"The Scavenger Bride"
Chapter 12: Dismemberment

When I finally got up for the day, I felt so listless. I didn't want to leave the house that day, but eventually, that listlessness turned to restlessness. The day wasn't slowing down, and our pantry wasn't getting any fuller, so I slipped into the car later that afternoon to head into the grocer's. Sliding the key into the ignition, I turned it, only to be met with a struggling, scraping engine; it sputtered and went kaput. I tried again. Nothing. "Son of a bitch," I swore, climbing out of the car. Looked as if I would be taking the bus. Again. That old car of mine was such a nuisance. Every so often, the engine would do this to me; Herbert kept telling me to just scrap it, but where would I get the money for a new one? Besides, I didn't feel like dealing with it at the moment. I trudged down the hill to the bus stop.

After finishing what I needed to get done, I headed west on Armitage and was walking past Independence Square when I finally arrived back at the bus stop. There, on the partially rotting cork-board that occupied the back wall, was a flyer.

MISSING. Kevin Gregorson, aged nineteen, five-foot-nine, one-hundred sixty pounds. Shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes. Freshman at Miskatonic University. Missing since Thursday. Any info, please call the Arkham PD at 555-0666

"Sad, isn't it?"

I nearly jumped clean out of my skin, not having seen the young cop come walking by. I recovered quickly. "Yes, I can't imagine."

"You knew him?"

"What?"

"You just look like a college kid," the cop shrugged. "He went to Miskatonic."

"Oh," I allowed for a small laugh. "I do go to the university, but I never knew him."

The cop nodded in understanding. "You have a good day, now, ma'am."

"You, too, thanks."

When he left, I was all too glad to climb onto the bus and head back home. We pulled away, hooking a left on Peabody and crossing the bridge to the south side of the river. After a right on Washington, there were two more blocks before I reached Parsonage, our street. The bus stopped at the corner and let me off. Our little house showed up just as the buildings and houses began to wane. I was relieved to be home, despite having felt cooped up. Herbert was coming out of the basement when I walked in. He eyed me curiously.

"Where've you been? The car…."

"Yeah, yeah, it's busted again."

He shook his head and clicked his tongue, grabbing his medical book from the kitchen table. "I keep telling you…."

"I know, I know, I remember. We need that old clunker, though, and you know it."

"Yes," he sighed. "It's true. One day we'll be able to get a new one." He looked me and the bags over again as I left them on the counter, exhausted. "You haul all of that on the bus?"

"Yeah," I shrugged. "What else was there to do?"

"Huh."

"They were out of some of the stuff we needed but I managed to get most of it. I'll go back tomorrow, and I'll get the car looked at now. We can't go a day without that damn thing."

Herbert disappeared back into the basement with a nod. I didn't hear anything from him then as I followed him down. He was buried in the book then, taking a seat at the desk. I chuckled. "Seems as if Kevin is the talk of the town."

"Oh?"

"Flyers everywhere. I'm a little worried." Herbert was still engrossed. I leaned over the table, pulling down the book with a finger. He swatted me away with a frown, and I laughed, doing it again. "Herbert!"

"What?" He sighed, aggravated, and he finally looked up.

"I appreciate you getting rid of him but I feel uncomfortable. If they come back, they'll search, and by then it'll be a matter of about an hour before they find him."

Herbert sat and thought for a few long moments, after which, he finally let out a sigh."Yes… you're right. We need to get rid of him."

"What do you suggest?"

After a pause, "The school's crematorium."

West went out immediately for paper from the butcher's, the kind that's lined on the inside to prevent the meat from leaking everywhere. Dan was right about him: he certainly did have a way with people when he wanted something, and after having gone to this butcher many times for various autopsy-related things for class, it was no wonder the butcher sent him home with enough paper to last us a long while. While he was gone - he preferred the walk anyway - I managed to finagle the car into starting for me, and took the thing in to get it checked. New fan belt, of course. Cringing, I gave the mechanic the arm-and-leg payment he required and was on my way.

Herbert and I waited up until long after the sun had gone down, and when we were sure of the solitude, we went around the back of the house. I carried a giant tarp and Herbert took the shovel. I had no idea where he'd put him, so I let Herbert show the way. There was a little place out back, a space of a mere three feet between the house wall and the fence that shielded our house from the woods. Herbert found the spot with little effort and began to dig. I knew he was getting close when the smell hit me. I gagged.

"Imogen, don't crap out on me now," Herbert continued to dig as he spoke to me, and his wasn't the usual annoyance-heavy tone that he was so accustomed to carrying; he spoke to me almost chiding, but there was support there, as well. I covered my mouth as Kevin's gray corpse came into view.

