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Cheryl Fromm: I grew up in a small town in upstate New York. My mom worked at the local supermarket and my dad... and my dad worked at the... at a meat packing plant about 20 miles outside of town. They'd slaughter cattle there and supply our markets with corn-fed organic beef. And he'd work late. And by the time he'd get home, my mom would always be asleep. I'd lay there on my pillow and... listen to the sound of his boots walk to my bedroom door. I don't know if my mother just pretended not to know what the fuck was going on or if she was just too weak.
Stephen Grace: You don't... you don't need to do this.
Cheryl Fromm: But what I remember the most about it was the way... the way his flesh smelled when he'd come home from work. This heavy, metallic smell that would follow him home from the plant... like warm blood on the grass... cold fat in the freezers. I can hardly stand to look at a piece of meat now, let alone think about eating it.
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Quaid: My parents were killed when I was six years old, Stephen. They were murdered right in front of my eyes. Killed with the axe from my father's tool shed. They never caught the man that did it. I don't know how I got away, but I did. I ran and I ran and... I've never really stopped.
Ian Pirie
Extended Reading
