by Stuart Keane
“Yes.”
“I have a good friend called Molly. It’s a nice name.” Walters stepped over to the car and opened the passenger door. “A decent name. Names have importance these days, don’t you agree?”
Molly nodded. “I do.”
Walters held the passenger door, remained silent. Molly nodded again. “Such a gentleman.”
She passed him and ducked into the car. The heavenly scent of her perfume tingled his nostrils, and pitched a smile onto his face. Again. Angered by the strange emotions that were sapping his ability, his will, and blaming the woman for his amateur reactions, he slipped his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his yo-yo.
It’s time.
But his fingertips found no purchase. The yo-yo slipped deeper into his pocket, rolling out of reach. His fingers chased it, the device somehow lost in the miniscule space, but the toy wouldn’t stay put. Walters watched as Molly slipped into his vehicle, his slim window of opportunity closing.
Fuck, he thought. “What the hell are you doing?”
I’m Molly. There’s only room for one Molly.
“But I need you –”
Get rid of her…
“I’m fucking tryi – ”
I’m not touching her.
“Is everything okay?”
Walters looked at the woman, smiled nervously, and glanced up and down the street. “Yes, sorry. Some guy was staring at me … he’s gone now. My apologies.”
“Okay. I thought you were talking to yourself, then.” She turned and stared through the windscreen.
Get rid of her.
Walters walked around the car, and hushed his response. “That’s why I brought you,” he hissed. “It’s your job to kill them. You need to play ball.”
No.
“For fuck sake.”
Walters slipped into the car and closed the door. Molly smiled at him from the passenger seat. He smiled back, silence breeding between the two. He jangled the keys in his pocket. “You an Annie Lennox fan?” he asked.
“She’s alright. Early material, Eurythmics, stuff like –”
Walters jabbed the syringe into Molly’s neck, a quick movement, incisive and ruthless. Her gaze was fixed on the radio before them, a normal reaction to the music-posed question. She yelped and flinched backwards, but it was too late. The serum went to work, and coursed through her bloodstream. Her wide, beautiful eyes drooped, heavy, and she slumped into the seat. “What ar … are …”
Walters didn’t wait. He started the vehicle and drove away, the strobing neon of Cosmic flashing in his rear-view mirror.
We can’t keep her.
“We have to. For now.”
You never take your victims alive.
“Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for your petty jealousy back there, we wouldn’t be in this shitty situation. Clean and precise, remember? It usually involves no bodies and no blood, not to mention a clean escape. This is all kinds of fucked.”
You realise I’m a simple yo-yo, right? We can’t feel emotions.
“Don’t fuck with me, Molly. I know your tricks and games.”
Walters paced back and forth, his weary eyes not leaving the slumped woman before him. Molly, his unsuspecting captive. A rickety chair sat beneath her, holding her upright, while her limbs were strapped to the arms of the seat with cable ties. Her legs hung free. Dribble spooled onto her heaving chest, her lips slack from unconsciousness. A wheezy breathing emitted from her dainty nose. He rubbed his chin and hissed through his teeth. Noticed the dab of blood on her neck, a result of her wrenching away from the swift injection.
We … you can’t keep her. There’s only room for one Molly.
“Shut up. I need to think.”
Toss her out in the street.
“I can’t…”
You can. She doesn’t know your name.
“For fuck sake, Molly. She saw my car. Saw me.”
The longer you wait, the worse it becomes. People saw you with her. If someone reports her missing, you’re up shit creek without a paddle or a pair of pants.
“Shut up…”
I’m okay, no one can ever convict a yo-yo of murder.
“Shut the fuck. Up!”
Just saying.
“Well, don’t. Yo-yos are usually mute. Why don’t you prove it to me?”
Silence.
“Thank you.” Walters rubbed his temples, closed his eyes. Turned his back on his captive. Think. Think!
