CHAPTER SEVEN: FOOD CHAIN
There had to be a way out.
The bulging eyes searched the room frantically. Through the blurred vision, the hooks dangled above, accenting the many mechanical contraptions intended for slaughter. What little sunlight that could make its way inside of the building highlighted the interior, giving everything a dingy yellow tint, a blanket of dust hanging and swirling in the air. A limp, bleeding foot scraped across the dirty cement floor, and the nose curled instinctively upon picking up the scent of burned flesh from the installed crematory.
In the shadows, a pale figure waited patiently, head lowered and blue eyes narrowed. Just a little bit closer...
The head perked up. A way out! Freedom! Just a few more feet and—!
There was a miserable sound as the ghostly apparition pounced. The head was quickly severed from the body. The skull cracked in half after a series of blows, eyes forced out of the skull. The body was torn and appendages were plucked from the sockets with obscene purpose. Blood flecked outward as the parts were thrown about for amusement, battered back and forth.
The gore show continued until the cat got bored, licking its bloodied paws. It wasn't hungry, and a dead mouse could only provide so much amusement. With a stretch and a yawn, the white feline placed its kill between a box and a wall, then found a solitary nook in the abattoir, curling into a ball and closing its eyes.
A buzzing sound reached the pointed ears and the alley cat opened the blue eyes to slits, as though annoyed. That strange, bug-eyed creature nestled away in the alcove of the plant had interrupted its nap time with that racket for weeks. What a pest.
Sawyer "the Cleaner" sorted the last the of the bashed limbs and placed them into a neat pile on the table, ignoring the dead rat she placed in the trash bin in a corner. Since she started working in the plant, she was finding mangled rodents in every nook and cranny of the slaughterhouse, many of them fresh. She assumed a feral cat she saw a while back when she settled in was behind all the exterminations. It was killing the rats and mice, a useful skill, but whenever Sawyer had to pull a little corpse out of a vent or remove one wedged between a wall, she wondered who the real pest was.
But it didn't try to scratch her face off, so that made it a little bit better than Pluto.
A little bit.
As she removed the black rubber gloves and washed her hands, Sawyer looked at the clock mounted on the wall. She had an appointment coming up, a job for Mr. Chang. She had only been working in the plant for a month now, and she hadn't heard from the Triad boss in a long time. Adolph had always met with the person making the delivery, and then he would pass off the corpse to her. But it was different now. She took all of her job requests directly. This would be the first time she was going to meet the delivery person face-to-face.
Picking her chainsaw off of a nearby table, Sawyer mildly wondered what type of person she would meet. Would the delivery boy be a Triad in a suave suit, or would it be one of the members of the lower tier of the criminal hierarchy?
As if on cue, there was a quick knock at the door before it burst open.
"Hello, hello! Hope I not late. Took me little while to find new address!"
The cleaner nearly jumped back from shock. Her vision was assaulted with a bright red china dress with golden accents, high slits revealing long legs and a row of throwing knives, a white jacket, and silky raven hair. Ruby red lips framed a pearly white smile as a tall Asian woman tossed a suitcase on the floor.
"So you Sawyer 'the Cleaner'? Very good meeting you! My name Shenhua." Shenhua leaned down to look into the concealing goggles. The magenta eyeshadow brought out the jovial glimmer in the Asian woman's dark blue eyes. "Mr. Chang use Adolph for years. You come along and then he want you to work big jobs. You never meet in person, yes? But he always ask for you. Chang da ge must like you very much!"
Sawyer had to step back. Her smile...
"You work good, make big impression on people! I wanting to meet you long time."
Sawyer made a small nod in acknowledgment. That smile, it was...
"I see you not talk very much. No problem. Not need words to work," said Shenhua. She kicked the suitcase open and revealed a bound man.
"Chang da ge say he want mincemeat. Easy order," she chirped. The man screamed girlishly through his gag. He struggled to get out of the suitcase, and Shenhua kicked him in the head, promptly knocking him out.
