Paul was impressed that the big man could find words, although words had never been a problem for him.
Clive’s eyes darted around the room as he spoke, taking in one atrocity after another. He gagged when his vision fell on the mangled head, upturned on the carpet.
“What the fuck is this?! What have you done!?” You’re out of your fucking mind!”
That stung. As far as Paul was concerned, he was very much in his mind. He was rapidly beginning to transcend, reach his perfect mental place – a safe house in his mind where the world could never touch him.
“I’m not insane,” he replied, calmly.
Clive answered by crumbling over onto his knees and violently throwing up again. Another torrent of half-digested food splashed the floor, peppering the man’s hands as he struggled to climb back to his feet.
He must have eaten a big lunch, Paul mused.
Then again, he was a very big man.
Big man, big appetite.
As Clive raised himself on shaking legs, Paul too got up from the bed. Bits and pieces of Jane trailed along with him, stuck to his skin like Band-Aids made of mouldering flesh. He hopped off the bed with all the verve of a kid carousing in a schoolyard, and walked over to Clive.
His boss, his superior, backed away, panicked, never taking his eyes off Paul as he moved forward; smiling his most winning smile.
Funny thing, he never smiled at work, but here…here at home…
Smiling came easy.
He tried to ignore the nagging sense of empowerment he felt at his professional superior as the normally intimidating man seemed to shrink further into himself with each step Paul took forward.
It was vulgar to feel such power.
Over a friend, at least.
And wasn’t that what they were…friends?
Paul figured they were.
After all, no one else had come calling on him to see how he was. He was as invisible as the air in this world. No one cared for his grief. His loss.
No one except Clive.
He was no fool, though. He realised that the visit he’d received from Clive could well be a professional courtesy. Simply a good manager performing his job as he saw fit, but Paul had a feeling the big man liked him.
His smile grew wider.
He was only two steps from Clive, when the terrified man turned on his heels and pounced like an alley cat for the bedroom door.
It was right behind him.
Shouldn’t have been hard to make it there.
Clive hadn’t counted on his foot sinking into Jane’s head, though.
As the heel of his shoe sank into the severed head, cracking the already ruptured skull inwards, Clive tripped and went down like a drunk on Saint Patrick’s day.
Paul gasped, worried for his friend.
He nearly screamed when the big man’s trajectory ensured that his head collided with the hard wooded frame of the doorway.
The crack was audible.
There was a noncommittal grunt from Clive as he slid down the wall, leaving a thin trail of blood on the white paint of the doorway. He crumpled in a heap on the floor; his face half-buried in his own vomit.
“There was no need for that,” Paul said to himself. “No need at all.”
Paul liked the feel of the knife in his hand. It felt like an extension of himself. A part of his being as yet unassimilated to his body.
He thought of Star Trek and The Borg, and wondered if he’d ever seen one in the show with a knife for an arm.
That would be cool!
Whatever, he thought. It felt good holding it, either way.
Not to mention, it made him feel a whole lot safer.
His friend, Clive, had seemed a little shaken by the whole affair so far, even going so far as attempting to flee.
His rudeness had certainly come back to bite him, though, in the form of a hardwood doorframe.
It wasn’t nice to be rude.
With his free hand, Paul gave Clive a gentle slap.
Nothing happened.
He wasn’t too worried. Clive had taken quite a hit, but it certainly wasn’t life threatening. In the five or so minutes since he’d hit the floor for his impromptu sleep, the blood had almost stopped flowing from the small cut above his eye. He even looked peaceful, which was a huge improvement on his demeanour when he’d entered the room and found Paul doing…
What?
What had really happened?
Paul felt heat flush across his face.
He’d let himself down a little; let anger get the better of him and, like a brute and a coward, he’d taken his frustration out on poor Jane.
He sighed.
It was embarrassing, but it had to be done.
He knew their relationship was going nowhere, better to ‘cut it off’ so to speak, than to drag it out and let it fester.
There’d been enough festering of late, he mused.
Pulling himself from his thoughts and back into the matter at hand, he gave Clive another slap; a little harder this time.
Clive groaned. Paul smiled.
SLAP!
He really let him have it.
“Fuck!” Clive roared. He sounded every bit as ferocious right then as he did in the office.
That soon changed when he realised where he was.
“Wakey, wakey, Clive,” Paul said, grinning, as Clive’s eyes cleared and the clouds that had resided there gave way to clear blue horror.
Then first thing Clive’s eyes met was the knife.
All five inches of its blade, shining before his eyes like crystal.
He whimpered a little, but stayed still.
That was good. That was very good.
It was a relief to see that all the fight had gone out of him after his collision with the doorframe.
Very good.
Paul had no idea how he’d manage the situation if his enormous friend went on the attack, though he had a good idea.
“It’s okay, Clive. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Clive spoke quietly, trembling. “Then what in the fuck is that for?”
Paul brought the knife back a little. He looked at it, then smiled reassuringly at Clive.
“This? This is nothing. Don’t you worry about a thing. It’s just a little insurance in case you’d woken up…rowdy. You got quite a scare back there, pal.”
