A Fatal Obsession

by James Hayman

  Holding her in place, he pleaded, “Please Zoe, just be still.” But it was to no avail. The moment he eased off she just began thrashing and making the dolphin/whale noises again.

  If she was going to keep going like that, and it looked like she was, he’d have to put her out with the drugs he’d put in the backpack. Ketamine and fentanyl. He hated doing that because it was going to be guesswork how much was the right amount and how much would be too much. If he gave her too much it could easily kill her, and that would mean the past few weeks had been nothing but a gigantic waste of time and he’d have to be all by himself again. With only Tucker for company. And like Desdemona, she’d be dead.

  Slain by the hand of the man who loved her.

  “Zoe,” he said sharply. “If you don’t calm down I’m going to have to put you out.”

  The warning didn’t help. Her writhing continued. Tyler sighed. “All right. If I have to, I have to.”

  He reached into his backpack and removed a plastic bag. Inside were a couple of clean hypodermic needles and two small bottles. One contained ketamine, a drug sometimes used as an animal tranquilizer. Sometimes as a surgical anesthetic. The other, fentanyl, was an opioid pain reliever sometimes used recreationally, sometimes also used for surgical procedures. In combination the drugs would knock Zoe out for a good three or more hours and leave her with little or no memory of what had happened. Zoe stopped thrashing when she saw the needle. Just lay still and stared in horror at the thing.

  “How much do you weigh?” he asked. “I have to get the amount right.” There was no way she could respond.

  “A hundred and ten?” Tyler asked. “Nod if that’s about right.” She shook her head frantically. No.

  “More? I need you to be honest, Zoe, because if I give you too much of this stuff it might kill you and I don’t want to do that. We don’t want to do that, now do we?”

  Zoe again shook her head from side to side. No, we didn’t want to do that.

  “Okay. So you weigh more than a hundred and ten?” Zoe nodded.

  “Five pounds more?” She shook her head. No. “Ten pounds more?” She nodded.

  “So you weigh around a hundred and twenty?” Again, she nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m not a doctor.” He paused, then added, “And I don’t play one on TV.” Tyler chuckled at his own wit. Told himself he was really a very witty guy even if his old man hadn’t thought so. She’d realize that herself if she’d just let herself relax and try to get to know him. “But I’ll do my best to get it right. Give you just enough to put you to sleep. Okay?”

  She didn’t react. Just stared up at him.

  He undid her belt buckle and pulled down her jeans and underpants just far enough to allow him to inject the drugs into her buttock. Rubbed her skin with an alcohol swab. Her eyes followed his hand as he inserted the needle into one of the bottles and withdrew what he was pretty sure was the right amount. She winced as he stabbed her with the needle and squeezed. He repeated the procedure with a new needle and the second drug. She stared at him for about twenty seconds before her eyelids fluttered once, then twice, and then she was still. He pinched her cheek hard to make sure she wasn’t just pretending to be out. There was no reaction. He gently stabbed her finger with the tip of the needle. Still no reaction. He pulled up her underpants and jeans and refastened her belt.

  He took a deep breath, hoping to calm his excitement about the adventures that lay ahead before checking out the apartment and packing some of the clothes and other stuff he figured she’d need for their excellent adventure at Camp Bradshaw. Leaning back on his knees, Tyler gazed at her. She truly was a beauty. He’d never wanted anyone so much. Unable to wait, he unbuttoned her shirt, removed her bra and tossed it away, and then allowed himself the sweet pleasure of taking off his gloves and stroking her lovely breasts. Smallish but still perfect. Desdemona’s skin was as soft and smooth as he’d imagined in his fantasies. He felt himself growing hard. He had a strong urge to strip her down and take her now but he really wanted her to be awake the first time they made love. Besides, if he didn’t stay focused on what he was doing, things could get really fucked up really fast. He removed his hand, rebuttoned her shirt and pulled the jacket back up around her shoulders. Intimacy between them would have to wait until she’d been safely delivered to her new home. By his best estimates she shouldn’t wake up for at least three hours. They might still be driving when she woke but that should be manageable.