Taking a moment, she looked down and saw blood dripping from the chainsaw "the Cleaner" held. Shenhua curiously let her eyes wander around the room and took in the surroundings. That distinct scent of blood and flesh clung to the air. The white tiles were covered with a coat of red stains. Body parts were piled on top of each other on the tables, corpses stuffed into crates and... there were the clean, polished saws on the pegboard.
There was a light in Shenhua's eyes, a look of adoration.
"I see you take good care of blade," Shenhua sighed, the corner of her lip pulling further back to reveal a dangerous grin, showing an almost fang-like tooth. "That good sign." She turned her attention back to Sawyer.
"We get along nice, I think," Shenhua said; the grin never vanished. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Mr. Chang going to have more bodies in future. We going to work together for long time, so it nice to have good feeling between, yes?"
Sawyer gave another sheepish nod. She suddenly felt small.
"Okay, understand. Enough talk now, have to work. Good meeting, Sawyer. Bye bye!" With no more to say, Shenhua waved and glided out of the room.
One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. Sawyer stared at the door, and she blinked. On her treks out into the streets of Roanapur, she had heard of a freelancer who wore a silk qipao and had tails with the 14K Triad, but Sawyer never expected that freelancer to be someone so... cheerful. That bastard Adolph had been eccentric, but this woman was on a completely different level. That freelancer... no, Shenhua... her smile was foreign to her. She had never seen a smile so... genuine.
Sawyer scratched the side of her head.
What a strange woman.
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
Three Years Later
The mafia men gasped. A man in a khaki suit, Moretti, was the only one in the group who could speak.
"What the fuck are you two doing?"
"Changing! See, we can't wear our old clothes anymore. The blood got on them, and now it's dried like glue. So we needed new clothes."
The silver-haired twins knelt in the sticky crimson pool. The pale moonlight seeped through the shades, accenting a grotesque visage of large nails and a small Romanian flag impaled in a man's head.
"It's fun. You should try it!" chirped the girl. The boy shared his sister's smile.
A man in a grey suit, Bikey, stood behind Moretti, and his cheeks bulged. He clasped a hand over his mouth.
"Every time you hammer a nail into his head, he twitches just like a fish. He still moves, even though he's not breathing anymore! I think it's called 'spinal reflexes'," she tittered.
Bikey couldn't take any more. His hand moved from his mouth to the wall, and he bent over. There was a pouring splatter accompanied by gagging.
"Do you have any fucking idea how angry the boss is right now?" said Moletti, trying not to waver. "I only said to dissect that Ivan bitch. I never said anything about kidnapping her associates and turning them into goddamn science experiments!"
Bikey heaved while Moretti spoke. His knees were giving way; he could barely stand up.
"Now here's what you're going to do," Moretti instructed the small twins. "You're going to finish the job and get the hell out of the city, because I've fucking had it with babysitting the two of you!" With a shaking hand, he slammed the door.
The men who had managed to keep their lunches down carried a weakened Bikey as they followed Moretti down the hall.
"I can't believe those damn brats!" Bikey moaned. The distinct flavor of bile clung to his mouth. "They're far worse than having a fucking screw loose. What they did to that Ivan... it ain't right!"
"No shit," Moretti agreed. "Worst part is now we got to get rid of that corpse. Not even a cleaner will do that one, damn it!"
"A cleaner," Bikey muttered. Moretti stopped and looked over his shoulder. He understood the implication.
"Bikey, we're not bringing the Hostel into this."
"I'm not talking about Adolph! I'm talking about his cleaner. He's pretty good, I hear. Has to be. I heard he was trained by the fuhrer in person."
"We can't afford Sawyer 'the Cleaner'," Moretti spat. "And he's in the Chinaman's good grace, too. Bad enough the Triads are involved in this shit. We'd be better off getting Adolph himself, and that nutcase doesn't take cleaning jobs anymore. Ever since the plant opened up, they all go to Sawyer."
"Is there anyone else we can call? There's gotta be some more cleaners out there. I don't wanna see that dead Ivan again..."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
The Caribbean Bar was caked with blood. Buckets and bags littered the closed building as the three cleaners scrubbed the interior.
