Pulling off the cover of branches and ferns over the body, she gave it a careful look. She hadn’t made time for that when she’d made the discovery and considered the implications of what might happen if someone found it. It was badly burned, but she could tell it was a man. His shoulders were broad, and hips narrow. Not a woman. Her eyes traveled downward for further confirmation. She found it. A nob of charcoaled flesh indicated what was left of his penis. He wasn’t very tall, as men go. Maybe five foot eight. His clothes had melted onto his skin or had been completely incinerated. In a few places he wasn’t burned as badly. He was white. It appeared that he wore glasses because lines seared around his eyes bore the distinct traces of frames. Regina made a note to look for them when she was finished.

She put the respirator on and bent over the body, hacksaw in hand.

I’m doing this for me and Amy. I didn’t kill him. I’m only doing what I know I must do to protect us. This is ugly, but it isn’t wrong when so much is at stake.

Regina started with the head because all of her years butchering animals on the farm had taught her that was the most difficult area to work—physically and emotionally. It took some doing, but she managed to sever the head just where the neck met the shoulders. She knew that blood cooked in the fire oozed rather than splattered.

Thank you, God.

She put the head on the tarp, face down. No need to look at the face. Even though she didn’t know him, it felt invasive. Too personal.

Regina took air in through her mouth. The hands were easily snipped off at the wrists with the bolt cutters. She deposited them on the tarp with the head. She took in a another gulp of air and listened. Nothing.

I can do this!

She tried the cutters on the arm bones, but the dead man was too large for the blades. She reverted to the hacksaw. Up and down. Up and down. The blade wasn’t as sharp as it needed to be for efficient cutting, yet it worked. In time, Regina butchered the increasingly fetid body into manageable pieces. By the end of it, her hands and arms were covered in blood and body fluids. Some spatter even freckled her face. That was fine, she thought. She could wash away everything in the outdoor shower. Her clothing would never betray what she did and how.

Amy didn’t need to know how far Regina would go for love.

Neither did the Jefferson County Sheriff.