by Tyler Wolfe
The problem was, he was apparently too stupid and blind to know when to back off. He couldn’t sense the volcano building toward eruption inside of me. There were days, weeks, years of frustration, of swallowing rage, and being decent and reasonable when someone pissed me off, instead of giving up and being violent.
No. Not this time.
“Who’s you calling a piece of shit, you little bitch?” The stranger lunged forward—and grabbed me by the shoulders. “I’ll beat your fucking ass!”
I instantly realized this wasn’t just about money. No, this kid had an attitude problem something fierce. He might have originally been looking to score money for God knows what, but now he was looking for a fight. I was about to be a victim of this hoodlum’s bad day, life, who knows. I don’t think so.
Rage flared up inside of me. I wrenched out of his grip and drove my elbow back into his unseen face, barely connecting, but still forcing him to let go. “FUCK YOU!”
Panic shot through me like a bolt of lightning but I didn’t want to run. I wanted to turn around and beat him until the skin peeled off my fists. I wanted to drive his face into the concrete and jump on the back of his head. I wanted to beat him until he had enough and begged me to stop.
Instead I ignored my impulses and took off, running as fast as I could.
I could hear him clattering after me, cursing and puffing. In my mind’s eye, another scene unfolded.
I’m ten and they’re chasing me home from the bus stop again. Three big red-faced boys, half a decade older than me, eager for a smaller target. If they catch me, I’ll have to hide the bruises from Mom and Dad again.
But I’ve been practicing. Practicing so much in gym and after school that sometimes I throw up my lunch. I wait until they get close; until they’re reaching for me. Then I put on a burst of speed and leave them puffing along behind me in the dust. I laugh as I race ahead. They’ll never touch me again. They’ll never ever touch me—
This punk was fast though, as fast as me. He grabbed my elbow and yanked me backward, breaking my stride and nearly my arm. “You’re fucked now, you little bitch!” his arms flailing as he delivered hard blows to the back of my head.
My ears rang as I stumbled to my knees, skinning both of them and one hand on the rough concrete below. What if he knocks me out? I thought numbly and then had no more time to think as he jumped on my back.
“Who’s the piece of shit now, huh? Bahahaha!” He laughed as he continued raining blows on my head and shoulders. I heard the glee in his voice and knew that this was what it was all about. He had been looking for someone to bully that’s all.
I squirmed and tried to roll away from his grip, but he just kept hitting me, screaming so loud as he bent over me that my ears hurt. “Look who’s getting their ass beat now you skinny white bitch!”
I didn’t hit back, just tried to fight free as his fists slammed into me again and again. Each blow seemed to echo down into a deep, hollow space inside of me where an unimaginable pressure was building. But still I tried reason. “Stop! You think the police won’t find you?!”
He hesitated for just a moment as I invoked the cops. I hated doing it, but, it was better to try to scare him off. The poor kid had no idea what tortured soul he had just picked a fight with.
“Snitches get stitches, bitch!” he snapped, and slammed his fist hard into my temple.
Suddenly, everything went very quiet. A faint high tone rang inside of my head as I heard, more than felt, the repeated thuds of his fists against my flesh.
Part of me went into shock, like it always did when I got beaten, not understanding why he was doing this or what kind of monster could enjoy it. Part of me fought for self-control for a last few desperate moments.
Then, the rest exploded.
“Stop!” I turned towards the dark figure, blind with rage, with darkness and pain, and drove my fist into his throat.
He stumbled back, choking. I quickly stood up and went after him, swinging almost blindly. “I’ll fucking kill you!” A sinister voice growled as if the devil himself had said it.
He cowered, hands up as I rained blows on his arms and shoulders and the top of his head. My aim was sloppy and my hands hurt; I had never struck anyone before.
I still couldn’t see his face. In its place I saw Bob; saw Joey, Eddie and Mike with their buddies at the bus stop; saw the corporate scumbags who refused me help, and the fuckers who cut me off in traffic, and every last son of a bitch I had ever wanted to beat bloody. I drove my fist into the shadowed space where their faces hovered and heard him grunt in pain as his nose collapsed with a crunch.