"So this is where Miss Balalaika's men were shot? I feel sorry for whoever did that. Man, why did Watsup wait so long to call us? The blood is really dry. Busy day for me, too. Spent some time in one of the Verocchio family's places earlier. Dude, it was the nastiest thing I've ever seen in my life!" the cleaner shouted through his gas mask. He dunked a sponge in the bucket as he rolled the very tip of his bleached blonde mohawk between the thumb and index finger. The bald, older cleaner beside him, wearing only an apron and a surgical mask over his mouth, listened half-heartedly as he scrubbed the walls of the bar.
"Fucked up, morbid shit, I tell ya!" Mohawk Man sounded more excited than disgusted. "I puked right there. He looked like that one guy who did the stuff in that movie. The one by Clive Barker. That guy with the pins in his head. Uh, uh..." He tried to snap through the thick rubber gloves.
"Pinhead?"
"Is that seriously his name? Wow. Well, anyway, there were nails and stuff in his head, but the hardest part was the blood. They had those really old wooden floors and carpets, so it was soaked on there like..."
Sawyer shook her head as she cleaned her corner of the bar. She preferred solitary work when she was cleaning in the field, and she was getting a bad case of deja vu. The bald man shared a resemblance with a bulky cleaner she had worked with in Europe, and the guy with the mohawk reminded her too much of Ecki.
This particular job wasn't exactly her favored area of expertise either. The bodies were already gone, probably picked up by Hotel Moscow. It was just a scrubbing job now, but the quantity of stains harshened the task. It wasn't a bloodbath, it was a flood.
"So, uh... You're Sawyer 'the Cleaner'?" Mohawk Man leaned over as he washed the wall in a circular motion. The scoped lenses of his gas mask were leveled with her goggles. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a nod and kept working.
"You gotta be. You're a man of few words, I hear."
Sawyer kept cleaning, not caring about the gender error. It was a common mistake that came with wearing the concealing scrubs.
"No offense, dude, but you're pretty short. I always imagined you to be taller."
She still didn't respond. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away.
"I heard you're Adolph's cleaner, too."
She stopped scrubbing.
"You might not know this, but your name is pretty big in the cleaning business." Mohawk Man leaned against the soaked wall with one hand as he placed his other on his hip in a desperate attempt to look casual. He moved in further towards her face.
"You worked for the Hostel, right? Man, I hear that place is really fucked up. I've only been in this city for like, three weeks, but Adolph is a pretty big name with the undertakers. Word is a couple years back, the cleaners in that place kept goin' nuts because he would screw with 'em and stuff when he trained them. A lot of 'em quit, but they were all so fucked in the head that they couldn't work outside the Hostel. Then it stopped around the time you showed up."
Sawyer turned away from him and decided to scrub another area. She didn't want any reminders of Adolph, and she certainly didn't need to listen to this vermin. Not taking the hint, the bothersome cleaner followed her.
"Hey, where you going? Anyway, I heard that a lot of cleaners in town at the time noticed the uh... uh... What's the word?"
"Decline," the bald cleaner said gruffly from behind the bar, washing the surface.
"Thanks, man! It's like you're a mind reader! Yeah, so, there was a decline in cleaners coming out all nutso. Heard that Adolph was really weird with his treatments, but you could deal with 'em all so he focused on you. From what I've heard what Adolph's into, you're pretty fuckin' hardcore, dude."
Sawyer had to resist a sneer underneath her mask. "Hardcore, dude"?
"After all the training, Mr. Chang liked your work, you broke away from the Hostel to start your own business and the rest is history. That's what they say, anyway."
Sawyer was almost curious about that last line. Who was "they"? Probably that Dutch gossip Vanna and her cabana boy, Daan.
"So, uh, yeah, you're kind of a legend, man." The Ecki look alike wiped his gloved hands against his apron before digging into his pockets. "I know it's here somewhe— Here!" He pulled out a card.