“You’ll have to kill her. Blade or Newton will suffice. There’s no point trying to keep it clean and precise now. You already took her, and people saw you. You took too many risks, allowed your emotions to cloud your astute judgment. Got sloppy.”
Talking to yourself? The first trait of a serial –
“Fuck off, Molly.”
“Huh?”
Walters turned around and flinched. Noticed vacant brown eyes staring at him. Arms tensed and legs wobbled as his captive groaned, the sound low and guttural.
Molly was awake.
He expected abject fear, unyielding terror. Possibly some shrieking and a pointless fight to escape.
Walters saw nothing of the sort.
He was kind of impressed.
He smiled at her. “Hello.”
Molly looked around, and narrowed her eyes as the glare of the naked bulb above assaulted her groggy senses. She tested the bonds that held her, just once. Walters watched her analyse her situation, both amused and curious. People normally made a huge drama out of it. He didn’t take people hostage anymore – those amateur days were behind him, it was all about the stealth now – but when he had, they’d screamed and cried, begged for mercy or escape, and attributed their survival to key elements in their lives like loved ones, dependants or children.
A chill ran up his spine.
Children. Urgh.
Molly said nothing. Her drug-addled eyes roamed across the floor, took in her strange surroundings. Walters folded his arms. Waited.
Finally: “Where am I?”
“Hi, Molly.”
Hello. Can I talk again?
“Not you. Real Molly, alive Molly.”
I am real.
Walters swore he heard the yo-yo sniff, as if upset at his comments. He rubbed his head. “It never ends.”
The woman repeated her question. “Where am I?”
“You’re in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. There is no escape, nowhere to run. You’re tied to that chair, and I have full control. Understand?”
“Okay.”
Walters licked his lips and tasted perspiration. Her calm demeanour worried him. He shook his head, clearly out of his comfort zone. He needed to set the tone, confirm who was in charge. “I lied. It’s not a warehouse. We’re at the docks.”
Molly nodded.
Walters added, “An abandoned circus ground…”
Get rid of her. You’re just digging a deeper hole.
He rubbed his face and ignored the chirps from his pocket. “Wherever we are, and you’ll never know because this will be the last room you see, I’m sorry it came to this, Molly. I really am.”
“Well … you did say adventure. The fact you had the balls to drug me, just to get me to come along, it speaks of your commitment to the part. It’s a bit ‘serial killer chic’ and so Nineties Silence of the Lambs, but it’s commendable. Unique. Bravo.”
Walters chuckled, dumbfounded. Had he heard correctly?
No way…
“I’m sorry?” Walters spluttered, clapping his pocket with an outstretched hand.
Ow!
“You think this is…”
Molly smiled. “This is the adventure you were speaking of, right? Capturing me so I can escape, or beg for help. Original. Kudos on the location too. Damp, derelict, it really sells the illusion. Some men are so boring with their cinema dates and awkward dinners and an average walk along the beach. No one makes an effort anymore. Woman want real balls, something different, originality.
I was impressed with your approach, it showed total confidence. You scared me for a moment, with the syringe and whatnot, but it all makes sense now.” She glanced around once more and grinned. “I should have expected something like this.”
Walters nodded. Said nothing.
“So, what’s next? Do I need to beg for my life? Make an attempt to escape?” Molly rolled her tongue along her bottom lips and pursed them, blowing a kiss. “Do I need to do something … more?”
I like her.
“Just now you wanted to kill…” Walters began, but caught Molly’s confused glance. He chuckled, blushing as he did so. He clenched the disobedient yo-yo in his pocket, as if his grip would silence the barbed musings.
Awwww, you’re shy.
Molly relaxed her arms and smiled. “Talking to yourself? I heard that’s not good for the inner serial killer. Dedication to the part. You’ve done your research, I see.”
Told you so.
“For fuck sake…”
“So … when do you kill me? I assume when you do, we can get out of here and grab a drink? I’m parched.”