“I told you to stop. To not fuck with me.”
I growled again as I drove him backward, this time with solid jabs. He was trying to hit back, but whatever mix of rage, ego and stupidity fueled him was running out now that he was bleeding.
He managed a final outburst. “You’re fucking dead!” He grabbed me by the shirtfront; the fabric tore, and I growled back in rage as I drove a knee up into his gut.
His eyes went enormous, but I couldn’t feel bad for him. He doubled over and stumbled back retching. I grabbed him by the hair and brought up my knee again—this one landing under his chin. Perfect aim this time.
He collapsed to his hands and knees, then scrambled backward clumsily as I kicked him in the ribs.
At that point I should have taken off. It would have been the smart thing to do. The peaceful, reasonable thing that normal people who weren’t pushed to their limit would do. It was what I had trained and planned for—to just run away. Get out of there and everything will be fine.
Instead, as the stranger staggered, holding his gut, I ran up behind him and put him in a headlock.
“What have you learned, motherfucker?” I gasped as I tightened my grip and started punching him in the side of his face, his back, his ribs...anywhere that I could reach. “Huh? What have you learned!?”
“Fuck you!” he spluttered—and drove an elbow into my ribs, breaking my grip.
My answer was an inarticulate groan. I hurt on the outside; I knew I was bleeding and would have bruises all over. But inside, in that dark, hollow, fiery place where the ringing in my ears was the only sound…I raged.
I ducked a blow from him, briefly seeing the flash of dark, angry eyes in a thin beam of streetlight, and then lunged forward, driving both fists into his belly at once. He gasped and fell backward—and grunted in shock as the back of his head hit the pavement.
I noticed, with growing detachment, that I still didn’t run. Instead, as he lay there blinking and gasping like a gaffed fish, I stooped over him and started pummeling him again.
I punched the face I couldn’t see over and over again as he squirmed and tried to block with his hands. He cursed me constantly, calling me whatever new profanity came to his mind, trying to hit back and trying to spit in my face, refusing to back off. I just kept hitting him harder and harder, until he cowered again, and all he could do was try to shield himself from my fists.
“How do you like it?” I snarled with each blow. “Huh? I said how do you like it, motherfucker?”
“F-fush you,” he managed.
I grabbed him by the throat. “Shut up, shut the fuck up!” He struggled weakly, but I locked my hands around him and squeezed his windpipe. “You mother-fucking bullies are all the same! I told you to leave me alone!”
Panic made him thrash under me; his nails dug the skin from the backs of my hands as he struggled to break my grip. I shook him by the neck, sick of him, his voice, his antagonistic attitude, and the fact that he had put his hands on me and thought he would win.
No more! I’m tired of fucks like you disrespecting me. I left you fuckers in the dust in junior high! You don’t get to do this anymore! No more!
His frantic hands flailed at my hands and forearms as he wheezed and gobbled, his spittle spraying me. His legs kicked frantically; I slammed his head hard against the concrete as I choked him but he just kept fighting. �
��I said NO MORE” I heard myself hissing again and again. “NO MORE…”
Drool ran down his chin onto my hands as I tightened my grip further. I could feel the frantic throb of his pulse in his neck and his gurgling gasps as he tried to breathe past my grip. The tiny scrap of logic I had left burned up like a leaf to a flame. I squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until he finally, finally stopped fighting.
I let go, and he collapsed limply, the breath going out of him in a long, rattling wheeze. I stared down at the dark shape, the noise in my head finally dying down. My hands ached from the effort.
It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay now. This is what he wanted. He wanted a fight, and he got one. Now he can spend the next week thinking about how stupid he was. I’ll just finish my run and go home.