"You know, man, if it ever happens, not that I'm saying it will, but if you ever need some extra hands to help you clean up a big mess or something..."
Sawyer's knuckles cracked as her grip tightened. All the crimson-tinted liquid in the sponge was expelled. A man with a mohawk handing her a card and talking about business prospects. Too much deja vu, and it was insulting. A little newbie trying to use her as a stepping stone for his own name. She should have brought her chainsaw with her, or maybe an angry cat.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Sawyer, he didn't mean anything by it," the bald cleaner interjected, pushing himself between the two cleaners. Sawyer loosened her grip; she had seen him on several occasions over the years in the streets, as far back as when she was still working for the Hostel. They never spoke and only knew each other by appearance. They could barely be called acquaintances.
"Give the kid a break, he's new to the city. Still needs to learn his way around." He made his point by smacking the back of Mohawk Man's head, the force of the blow almost knocking the gas mask off.
"Ow!"
"He's just excited to work with 'the Cleaner'. It's not everyday you meet someone who can stomach the murder resort. Here, take the card. If something ever comes up, it never hurts to have a little backup."
Sawyer looked down at the card in his hand.
"If you won't consider assistance, then think of it as a complementary coaster," he added flatly.
Sawyer took a moment before nonchalantly grabbing the card, slightly crumpling it in her hand before stuffing it in the pocket of her apron. Saying nothing, she turned on her heel and grabbed a nearby bucket, thinking about the offer.
Maybe, someday, she'd consider the extra help.
And maybe a wizard would pop out of nowhere and carry her away into the night.
Yeah, right.
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
"Hell is missing two guardians."
Adolph reclined in the chair of the small office in the meatpacking plant, smug as usual. Sawyer took off her goggles and shot him a dirty look from the doorway. Even years after she left the Hostel, Adolph insisted on checking up on her from time-to-time. Thankfully, she didn't see him too often; the months he visited were few and far in between. Unfortunately, every time he visited served to drive a thorn deeper into her side. She would have gladly run a chainsaw through his gut ages ago, but the sick bastard would probably enjoy it. She wasn't going to give Adolph that satisfaction.
"I came across them in the fog. From what I could make of the wounds, my dogs were shot with a rifle." Despite this, Adolph didn't seem upset. He tapped his fingers together contemplatively. "It's not like a regular citizen to waste a bullet on an animal. It must be those children Hotel Moscow is throwing a fit about."
"Unless you are going to... 'evaluate' my cleaning and the condition of my abattoir... Leave."
"You're awfully grumpy this evening," Adolph droned. "Can't you find it within yourself to humor me? I miss our old chats, little one."
"I'm not in the mood... for your banter. Get... out."
"Now, now, little one, what's put you in such a foul mood? You're normally content with giving me a cold stare before ushering me out. Tell me, are the hunters irking you with their messes tonight?" His voice dropped and the playfulness disintegrated. Sawyer glanced at him sideways.
"How did you know... about that?"
"I know you log in your work," Adolph held out a book before dropping it gracelessly on the table in front of him. "And you take notes of current events. Very smart for keeping track, not so good for privacy. You may want to get a better lock on this, little one. Now, those neanderthals who shot that black sedan with the decoys, did you have to go out and scrape those children off the seats?"
"It's not a concern for... the Hostel." She looked off to the side, disinterested. It was none of his business. Adolph rose from the chair and walked toward her.
"Dead children bother you?" Adolph asked. "They were in a city of predators. They were weak and they were easy targets. That's the way of this world. Do you feel pity? Don't tell me you're getting soft on your cleaning, little one. I didn't raise you for such behavior."
"You didn't raise me... and I cleaned up no children. I took notes about the hunt because I need to prepare... for the morning. Once the hunt for those twins is over... I'm going to be very busy. The Triads are involved... and Mr. Chang will call soon for a rush job. I don't need you... taking up my prep time."
"Really?" Adolph asked. He absentmindedly stroked his goatee and looked up at the ceiling, casually brushing past her to go into the maze of slaughterhouse equipment. "Speaking of the that, little one, did it ever cross your mind to do any hunting on the side?"
