with a vicious smile.
“I’ve always enjoyed playing with dolls,” I grin.
He goes over to his toolbox and retrieves his trusted clawhammer. He swings it casually as he returns to Tammy and me.
“Time to get you out of that mold, little doll.”
He raises his arm and slams the hammer down on her stomach. The thick layers of shiny wax break under the impact, splintering into a hundred tiny shards. Tammy’s eyes fly open. Her lashes are cruelly yanked out, no longer stuck in the wax and glue mix. Small dots of blood well, where the tiny hairs are no longer visible. I wince, knowing the mean stinging pain all too well. Recalling when I pull out an eyelash, that’s twisted upside down and irritates my eye. Somehow, they are always still solidly attached in their hair follicles. Roughly, Jasper peels away the glossy layer of crusted wax, ripping out hairs and tearing pieces of skin. Her flesh is still an angry red; the burns make her skin look like a sealed surface, which reminds me of a slab of meat suffocating in plastic. Most of the blisters are dried out, with coagulated raisin-like skin. Some of the wounds are infected, with yellow pus oozing from them. I feel my lips curl in disgust.
Jasper seems unfazed by it all as he pries his fingers under pieces of broken wax. When he reaches her collarbones, he lifts the hammer, turns it in the air, and slams it down. The claws embed themselves in the wax and the tender flesh beneath. Tammy cries out, ripping open her lips as the caked layers break.Bright red begins to pour from her mouth in a steady stream as she heaves in distress. The carefully smoothed mask I had laid onto her face is ruined, broken. Blood seeps through the cracks where skin is torn off.
Without thinking, I pull my phone from my pocket and turn on the camera. Jasper grins at me, pleased that I cannot withstand the piece of art he started. I hold my phone close to her face, capturing the ridges of the wax, the bits of skin clinging to it, and the rivers of red spreading.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, as I take more pictures of Tammy’s fractured second face.
Her eyes are desperate, and I’m uncertain why she looks at me like that, as if she hopes I’ll come to her rescue. I want to graze her cheek and whisper in her ear that she’ll know peace soon enough.
The floor is covered in wax shards, and most of Tammy’s body is exposed. It’s enough for whatever Jasper has in mind.
With a fillet knife, he traces a thin line from her chest to her belly button, and the slender blade slices through her tissue effortlessly. She whimpers at the intrusion, her vocal cords hardly able to make any sound from the days of dehydration.
“Why?” she asks. Her voice emerges rough, as if scraped raw by dryness.
“Because creativity is a human need,” Jasper says, gleefully. He widens the cut, the knife going deeper, separating layers of flesh, fat, and muscles.
With precision, he peels back the skin.
My eyes are glued to his hands, covered in blood. Subconsciously, I lick my lips, and Jasper catches me doing it.
“Wet already, my Darling?” He grins, his smile predatory, and heat starts to spread as I nod.
This time, I do not feel any shame for the desire that he evokes in me.
Chapter Fourteen
Ilean back against the table, taking in Jasper’s bare chest covered in tattoos, sheened with sweat as his muscles flex, gripping the saw’s handle tightly. My eyes roam over his body shamelessly. He saws through wood effortlessly, the sharp teeth of the blade splintering the board. I chew on my lower lip, watching him work. The idea came to him a few nights ago, and he has been busy working early every morning since.
I glance at the tank of warm water and soap. A heating pad underneath to ensure the temperature stays consistent. Inside, there’s a ribcage floating in it. In another tank, a skull. Both bones have their surfaces cleaned as best as possible, so all that’s left to rot away are some small bits of flesh. It looks pretty clean already. Jasper takes a brush and soaks the wood in dark stain. Before I know it, he has the shadowbox ready, the frameperfectly fitted. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and it takes everything from me not to jump up and lick the saltiness from his face.
He watches me knowingly, and I clench my thighs. Without breaking eye contact, he prowls closer, and I feel my breath hitch. He reaches behind me, his fingers briefly raking my skin, and goosebumps prick my flesh. Jasper tilts his head and gives me a kiss on my neck; the sensation of his soft lips makes me quiver.
“Patience, Darling,” he whispers with a chuckle.
Disappointed, I glare at him as he retreats, not even bothered by what he’s holding. He places it in the box, then takes some pins and pushes the needles through it, keeping it in place like one pins a butterfly. I stand up and walk over, peeking from behind him into the box.
“Is that the…” I swallow.