Walters shrugged off his coat and laid it on the table beside him. He held his hands before him, seeking answers. “Let me get this right; you’re fine with the fact that I drugged you and brought you back here. You’re content that I’m holding you captive. You’re fine with this whole fucked-up scenario.”
Molly nodded. “I am. It’s very inventive.”
“And what if…”
From his coat pocket, he heard a hissing whisper. Don’t do it. Some things are best left unsaid.
Walters laughed. His fingers roamed along the bladed weapons that lay on the table beside him. “What if I told you I was going to kill you, before you got into my car?”
“Back story. I like it.”
Walters interlaced his fingers around the back of his slick neck and tugged down, massaging the tense flesh between his shoulders. His elbows touched beneath his chin as he stared at the woman before him. The beautiful eyes, the lustrous hair, the lithe forearms and legs. That smile.
A woman? This is a total abomination.
What sort of woman would mistake her capture for dating foreplay?
Her, Molly interjected. I told you to kill her.
Molly narrowed her eyes. “You’re just standing there. Did I do something wrong? Am I not acting the part enough?”
On that, Molly started screaming and thrashing. Walters backed away and covered his ears, caught off guard. Her legs and arms clattered against the chair that held her, the painful wooden smacks echoing around the vast room. After a long moment, she stopped and resumed her normal pose, the banshee within no longer present. She smiled once more. “See. I can playact. You only have to ask.”
“This isn’t a play … this isn’t a joke, Molly.”
“C’mon. You expect me to fall for that?”
“I’m sorry. It’s true.”
Molly eyed her captor with hesitance, her mind working on the sight before her. She looked around, studied the location, reassessed everything. Did some calculations. Finally, her weary gaze returned to his, and stared into his emotionless soul.
“Really?”
Walters nodded.
“You’re really planning to kill me?”
Again, Walters nodded.
“I can’t believe this…”
“Start believing. I prey on women, each and every day.” He swallowed, forgetting the emotions of the past few hours, the strange feelings he had for this total stranger. “You’re no different than all the rest,” he lied. “Just another victim who should have known better. If it’s any consolation, you made it further than the rest. I don’t usually take people captive. I kill them by the car and leave.”
“So, why didn’t you?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“I’d rather not say,” he said, shooting a glance at his curled-up jacket. Molly noticed the look, and sighed when he took a step towards her. “And I am really sorry. I’ve had more conversation with you than most people in my fractured life. It’s just not meant to be.”
“That’s a shame,” Molly replied. “For a moment, you really were the most interesting person in my life.”
Walters smiled. “Thank you. I think.”
“I just wish you’d actually been psychic.”
“How so?”
“It would have helped you live a lot longer.”
Molly flexed and stood up, the chair falling apart beneath her. The arms tore away from its fragile frame, and remained strapped to her muscular forearms. The seat toppled to the floor, the legs capsizing beneath it. Broken wood clonked on the floor as Molly reached Walters in a few nimble steps. She lashed out with one of the tied chair arms, clocking Walters across the forehead and hurling the unsuspecting man to the ground. With her free feet, she rained savage kicks down on him, pummelling him into the cold concrete. Spluttered yelps escaped his fallen form.
She stepped over him, retrieved a knife from the table, and cut at the cable ties. The splintered chair arms dropped to the floor as she rotated her own, pushing the blood back into them. Molly was free. She kicked Walters once more. “Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt?”
Walters said nothing. His confusion was resolute, plastered all over his wincing face.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot something. Surprise!” Molly shouted, her hands fanned beside her head like a face-paint-deprived clown. She giggled, lowered her hands and knelt down. Walters coughed, spitting blood onto his chest. Her fingers dabbed at the crimson splatter, before rubbing some on her cheek.
“I’ve been waiting months for this moment. Months. Hours and weeks. I never thought it would happen, but when it did, damn was it too easy.”
“Who … who are … are you?”
“I’m Molly.”
No, I’m Molly.