There was a tiny buzz as Sawyer took a deep breath. She said nothing.
"Don't be so quiet, little one. It's just a question. I only ask for your personal health."
"What do you care... of my health?"
"It's not good for you to get this way," Adolph growled. He weaseled around the abattoir, looking for something. "You're starting to have a dirty look in your eyes. It's not pleasant. You're losing your instinct. Cleaning is important, but it will leave you feeling like a scavenger. You need to hunt live prey once in a while. It's vital for your character."
"You let me worry... about that. It's... none of your business," she said, keeping an eye on Adolph. What was he up to?
"I took you under my wing for two years. I shall decide what aspects of your life is and is not my concern," he huffed, still searching. "I don't want you ending up like the clients at the murder resort, those who claim to be part of the 'Elite Hunting' group, thinking their bloodhound tattoos are well deserved. Bah! The Hostel staff kidnaps the guests and prepares them for use. 'Elite Hunting'? You're not a hunter if someone has to bring your prey to you. Pathetic. You won't be part of that group. I taught you better than that."
"I don't think like that," Sawyer stated.
"It's a preventative measure to keep you from thinking as such," Adolph said as he lifted a cardboard box. "And you never answered my question. Have you ever considered hunting on the side?"
"... Sometimes," she admitted. "But there was never... any need. I earn enough... from cleaning."
"Never say that again," Adolph hissed. "Money? That's why you won't do it? It has nothing to do with that, little one! Don't give such ridiculous reasons. It's for the sake of the hunt. The thrill, the rush. Have you ever considered on that basis?"
"... Yes. Many times." And it was a basis she took part in long ago, but Sawyer wasn't going to delve into her family origins with Adolph.
"Do you ever compare yourself to that freelancer of Mr. Chang's? Wonder what it's like? Wonder what happened before she turned them into luggage and delivered them to you? Have you ever wanted to put yourself in her place?"
Sawyer stayed silent.
"No need to answer. I know enough," he said. He looked between a stack of old crates and snarled. "Pick up hunting. It's good to have a hobby. It keeps your mind fresh and revitalizes the body. However..."
There was a horrible noise as Adolph reached into a crack in the crates and pulled out an irate white cat by the back of its neck. The ears pointed back and it bared its teeth, hissing and screeching and scratching.
"I don't recommend you hunt with groups," Adolph advised, holding the cat a considerable distance away, avoiding the sharp claws. "It's better for you not to play with others. They say there's strength in numbers, but it ruins your sense of independence. You're a cleaner first, little one. Hunting is just an outlet. You're more suited to be a solitary predator. No good will come for you if you hunt in a pack. You're going to pick up unwanted habits. You don't need a mentality that forces you to rely on others. It will make you weak, soft. I know all too well you have enough... vulnerabilities."
He reached out with his other hand and traced a finger along the scar on her neck. She smacked the hand and took a step back.
"One is enough." Adolph gestured to the aggravated cat. "Growing too comfortable around people will cause complications. It's all fine if you're a primary hunter, but not very becoming of a cleaner. Our kind doesn't bode well with the living, and we need to emulate the emptiness of the dead we dispose. It may seem nice to have support in a group, but this city houses many traitors. A pack is only as good as the people within it." He threw the cat against the wall. There was a loud, hideous crack and it hit the floor with dead weight. The neck had snapped upon impact.
"It's not very wise to get too close to the residents of this city, little one. There's nary a soul who won't turn if given the opportunity, and they will be all too content to abandon a despicable creature like you."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
Thin lines of light crept out along the blackout shades of the otherwise dark room. The small lamp beside her on the nightstand did little to illuminate the environment, only providing a solitary light for reading. The many cross and skull ornaments throughout displayed a dull shine and there was an unusual scent of incense blended with a cleaning agent. The gothic woman sat cross-legged on the bed, polishing the guide bar of her chainsaw, handling the monstrous contraption with a strange gentleness, treating it like a precious child.