"Get the tarp ready," he told me, and I spread it open as much as the little space would allow when there was a sound. I looked up at Herbert; he was holding Kevin's rotting arm in his hand with a look of disappointment on his face.

"Oh, my God, that's disgusting."

"Hmm. I guess I didn't dig deep enough." He placed the arm on the tarp, picked up the shovel and kept going. Finally, it was ready, and we pulled the body from the earth, dragging him onto the tarp and wrapping him up. "Let's hurry him into the basement."

Once safely away, I ran upstairs and locked the front door, shutting out most of the lights. I left on the little lamp out front again, and I even checked the windows. When I ran back downstairs, Herbert was searching through the cabinets.

"Whatcha lookin' for?"

"The ax. I know it's- aha." He found it under the stairs, and I must have had the most horrendous look on my face, for he stopped, staring. "What? You have a better idea?"

I shook my head, gulping. "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Herbert went to stand over the body, assessing where to start. "Alright. So…. we're going to have to take him, piece by piece, to the school, starting first thing in the morning, and burn him in the furnace there."

"What about the torso? You couldn't possibly cut that down to book-bag size, Herbert."

"We'll just have to keep it in back of the car." He looked me over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just anxious, is all. How are we going to carry the torso into school? People will notice."

"It will all be over soon," he assured me, turning back to the body. "And….. we'll figure out the torso. Let's just focus on this first. Grab onto his feet, will you?"

Together, we lifted him up and onto the autopsy table. It took awhile, but we drained the the blood from Kevin's body, thereby making it a lot less messy when the time would come for us to dismember him. I did the job myself because I knew I would be so much more squeamish trying to sever a leg. I made incisions in the femoral arteries and the jugular, and it wasn't long before we were ready to use the ax. Watching for any spills, we lifted his body back up and then over onto the tarp. Herbert picked up the ax, studying the body.

"Watch for blood - I know we drained it but there may still be some left over. Okay. Well. Here goes nothing." Holding tightly to the ax, he took the first swing, and it sank into Kevin's leg with a sickening thud. I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut. Two more hacks and he called for me. "Imogen. The leg."

I went and gingerly picked up the gory appendage, placing it next to the mangled arm on the second tarp. When I was safely away, he went again; we kept at it for nearly an hour, until each arm and leg were in two pieces each, and then there was nothing left to do. Herbert was panting from all the work, and we were both a mess. "Let's get this wrapped and cleaned up."

It took another hour on top off that, but we wrapped each piece up in the butcher's paper, storing them in the small fridge kept in the corner. Herbert scrubbed down the table and instruments as I scrubbed the floors and tarps; thank God we had a drain in the basement. When we were finally done, there was no trace of any gore, save for what was on ourselves and our clothes. I frowned, sighing. "More clothes to burn."

"Mmm, yes, unfortunate. We'll burn them with the body tomorrow."

Dragging ourselves upstairs, Herbert showered first, and I ate. I couldn't believe I was able to, after what we'd just done. When Herbert came out, he grabbed one of the paper bags from the grocery run I'd made that day, dropping his bloody clothes inside. "Put your clothes in here when you're done. I'm going to bed."

"Mmm. Night, Herbert."

"Goodnight."

I locked myself in the bathroom and scrubbed myself clean. It felt great to get all the filth off of me. When I left the bathroom I pulled on my pajamas and stuffed my bloody clothes into the paper bag. Wrapping it up, I left it on the kitchen table. Shutting off the lights, I went to bed and lay there for awhile. Something in me felt different. I couldn't put my finger on it; I felt…. nauseous, fearful, strong, powerful; I felt so many strange things I couldn't even begin to express. And suddenly, I felt like crying. Crawling out of bed, I crept down the hall. Glancing down at the bottom of Herbert's door, I saw it was dark, but I quietly clicked the door open anyway. I tried but couldn't hold back a sniffle. "Herbert?" I cursed myself; I felt like such a child. In the darkness, I could see his silhouette jump a little and turn in bed slightly.

"Imogen?" His voice was groggy, and when I didn't answer him, I could almost hear that slight smile. "C'mon," he mumbled, opening up his arms for me, and I joined him, curling up against him as he drew the blankets up around me. It wasn't long before we both were fast asleep.

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MUSIC:

"God's Gonna Cut You Down" by Johnny Cash. Imogen still has a tendency to hold on to ideas of, "Oh, God, what am I doing? Am I right in this?" The internal struggle of hers quiets as the pages go on, but sometimes, it's still there…