I got up slowly, my head whirling. My whole body hurt from being tackled, and the beating I had taken. My hands were scratched and bloodied on both sides, my nose was bleeding, my knees stung and I felt wetness on my shins. How the hell did this happen? How am I going to explain this to Zoe?
Having caught my breath, I straightened, feeling bruises forming all over me. It was obvious I had been in a fight. I had blood, scrapes, and bruises everywhere. I could only imagine what my faced looked like.
Back to Zoe, what the hell am I going to tell her? If she finds out I was in a fight that will be it, it’ll scare her. And what will scare her even more is having to tell her how badly I lost my temper. But if I hide how badly I lost it that means not calling the cops. And if I don’t call the cops, she’ll want to know why. “Ugh. God damn it.”
I turned to the man who had attacked me. “Why the fuck couldn’t you have left me alone, you stupid kid? I really didn’t have any money.” I shook my aching head as I looked down.
No answer. My attacker lay there limp, and strangely silent. Shit. I must have knocked him out.
I stepped back to have my first good look at him, shifting positions so my shadow didn’t fall over him anymore. Hmm, no good. I leaned down to get a closer look as the distance streetlight faintly illuminated his face.
The shocked face of a teenage boy stared back at me. His face frozen in that expression. His eyes were open, and the corners of his mouth looked strangely wet.
Oddly, some bruises on his face were well-developed, as if he’d been picking fights with people all week. He was maybe nineteen, dark-skinned, with shabby clothes...and bloody foam gathered at the corners of his mouth.
He wasn’t breathing.
Reality came back in an icy rush, like being doused with cold water. Oh my God…
“Hey.” I reached down and shook him by the upper arms. “Hey. Kid? Stop freaking me out and wake the hell up.”
His eyes stared back at me blank and lifeless, head wobbling on his purple, limp neck.
His chest didn’t move. I crouched down closer and took his pulse, his artery—which had pounded and surged with life just minutes ago—was now still. “Wake up,” I begged as I shook him. “Come on kid, wake up!”
Nothing.
He’s dead, my own voice started yammering in the back of my head. I killed him. Oh God, I killed a kid.
An inarticulate sob escaped me. I paced in a tiny circle, holding the sides of my aching head. CPR? Hospital? No. Too late. His throat’s so swollen because I crushed it. He’s gone. Oh God.
In my brain, the headlines started writing themselves.
Psycho Killer On The Loose
Psycho Kills Lakeland Teen
White Psycho Killer Murders Black Lakeland Teen
White Racist Psycho Killer Murders Black Lakeland Teen in Apparent Hate Crime
I could feel all the blood leaving my face. Oh God, I will fucking fry for this.
Tears filled my eyes and for a second I blubbered like a terrified ten-year-old, humiliating myself. “Damn it, kid. Why couldn’t you have left me the hell alone?” I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. Why did you have to do this?
Just then something clicked inside my head. Part of me, a cold, brutally objective part, stepped back and said Stop. Calm down. This is real.
You might not want it to be real, but it is. No one is ever going to believe this was an accident. You strangled someone to death. Yeah, he instigated it, but you finished it. He's a kid. You killed a goddamn kid.
You have to do something about this, and fast. You have to hide what happened. I couldn’t believe the things I was saying to myself, but it calmed me enough that I could focus a little.
I hurriedly looked around. I couldn’t believe the noise of the fight had drawn no one to their porches. There weren’t even any extra porch lights on now. No one was on the street, not even a passing car. No one had seen what went down between us. Unbelievable. Trembling, I looked down at the body.
If anyone finds it, I’m sure they’ll start an investigation. I strangled him with my bare hands. They’ll be able to find fingerprints, my blood, my skin under his nails, and God knows what else. It’ll all lead back to me.
My life will be over. And all because some stupid kid with a bad attitude was running around looking for someone to fight. God damn it. Why is this happening to me?
Fortunately, there was a ditch on the other side of the road, at the edge of an overgrown lot where trees and bushes cast a dark shadow. Carter, there’s no time to hesitate. You’d better figure out something to do about this now, or you’re screwed.
