I shouldn't have walked away from Leif. Okay, it was easy to say that in hindsight. Of course if I'd known this would happen, I wouldn't have.
Would Leif have stopped Woody from taking me, though? I didn't know the answer to that.
This whole situation was way too fucked up.
"Let me guess," I said lightly, "you brought me here to tell me how you're going to redecorate this place. That was what Leif did. I can think of a few suggestions."
Tearing the place down for one. The house was clearly a historic building, but way beyond repair.
"I don't need any suggestions," Woody said. "Have Forrest and Leif told you about me?" He reclined against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
I was surprised the wall held his weight.
"Let me see," I said slowly. "Leif said you were an asshole. They both said you tried to kill them. I think one of them might have said something about you holding grudges, possibly something about jumping to conclusions."
He grunted and lowered his arms.
"They didn't tell you I like to set things on fire?" The expression on his face made my blood run cold.
"I don't believe they mentioned that, no," I said. "Did you bring some marshmallows?"
He snorted a laugh. "You won't be needing any marshmallows. I know what you're thinking, this place should be burned to the ground. As it happens, I agree."
"You brought me all the way out here to help you set this place on fire?" I asked.
"No. Would you?" He frowned like he was trying to figure me out.
I didn't know how to respond. I'd rather set fire to a house than burn downwithit.
"What have you got to get it started?" I asked.
He squinted at me, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You know why I brought you here."
"You thought I had the marshmallows?" I asked.
I shouldn't provoke him, but maybe he'd see I was harmless after all. He might let me walk out the door before he set fire to all of this dry, dead wood.
"Did you?" He shook his head as if annoyed with himself for asking. "You know what, it doesn't matter. You could have a six-pack of beer in your bag, and it wouldn't change anything."
"Unfortunately, I don't," I said. "I don't tend to carry beer around with me." Valium, yes. Alcohol, no. I should have packed something stronger.
"Has anyone told you you have a smart mouth?" He stalked toward me, forcing me to take a handful of steps back.
"Not recently," I said.
I never gave Wolfgang cause to. I knew better than to provoke him. He would have made me regret every word, with bruises.
Woody kept stalking forward until my back touched the drywall.
I grimaced at how spongy it was. I could have fallen through it.
He wrapped his hand around my throat.
"You have a smart fucking mouth," he whispered harshly.
A thrill of fear went up my spine. I should have been terrified, but my heart was racing.
All he had to do was squeeze, hold my throat hard enough, and I'd run out of oxygen. I'd slump to the floor and he'd set fire to the building, leaving my body to be turned into ashes.