In one of her rarer moments, she had found the time to contemplate in silence. No blood, no buzzing, no roaring, no screaming. Quiet.
She ran a finger along the teeth. The poor thing, it seemed to be feasting more and more on raw corpses these days. The only live bait it had that week was that man in the suitcase Shenhua had brought in on Tuesday. The saw needed more fresh meat.
She hugged the engine block to her chest and leaned back into the pillows, closing her eyes. The saw, the saw was all she had left. The only memoir, the only tangible link to those moments where she listened to stories and danced in the moonlight after a slaughter. Twisted, but it had made her happy once.
Contemplating was not so terrible, but reminiscing brought on pain. She hugged the engine block closer and a single tear made its way down her face.
She hissed and sat back up, furiously wiping at the tear, the chainsaw falling at her side. What was this nonsense? She was Sawyer "the Cleaner", one of Roanapur's most notorious executioners and undertakers. Sorrow and melancholy, "the Cleaner" didn't feel all those petty emotions. Fred-Fred had grown up and left the homestead a long time ago.
... But the urge was still there, that need to spill blood. That predator's drive left over from so many generations of the Sawyer family. She supposed she had put aside hunting for so many years to focus on burying her emotions, waiting for the right time. She laid back down and draped her hand on the guide bar, thinking. She didn't need any extra money, so she wouldn't have to pick up a job that was too strenuous. Something simple, something to get the urge out for the time being.
There was news that there was a cheap job being put out by a cartel based in Florida to hunt down a counterfeiter. One thousand dollars. It was pocket change, but the experience could be worth it...
She frowned considerably. On the other hand, she was aware that the cartel was taking everyone who volunteered. There were undoubtedly going to be more people on this job. Roanapur was a sick place, and she knew all too well from the way corpses flooded the city that many hunters would be joining the hunt for the sake of amusement rather than monetary reasons. She wasn't sure how well she would interact in a pack.
The frown disappeared. No, that was Adolph talking, that overblown speech given to her months ago, pathetic attempts to instill his own values and turn her into a carbon copy of himself. Not happening. She was a Sawyer; thanks to prior experience in Texas, hunting in a pack would be second nature to her. And she knew Roanapur, she knew the nature of the residents. If there was ever any need to break away from the group, she could do well enough on her own. She was flexible.
She ran a hand through the dark messy hair and looked at the clock mounted on the wall, fingering the grip of the chainsaw with the other. The small blood red lips formed a predatory grin.
She would make her father proud.
A/N: And here we are. Next up is the epilogue and it's all done.
For those of you who want to keep track, here's the time/age line for the major points in Butcher.
Age 5 – Sawyer has her first kill on her birthday.
Age 8 – Sawyer witnesses her mother die at the hands of Gunny Tom.
Age 12 – Bloodlust takes place and Revy drowns Leatherface. Sawyer witnesses this and runs away from home shortly afterward.
Ages 12-14 – Sawyer is backpacking through the Southwestern United States over a course of two years. Her throat is slit in this time.
Age 14 – Sawyer meets Ecki in Houston and gets a job with the Hostel. She works as a cleaner in Eastern Europe for two years.
Age 16 – Sawyer is transferred to the Hostel branch in Roanapur. Adolph trains her personally for two years.
Age 18 – Sawyer has a solid reputation as "the Cleaner" and is given the U.G. Pork meatpacking plant by Adolph to start her own cleaning business. She meets Shenhua in person.
Age 21 – The Vampire Twins arc takes place, Greenback Jane shortly follows months after.
Thank you to those who took the time to read this sticky, bubbling mass of brain sludge that was scraped off the bottom of my imaginative facets. I do like some parts in this story better than others, for while some parts just flowed with no problems, there were also sections that made me feel like I was chewing on nails. This feels a little too fast-paced with all the time skips, but I admit that this story is only a peek into Sawyer's life, not a full blown biography. That's too scary for me.
Once again, thank you all for reading this (literally) nightmare fueled piece.
Cheers.