I grabbed the kid by the ankles and dragged him across the street and into the ditch. Muscles aching, eyes getting increasingly blurry, I kicked dirt and dead leaves over the drag marks and rolled him over, leaving him face-down under a bush. I stepped back and looked; the concealing brush and shadows hid his dark-clad form perfectly. At least for now.
Once the sun rose, he would be quite visible, and in this heat, he would probably start smelling very quickly.
I was stunned at myself. I’m actually thinking about doing this.
I would have to figure out what to do next; I needed time to regroup. I turned and ran, following my usual route home, trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. Hopefully, the light was dim enough that nobody on my run back would notice the blood on my hands, or that I looked like I had just survived the worst event of my life.
CHAPTER 4
The Pick Up and the Drop
I managed to make it home without running into anyone else. The whole time, my train of thought kept jumping tracks.
Am I in shock? I think I’m in shock.
Can I convince everyone that it was an accident if I call an ambulance now?
What the hell am I going to tell Zoe? She’s definitely going to notice these cuts and bruises. It’s not like I can walk around in gloves and long sleeves in this weather.
I hitched in a deep breath as I made it onto my porch. Maybe I can finally give her the dog story. I’ll tell her he thought it was a game, but I was scared of being attacked. As I ran away I tripped and fell and that’s how I got all these cuts and bruises. It was my fault. It’ll make her laugh and all seem like it’s not a big deal.
I dropped my keys twice trying to unlock the door. My hands, now gloved in dried blood, were shaking.
Once I was inside, it took forever to wash them. The scratches weren’t that bad after all. The scrapes mostly needed to be cleaned and covered. I pulled a pair of nitrile gloves on from Zoe’s crafting supplies to protect the wounds and started pacing around the house as I figured out what to do.
Get rid of the body. You have to get rid of the body. That little voice spoke.
It didn’t even feel like my thought. It was cold, hard, and pragmatic. The advice was sound, but heartless. What if he has a family? They’ll never know where he disappeared to. They’ll never have closure, or a body to bury.
The problem was that I couldn’t afford to care. If the choice was between my life and freedom, and the emotional comfort of a bunch of strangers who had raised a reckless, bullying little punk of a son, I would pick me, every time.
Oka
y then. Think. Think. I looked out our kitchen window.
... The lake.
Lake Gibson was a huge, shallow lake that served the local boating enthusiasts. Twenty feet deep at its center, it was home to a huge stock of bass for local fishermen...and various creatures that ate the bass. There was a boat launch near the end of my street that always had a few old rowboats for public use.
That’ll work. Wrap and weight the body. Let the fish and warm water do the rest. By the time anything is found, it will just be his bones, and all evidence of me will be gone.
The whole idea made me sick, but it was the best I could come up with. Quickly, I started pulling together what I needed. I was mindful of the clock as I hunted around the garage for my old camo tarp and something to tie and weight it with. I had bought the camouflage tarp up North years ago and used it to cover all the stuff in the bed of my blue Ranger when I moved to Lakeland. It was from one of those cheap hardware stores where everything they sell is Made in China. The tarp, surprisingly, was quality. It held up well throughout the years, no tears, and not much wear. I thought my gear being tarped in camo as I drove down make it look mysterious and cool, like I had something top secret in the back of my truck. Weird how I’d now be using it to wrap up a body. Something truly top secret.
It was nine thirty now. Zoe was due back around one. I didn’t have a prayer of pulling this off unless I got everything done and came back home before her.
That meant I had three hours and change to dispose of a corpse without anyone noticing. Could I manage it? Should I even be trying?
This is crazy, but there was no way around it. I had no choice.
Time to get to work.
Minutes later, I bundled my old camouflage tarp and a tangle of bungee cords and rope into the back of my truck. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I moved mechanically with a sort of numb determination, weighting down the pile with a pair of cinder blocks and then getting in. I took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and started the engine.