A frown fought for dominance with the fear on Clive’s features. He said nothing.
Paul went on. “I know how things must look. No one should beat down on their girlfriend like I did, and I’m gutted that you saw it. That wasn’t something I’d ever want my friend to see. Not Ever.
“I had no choice, though, Clive. Really, I didn’t. She was fixing to break up with me. I knew it. I could sense it my gut. I always trust my gut, Clive. It never lies. Jane was becoming far too distant, and I know it’s petty and small of me, but I just couldn’t stand the idea of her leaving me for another man. It would kill me. It really would. I couldn’t go on without her.
“You’re married. You know how hard it is to keep love alive. It’s a fragile thing, Clive. Very fragile. It’s almost as though love wants to fail. Wants to die. It’s like it’s too perfect for this world, do you know what I mean?”
“She’s a FUCKING CORPSE!” Clive screamed in a pitch far too high for a man.
Looked like he’d found his voice again, at least in some form.
“Semantics, Clive. We’re all corpses. You’re a corpse. I’m a corpse. The whole world is one big graveyard, full of the sleeping and the half-asleep. We may not have nodded off yet, but we will…we will. And when we do, will we be any less of a person? I don’t think so. I think that’s pretty small minded to think that way, Clive.”
“You’re out of your fucking nut,” Clive moaned. He made a move to get up, but Paul flashed the blade before his eyes.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Clive.”
Clive’s muscles tensed. He stayed put. Backed down.
&n
bsp; “Look, please don’t make me threaten you like this. We’re friends, you and I…pals…best buds. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then let me get the fuck out of here.”
“You know I can’t do that. Not yet. I will, but not yet. I need you to understand.”
Paul could see the initial shock was beginning to pass. Clive was regaining his senses, and with them, his ire. He’d have to be careful. He hoped the knife would be enough of a deterrent for his friend to play nice.
“It’s her, isn’t it? I should’ve fucking known.”
Confused, Paul asked, “Who’s her, what are you talking about?”
“This…girl…” Clive’s eyes scanned what was left of the mutilated corpse on the bed. “It’s her.”
“Who?”
“The girl on the news. The one that was murdered a few weeks ago.”
Paul smiled sheepishly, “You got me. Yeah…yeah, it was her. I thought you may have put it together back when you visited. This is my Jane…” He reached with his free hand and patted the shapeless hill of flesh and innards on the bed, as he would a dog. Each pat sounded wetter than the last.
“You killed her.” Clive stated. “She was only a girl.”
“I did, yes, but I had to. She was going to leave me.”
“The news said she never had any boyfriend. She was single.”
“That’s just not true. You know how the news is…lies, lies and more lies.”
“No…they said she’d been single for a year. They questioned her ex. He was cleared.”
“I don’t watch the news much…”
“Why?!”
“What?”
“Why did you do it?!”
Paul’s heart felt heavy. He felt a little sick thinking back on his and Jane’s last interaction.
“I had to. She was going to leave me.”
It had been a beautiful winter’s evening. So rare in Scotland. The sun had barely set over Bothwell’s skies, and the star’s light had begun to find its way down to his humble corner of the world. The moon shone full and proud in the sky, blue and brilliant, an eye peering down from the heavens onto all below.
Paul had been doing some peering himself.
He didn’t make these after dark excursions often, but when he did, he tried to make them count. Life was always so busy, so full of worries and woes, and on nights like that night, when the better side of his nature fled him and his urges bubbled to the cold, willing surface, he welcomed them.
It was good to move beyond the world of bills and working and family and stress; to embrace something exciting, free of the mundane.
He’d picked her window at random.
The street, he’d frequented a number of times on his night-time adventures. It had always been a lucky place for him. A place where he had yet to leave unsatisfied.
As he crouched below the window pane, peering into her bedroom, he knew tonight would be every bit as exhilarating as the nights that had come before.
When she’d walked into the warm light of her bedroom, wearing only a towel around her head to dry her long, lustrous hair, he’d known this night would be even better.
The girl who moved to the bed, facing the window, and sat there on naked buttocks that looked as round and full as the moon in the sky, was a dream come true.
Her heavy breasts swayed as she slowly unwound the towel from her hair and began drying her legs. He watched them sway, near hypnotised, and yearned to suckle on her dark brown nipples like a new-born. The nipples jutted up from the smoothness of her bosoms, hard and eager to be ravaged.
Below her breasts, her stomach was flat. Not a lot of muscle there, and just the tiniest hint of a belly. It was sensual in a way Paul could barely handle. His eyes drifted down further, past the area where her private hair should be, and to the tiniest hint of the small slit between her legs.
He lowered himself a little. Got onto his knees so that the bottom of the window was within his eye line.
A dog barked a yard or two to his left. It was met and matched by the bark of an owner commanding it to ‘shut the fuck up!’
Paul ignored them both. He had no fear of being apprehended. It had been one of the reasons he frequented this suburb so often. Almost all the homes here were peppered with thick flora…bushes, pines, chestnut trees that towered over the roofs of the well-to-do homes.