Walters chuckled, realising he should have listened to his pink, sparkle-covered friend.
“You find that funny?”
“Hilarious. You don’t … you don’t get it. Get why…”
“Not much to get about a serial killer. We’re loners, lost souls, a product of resentment and neglect. Well, if the garbage on Wikipedia is to be believed. It goes much deeper than that, enmeshes much more than some daddy issues or a beating from childhood that stuck in the broken memory. Trust me, I should know. From personal experience and what not.”
“Who are…”
“I’m Molly.”
Walters said nothing.
“And you’re Zachary Walters, am I right?”
Walters felt his eyes widen, his heart skip a beat. He slid back a fraction, his elbow scraping the rough surface beneath him. Shocked and confused, he adjusted his glasses and stared into those delicate brown eyes. The naïve innocence and brazen mischief were now null and void, replaced by a darker surge of complicated anger and vindictiveness. They blazed at him, taunted him. Terrified him. She smiled again, but this time the gesture was anything but beautiful.
The woman is two yo-yos short of a complete set.
Again, Walters chuckled, despite his increasingly perilous position.
“I am right. I’ve been watching you for some time. Coming onto my patch, taking my punters. I love that word … it’s so fucking British. Anyway, you’ve been killing the people on my turf and that can’t go on. Won’t go on, now I have you here.”
“I don’t understand…”
“That’s none of my concern. The fact of the matter is, you’ve crossed a line, the unspoken line between people of a similar breed. You don’t encroach on my territory, and I don’t on yours. Think of it in feline terms. We all have our own yard. Well, you don’t have your own, as obvious by your actions in the past, so that last part is neither here nor there. One thing I do know? It has … it will stop.”
A Molly after my own heart.
“Shut up, Molly,” Walters screamed, his posture collapsed.
I told you to kill her. You didn’t listen. Blah blah.
&
nbsp; “When I get over there … this is your fault!”
Molly straightened up and looked behind her, following Walters’ vehement gaze. She walked over to his coat, hooked a finger into the collar, and lifted it up. Walters flinched.
Molly smiled; it was the reaction she wanted.
“I always heard the rumours, but I always thought they couldn’t be true.” She rifled through the coat pockets and dropped the contents on the side. Some gum, a used cinema ticket. A battered Nokia 3310.
A pink, sparkly yo-yo.
Molly dropped the coat, collected the toy and held it up. She spun it between her fingers and whistled. “Nice piece of work.”
Walters struggled to his feet, rosy spittle hissing from his lips. “Put it down.”
Yeah, put me down. Your fingers are cold.
“Why?” Molly enquired. “What’s so special about this … children’s toy?”
“It’s … it was a gift.”
I was, you know. A gift from the devil!
“Bullshit. People like us, we don’t receive gifts, unless it’s free therapy or a new set of knives. This isn’t a gift.” Molly fingered the slit on its side and hooked her dainty finger into the generous slip knot. She let the yo-yo go and watched as it rolled to the ground. The pink casing clonked on the concrete and trundled to a stop, toppling onto its side. Molly reached down and hooked the silver string that lolled before her.
“Well. The rumours are true. I have to say, I’m very impressed.”
Put it back. Leave me be.
Molly lifted the string of the toy and chuckled. A fine thread of piano wire spooled across her palms, the silver colour glinting in the steady gaze of the naked bulb above. She wrapped a length around her fingertip and pulled it taut, before relaxing. A thin white line slowly disappeared on her flesh as the blood returned to its home. A small, glancing pain shot up her arm, and she smiled. “Lethal in the wrong hands, huh?”
“What do … what do you want?” Walters backed off, wary of Molly’s intentions.
Yeah, what do you want?
“This isn’t about wanting anything … you’ve crossed a line and you need to pay for your actions. You really should have left me on the roadside because, now, someone will find you there in my place.”
Walters climbed to his feet. “You’re lying. I’ve never heard of you. I would know if another serial killer was stalking my town.”