  Okay, Tyler told himself, time to get busy. He got up and looked around. He found himself standing in a small combination living room and kitchen. While the place was tiny, it had been efficiently designed and expensively outfitted. The kitchen boasted marble countertops and high-end stainless-steel appliances including the smallest Viking gas top stove he’d ever seen. He put on a fresh pair of latex gloves and took Curly-Top’s wineglass, the one he’d pilfered from the Toad. He opened the fridge. Removed a half-empty bottle of Sancerre. Poured a tiny bit into the glass and left it on the kitchen counter. They’d go over the place for DNA, and whose would they find but Curly-Top’s?

  That done, he moved back into the small living area. It looked to be only half furnished. Her ex-boyfriend had probably taken the other half of the stuff. Still, what was left looked like top-of-the-line modern furniture. Not crap from Ikea or even the ubiquitous designs from Crate and Barrel. The coffee table he’d pushed off the rug looked handmade, cut in an irregular shape from what looked to Tyler like some kind of exotic Asian wood. He wasn’t sure what kind. He’d have to ask her about that later when she woke up.

  Assuming, of course, that she’d know. The high-end white leather love seat was nearly identical to one he’d thought about buying for himself but didn’t want to spend the money on. More than twelve thousand dollars even on sale. This one looked like it might be even pricier.

  He supposed Daddy, the hot-shit litigator, had more than enough money to pay for all this stuff. But from his weeks’-long study of Zoe, he didn’t think it likely she’d want to take that kind of handout from her old man. Could the residuals from Zoe’s commercials possibly be big and regular enough to allow her to afford stuff like this? No. Much more likely her ex-lover bought it for their apartment and left half of it behind when she kicked him out. He wondered if the guy was planning on coming back and reclaiming the rest of what he might consider rightfully his. Or maybe just pleading to get back in her good graces.

  Zoe’s bedroom was as nicely furnished as the living area. He opened the closet door. Her clothes hung from hangers. Most of it casual. Some dressier, more formal. Including one slinky black dress that Tyler would enjoy seeing her wear. Perhaps for a quiet dinner for two, which Tyler could prepare and serve. He was an excellent cook. Everyone he’d ever cooked a meal for had assured him of that. And no one had ever died. At least not from the food. At the back of the closet he spotted a black cloth duffel bag with pink flowers all over it. He pulled it out. Zipped it open. He pulled down a few shirts, two sweaters and two pairs of jeans and stuffed them all in the bag. Considered a pair of leggings and stuffed them in as well. Debated for a few seconds before adding the sexy black dress. He put the open duffel on the end of the bed. Pulled out the bureau drawers and added handfuls of underwear. Bras. Underpants. Thongs. Some sexy. Some not. She’d need it all for her visit. If and when she was gone he could throw it all out. He went to the bathroom and added a few obvious toiletry items. Toothbrush. Razor. Hair dryer. Lipstick. Eyeliner. Tampons. Women needed so much crap he had no idea what he was missing. When he couldn’t stuff anything more into the duffel, he decided she’d just have to make do with what was there and what he already had at the house. He zipped it up.

  He went back to the living room. Studied the Navajo rug. It looked to be exactly the right size and thin enough to roll up fairly easily with Zoe inside. The fabric was thicker and less flexible than a blanket so it would hold her more firmly if she happened to wake up on the way. He pushed the coffee table t
otally out of the way. Pulled out the rug. Carried it into the bedroom and laid it flat on the bed. Then he picked up Zoe and placed her on top. Not a perfect fit but close enough. Neither her feet nor the top of her head would stick out of either end. He rolled her up inside the rug and secured her in her Navajo cocoon by duct-taping both ends and around the middle, making sure to leave enough of an opening for air to get in. There she was. All wrapped up and ready for special delivery. Happy birthday to you, Tyler boy. Just Zoe and me and Tucker makes three. Together in my blue heaven. No way for Tyler to know for how long. But at least until he didn’t want her anymore. Of course with Zoe that just might be never. She was by far the best present he’d ever given himself. Maybe the best present anyone had ever been given. On the other hand, just about every good thing he’d ever had in his life had ultimately gone bad. But Zoe? He didn’t want to think about that. Not now. He lifted the rolled-up rug, carried it back into the living room and put it down on the floor.