This was no slum. This was damn near high society. The home-owners were bordering on rich, and surrounded themselves with a natural beauty that Paul surmised must make them feel safe.
Nothing bad could ever happen here.
In their sense of security, they were nearly complicit in his peeping.
It was like they were begging for it.
The girl sat naked before him on the bed was testament to that. She’d forgone the act of closing her curtains before entering the shower, knowing full well that she’d re-enter as naked as the day she was born. The wall of trees surrounding her property no doubt lent her enough confidence in her privacy that she felt no need to protect herself further.
Some people were so naïve.
On his knees, Paul pulled his pulsing cock from his jeans. Pre-cum already lubricated the shaft as he began to stroke, his eyes fixed on the delicious cleft between the girl’s legs.
The dog and the owner were quiet now, and he was thankful. There was no sound to detract from his experience, and as the unwary girl spread her legs wide and began drying the insides of her moon-white thighs, he openly groaned.
Her pussy was every bit as beautiful as her body, her face.
The lips glistened a little. Paul wondered if the mere act of showering had excited her, or if she’d been pleasuring herself.
His fevered mind swam with images of her delicate fingers, slowly delving into the warm, wet folds of her sex. Probing her moist, slick walls, gently rubbing her clit…
He nearly screamed when he came.
As Paul’s semen erupted from his cock in the most staggering orgasm of his life, he fought back a scream of pleasure.
And as the thick white fluid dripped from the leaves of bushes like passionate tears, one thought went through Paul’s head.
I’m in love.
It was then that the beautiful, sensual, perfect girl on the other side of the window frame had let out a scream of her own.
The rest was something of a blur.
He remembered the sense of panic. The need to flee. But he also had felt the need to express his love for her. That had been more important.
The last thing Paul remembered with any real clarity was running for the front door with his cum-soaked cock still swinging in the night breeze.
And finding it open.
“All I remember after that, are a few flashes here and there…a knife just like this one…a screwdriver…a hammer.
“I remember blood…lots and lots of blood. And sawing, too. It’s all a bit of a mystery what happened that night Clive. I won’t lie. But whatever happened, it was the right thing. She was going to leave me, high and dry. I went in there to express my love, and let her know there was nothing to be afraid of, and…”
Paul felt the familiar sting of welling tears kiss his eyelids.
“And the rest is darkness.”
He looked down at Clive. His boss had been silent through the entire story. Paul was amazed he’d opened up in such a manner, even going so far as to tell his friend about his nocturnal travels into the suburbs. He saw nothing wrong with the act of masturbation, but he knew that some did.
Prudes, mostly.
“Anyway, that’s why I…brought her home.”
“Jesus,” Clive muttered, uncomprehending of Paul’s motives, apparently.
“She belonged here, Clive. With me. We were perfect together. We only had that one night, but it lasted a lifetime. I’d never came so hard in my life. Never. I just wanted to bring her home and make her happy, but now…well, you can see how that relationship ended. Women, huh?”
Paul smi
led reassuringly at his friend and colleague.
“You need help, Paul. Serious help.” Clive was shaking badly. “Just let me go, and we’ll get you fixed up.”
Paul whooped. “You’re right! I do need help! That’s why you’re here, Clive. That’s what friends are for.”
Clive’s tone was soft. “Yes…yes, that’s why I’m here. To help you out. I’m your friend, Paul. I am your friend.”
It was true! He said it with his own mouth!
They were friends!
That was all he’d needed to hear!
“Now, just let me up and we’ll…” Clive’s words were cut off as Paul plunged the knife into his neck. A small gasp of air escaped from Clive’s throat. His eyes bugged out of his head.
Delighted, Paul let go of the knives handle, and clapped his hands.
“You’ve no idea how happy you just made me, Clive!”
His friend’s eyes were fixed on his. He didn’t speak, though he seemed to try. All he managed to do was bleed. It flowed over his lips and down his chin in bursts every time Clive gurgled.
“I get it now! I get it! Who the hell needs love when you can have friendship!?”
Clive’s eyes brimmed with terror.
Paul was too lost in his revelation to care.
“All you need is friendship…” he repeated, more to himself than to Clive. “And this time, I won’t make any mistakes. I didn’t take care of Jane the way I should have. I can admit that, but I’ll take care of you. I promise I will.”
Clive continued to choke on his own blood, staring wildly up as Paul lowered himself closer. His hand fell on the knife’s handle. Clive bucked and thrashed beneath him, as he slowly turned the blade a little inside his friend’s neck so that the edge sat horizontal.
“It’ll be much easier just having a friend around. Much, much easier. Two great minds, living like kings. We’ll have a blast!
“Well, let’s get started…” he said, cheerily. “And don’t worry, I won’t give up on you like I did on Jane. Women come and go, but friends are for life, right? And besides, I’ve thought of a way to make our friendship last…”
Paul gripped the blade tight, happy now that the serrated edge was pointing inwards. Clive tried to say something, but failed.
Love Lies Dead Page 5
