We didn’t speak while we carried her in. The cabin door cracked when he pushed it open, same way it always did, like it had something to say about everything that went on inside but never quite committed to it.
Inside, it smelled like old wood, cold ash, and something faintly sweet from the forest bleeding in through the cracks. We lifted her up onto the table. The same table we’d eaten at. That… didn’t hit me the way it probably should have.
I unwrapped the sheet without really looking at her face. I kept my focus lower, on my hands, on the fabric, on anything that didn’t have eyes or a mouth or a history attached to it. Behind me, I could hear Zwierek moving through the cabin, drawers opening, cabinets slamming shut, metal clinking against metal. He knew exactly where everything was.
When he came back, I didn’t turn around right away. I just heard the shift in the steps, the way he slowed when he got close enough to actually see over my shoulder.
“Take it.”
I turned. He was holding out the saw. Just… offering it. Like it was nothing.“You know where to start.”
My hand didn’t move, not at first. I hovered there, somewhere between reaching and pulling back, like my body couldn’t quite decide which direction it belonged in. I knew he was right. But knowing something and doing it aren’t the same thing.
“Rowan.”His tone changed.
“Stop this shit.”I was still looking at the saw like it might explain itself if I gave it enough time.
“Your whole fucking life,”he went on, voice rising now, impatience bleeding into something harsher.
“You’ve been taking it. Just taking it. Letting people walk over you, beat you, use you, and then fucking crying about how unfair it all is.”
I could feel the tension build in my jaw.
“When do you grow the fuck up?”he snapped.
“When do you actually do something with yourself instead of just standing there feeling sorry for it?”
Something in me locked into place then. I looked up at him, really looked, and for a second I wanted to hit him. To shut him up. To prove something, I don’t even know what. But I didn’t, because he wasn’t wrong. That’s the part you’d hate hearing out loud, isn’t it? I stepped forward instead and took the saw out of his hand. It felt heavier in my hands than anything had before, but I didn’t hesitate again after that.
I placed the blade at her groin and pulled the saw back. There was resistance at first. Thick, stubborn, real in a way nothing else had been up to that point, and then it gave. Slowly and reluctantly, like something being forced open that had nointention of letting you in. Blood pooled around the blade, slid down the table, and onto the floor until it formed a puddle around my feet. The flesh was exposed now. The saw moved further and further down into her. The sound was worse than the feeling. Or maybe it was the other way around. I still don’t know. I kept going, didn’t stop, didn’t think.
When I hit bone, I paused and looked up at Zwierek. He was already watching me. Completely still, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. Then he turned without a word, reached for something behind him, and came back with it. He placed it in my hand, I looked at it but didn’t question it. A hammer and a chisel.
I placed the chisel on the bone, right at the joint where the leg meets the hip, took the hammer, and struck a firm blow on the chisel. This time, there was a wet snap that confirmed to me the bone was properly separated from the hip.
There’s a different kind of force you have to use when something won’t give the way you want it to. It’s not about strength, it’s about committing to the motion and not pulling back once you start. I learned that faster than I expected.
I handed the hammer and chisel back to Zwierek and got the saw in return, pushed the blade through the tiny crack where the bone used to hold in place, and I started sawing again until the saw hit wood, the leg completely separated from the rest of her body.
After that, it got easier.
We didn’t talk much, there wasn’t anything to say. At some point, time stopped making sense. It stretched, folded, then disappeared. And then it was done. Sixteen pieces.
I remember that number, I don’t know why.
We bagged them in black plastic, tied tight. The cabin felt different after, like it had seen something it couldn’t unsee. We carried the bags back out the same way we’d brought it in. Justloaded the trunk and closed it. Zwierek turned to look at me. Really look at me. For a second, I thought he was going to say something cutting again. I expected some kind of reaction, but he gave me nothing.
“I’m proud of you,”he said instead. It felt wrong in a way I couldn’t shake.
“I’ll take it from here,”he added, already turning toward the driver’s side.
“Get some sleep.”
Like what just happened was normal, like it was routine.
He got in and started the engine. I stayed where I was. Watched the headlights cut through the trees, watched them disappear piece by piece until there was nothing left but dark again. And then, my body caught up.
I doubled over before I even realized what was happening. It came up fast, violent, and uncontrolled. Hands braced on my knees, throat burning, eyes watering as everything I’d forced down came back up in one brutal wave after another. When it finally stopped, I just stayed there bent over. Breathing hard, spitting the taste out of my mouth.