  That done, he took a couple of deep breaths. Decided it wouldn’t hurt to allow himself a moment of celebration. He went to the kitchen to see if she had any bourbon. She didn’t. Which pissed him off a little. Hadn’t she ever considered she might someday have a guest who happened to like bourbon? What the hell did the damned doctor drink? As far as alcohol went, all he could find was the half-empty bottle of white Sancerre and a six-pack of cold Brooklyn Lagers in the fridge. Actually a five-pack because one bottle was missing. He pulled one out, found an opener and popped the top. He went back and sat on the white leather couch and looked down admiringly at his new rug. He’d put it in her new bedroom. Maybe having her own rug there would help her feel more at home. Before taking a sip of the beer, he raised the bottle in a toast to the success of Zoe and Tyler’s excellent adventure.

  Everything was going sort of, kind of, if not quite exactly, according to plan.

  Chapter 7

  Half an hour and two more beers later, Tyler stuffed Zoe’s keys into the pocket of his field jacket. Grabbed the duffel, walked to the door and peered out the peephole. The landing appeared empty, but from the peephole he couldn’t see the whole landing. Knowing from experience you could never be too careful, he wrapped his large right hand around his knife and opened the door. First just an inch. Then a little bit more. Okay. No one in the hall. He walked out and eased Zoe’s door closed behind him. He locked the door, pocketed the keys and pressed the button for the elevator.

  He waited. He didn’t know why the people who’d renovated the place couldn’t have put in a faster elevator. The damned thing must be coming up from the sub-basement. Slightly more than ten seconds passed before he heard it approaching. Finally it stopped and the door slid open.

  Tyler started to enter, then stopped short. Goddammit. Some round-faced Asian bitch was standing there looking back at him. Staring. Then frowning. Then reaching for the button to close the door.

  Shit, thought Tyler, that’s all he needed now. Just when everything was going so well some stupid neighbor has to get in the way. The elevator door started sliding shut. Tyler’s hand slipped in just in time for the door to reopen. He held it open for her and smiled his friendliest smile.

  “You must be the next-door neighbor,” he said pleasantly. “I’m with Zoe.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder back toward Zoe’s door. “Her new boyfriend.”

  The woman visibly relaxed. “Oh. Hi,” she said, stepping out of the elevator. “I didn’t know she was dating again. I’m glad she is. I’m Annie Nakamura. Apartment 5R.”

  She held out her hand. Tyler shook it. “Hi, Annie. Tyler Bradshaw.” Annie headed for her apartment. Tyler waited till she got to the door. Made his move just as she inserted the key. Sensing him approach, she turned. Her eyes widened. He pushed her against the wall. She opened her mouth to scream. But before she could get out a sound he punched her hard in the gut. She made an oof sound and doubled over. He kicked her legs out from under her and she fell to the floor, landing hard on her ass. But not hard enough to deactivate her. Still conscious, she reached for her bag. What did she have in there? Pepper spray? A stun gun? A firearm? Didn’t make much difference. At least not after he kicked the side of her head. Hard. Real hard. Like an NFL field goal kicker going for a fifty-yarder. Then, just because it felt so damned good, he kicked her again. This time his boot hit her temple and she lay still. The second kick turned out to be a major mistake because blood started leaking from Annie’s ear and onto the floor. Blood that would have to be cleaned up. Another fucking delay.

  “Stupid bitch,” he snarled in sudden rage through gritted teeth. “You just hadda come home at exactly the wrong fucking time, didn’t you? No. You couldn’t just stay the fuck away another ten minutes so none of this would have happened.” He knelt down and felt her pulse. Still beating faintly. That was a surprise. He would have thought the kicks would have killed her. He put his hands around her neck and squeezed. Checked for a pulse. Finding one, he squeezed again, harder this time, until the beating finally stopped.

  All right, next decision. What to do with the body. No way could he leave it in the hall. It would start to stink in a day or two and somebody, who knew who, a superintendent, a neighbor from the fourth floor, somebody would come up to have a look. Tyler tried to figure out the best way to keep the smell contained. If Nakamura didn’t have a roommate or a lover, he could probably just store her inside. Yeah. That’d be simplest. Way better than taking her with them. Her key was still in the lock. He opened the deadbolt and pushed the door open. Gave the place a quick look-see. Exactly the same undersized layout as Zoe’s apartment though not as nicely furnished. And a whole lot messier. All kinds of shit all over the place. On the upside, it looked like she lived here alone.

  He went back to the landing, grabbed Annie Nakamura under the arms and dragged her inside. Not so easy. She had to weigh at least two hundred pounds and for reasons he could never figure out, people always felt heavier dead than alive. Once inside he locked the door. Okay. Where in the apartment was the best place to contain the smell of rotting female flesh? The fridge would be best. Female flesh frosting in the frigging fridge. Sort of alliteration. Good but not great. He tried to think of an F word to take the place of in. Filling. That would do it. Female flesh frosting fast filling up the frigging fridge. Still not great. Fuck it. He opened the fridge and looked inside. Tilted his head one way. Tilted it the other. Shit. No way was that ever going to work. Nakamura was not a small woman and her body would more than fill the fridge. Even if he took out all the food and all the shelves, he wouldn’t be able to stuff her in there. Zoe he probably could have been squeezed in, but not this one. He thought about it a minute. The kitchen seemed well equipped. He could always stick her in the bathtub and cut her up into smaller pieces. Wrap the pieces in individual baggies. Stick as much of her as he could in the freezer. The rest in the fridge. He was sure that’d work. But doing it would be a really yucky job. And it would also take time and create a hell of a mess. He tried to think of an alternate option. The bedroom closet seemed like the second-best choice. Maybe the only other choice if he wanted to seal in the smell. He walked into the bedroom and opened the closet door. Bigger than the fridge but still pretty small. Was it too small to hold Nakamura? Hard to tell since the space was filled to the brim with all kinds of shit. Not just clothes but boxes and other stuff. He stood there staring at the interior. Some quick mental calculations told him if he pulled out all the crap there ought to be just about enough room to cram her body into the empty space without having to cut off arms, legs or other appendages, which he didn’t want to do. Aside from anything else there would be more blood to clean up. Probably a hell of a lot more.

  Decision made, Tyler grabbed handfuls of clothes, piles of shoes, assorted boxes and bags, and tossed them all on the bed. When the space was empty he went back to the living room, grabbed Annie by the feet, dragged her into the bedroom and stuffed her into the closet in a vertical position. No go. He took out the bar where she
hung clothes. Did a quick calculation. Still not enough vertical space. He banged hard with his hand against the bottom of the shelf above the rod. Managed to loosen it enough to pull it up and out. He tossed the shelf on top of the other stuff on the bed. He pushed her in again. This time she fit. Just barely, but she did fit. Even so, he had to push hard against the door with his shoulder to get it to latch. That done, he debated the pros and cons of taking the time to cover the cracks around the door with duct tape. The pros were that the smell of rotting flesh would be better contained. The cons? More time spent not getting the hell out of the building and out of the city. Not really a tough decision. No real need to hurry. Zoe was out for a good three hours and if she woke up while they were driving north, well, nobody was gonna hear her inside the rug inside the car.

  And if her noise got too annoying he could always give her another shot. Tyler pulled the tape from his backpack and double taped all the cracks around the closet door. Sides, top and bottom, hoping to make the space as airtight as possible and keep most of the smell of decomposition inside. Maybe all of it.

  Nobody would look until she was reported missing. And he and Zoe would be long gone before that happened. Before anybody checked out the apartment, smelled the smell and found the body.