Kill Me

by Alex Owens

  “Where’s the food?” I asked. “I hope you ordered me something I like— a bagel, and omelet or pancakes maybe?”

  Bette studied me for a long moment, regarding me with curiosity. “I... I didn’t know what you’d like.” She stood and went to the closet, opening the doors wide to survey my wardrobe.

  “But,” I started to say, before Bette cut me off. Where was the food she’d promised?

  “Give your breakfast order to Guillermo,” she nodded to the man standing beside me, staring at the floor with such intensity it was creepy. “Then you go shower. I will put out clothing for you and then you must eat.”

  I pulled the sheet around my body, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with my nakedness, and headed toward the bathroom.

  “I’d like a sausage and egg croissant, with a small glass of orange juice and a coke, in a bottle so I can carry it with me.” I said over my shoulder.

  It was only after I had the door shut firmly behind me that the fog dispersed completely from my head. Since I’d woken up, I’d been moving, thinking and feeling through a barrier, or a cloak. Present and accounted for, but hearing, seeing and feeling always through an impermeable membrane. Real life, once removed.

  I noticed it, but I still wasn’t ready to question why.

  Even more than usual, I was confounded by how quirky the human mind can be in times of stress. But that will make more sense later I suppose.

  I started the shower, letting the room fog nicely before shedding my sheet and stepping under the spray. It was one of those rain-shower heads, and while attractive, it had little in the way of water pressure. It took me ten minutes to get all the generic shampoo out of me hair, but I didn’t mind.

  Anything that kept me in the bathroom longer was fine with me. I didn’t want to think about things I didn’t understand, so instead I focused on what I knew without a doubt.

  While washing my hair, I pictured the toothy grin of my daughter and I longed to wrap her in my arms. She was heading to school now, probably already seated on the fading yellow bus, staring out the window as the bus pulled away. If I had to guess, I’d say she was wearing her favorite outfit—pink skirt, white striped shirt, white and pink polka-dot tights and a pair of teal sneakers.

  While I lathered my body, I thought of the husband I didn’t know anymore, and how my life would seem half-empty once the space he’d occupied for so long was vacant. It would be like walking on two legs all your life, then suddenly waking up with only one. So what if the missing leg had been arthritic and cranky— you could still stand on it.

  I turned my thoughts to business and how I needed to touch base with the office, and drop in on several vendors at the conference. And get my first guitar lesson with Vera.

  Would she be able to tell, I thought?

  I shook my head. That was the dumbest thing I’d come up with lately. What was I thinking? That there was a blinking (rainbow) sign over my head now? That I’d give off some sort of vibe?

  My dorkiness amazed me sometimes.

  Of course, all that thinking was aimed at doing one thing, and one thing only—to ignore the fact that there was a woman in my bedroom, or any thoughts that pertained to her and my missing memory or that “thing” that happened earlier.

  At least until I ran my fingers over the top of my left thigh. At the fold, that crease at the top of the leg, yet snatch-adjacent, I’d felt something. Like a bump or scab. Not exactly the easiest place to look at oneself; it took me a minute to maneuver my body into a position for inspection.

  Finally, one leg resting on the toilet tank right outside the shower, I was able to make out not one, but two tiny healing scabs. In-grown hairs maybe? It was possible, but not likely I’d missed them last night.

  I frowned, frustrated that the things I knew were outweighed by the things I didn’t know lately. I turned off the water and stepped out onto the cold tile floor. I dried off quickly, casting a peeved look at the toilet. Maybe I was having kidney problems?

  When I exited the bathroom, carefully wrapped in a clean, dry towel, I found the room empty. Bette was gone, but she’d left a silver tray with the things I’d requested sitting on the corner of the bed. Perched atop the silver dome of the tray was a hand-scripted note.

  “I have a few matters to attend. Clothes are on the chair, and I hope you find your meal filling. I’ll be back to take you to the convention center within the half-hour - Bette”

  With no better plan in mind, I did exactly as she instructed, albeit with a scowl planted across my face.

  Chapter 7

  Exactly twenty minutes later, I was standing outside of my hotel room when Bette came back for me. It occurred to me, as I watched her practically glide down the carpeted hallway, that I’d felt more like my old self from almost the moment she’d left.

  “Clara, you look stunning!” Bette embraced me, kissing me on the mouth. I had no idea if that was an Italian custom, or just what one does after doing pretty intimate things.

  Either way, I finally felt the prick of unease that I should have felt, oh, about a million times since yesterday.

  “Thanks,” I tried to sound chipper. “You have excellent taste.” Yep, that was me being chipper all right.

  Bette motioned for me to twirl so that she could get a good look at me and although I felt silly, I did it anyway. I’d had a mini-moment of clarity while getting dressed. I’d decided that I needed Bette’s help to understand what was going on. So I’d placate her until I’d pieced everything together.

  Separate from that, I had to figure how I felt about her on a personal level as well.

  That’s why I was wearing the clothing that she’d laid out on the bed for me: a short flared black skirt, a fitted, plum short-sleeve sweater with a deep V-neck, and dangerous midnight blue suede heels. It was something I’d never wear on my own, and I have no idea where the heels came from, but I had to admit that I felt pretty fierce in the getup.

  I did an about-face, and caught Bette staring at me with such a fevered look on her face that I stumbled backwards.

  “What is wrong? Do you feel weak? Did you not eat your food?” she said, reaching out to me.

  “No, I... I just lost my balance.” I recovered quickly.

  Bette studied my feet, as if I was going to wobble again. She scrunched her mouth into a partial frown and looked back to me.

  “Clara, what is on your legs?”

  I looked down, expecting to see an errant sock hitchhiking on my clothes. “What? I don’t see anything?”

  “On your legs! Pantyhose. I did not put those out for you Clara.” Bette said, kneeling down in front of me.

  “What...” I started to say, but was silenced by Bette sliding her hands up my thighs.

  “Out of your shoes, please,” she said.

  I relented and kicked off the heels, though I’m not sure if it was because I was trying to keep Bette on my good side, or if wanted to see what see what she would do while down there. Clearly, the fuzzy-headed me had returned.

  “Your legs are too nice to be covered up, Clara.” She began to remove the offending garment, her fingers like little feathers as she maneuvered. She brushed my skin in random places, so that I began to anticipate where she would next touch. Heat built up in my core. I could feel my legs trembling.

  And then she looked up to me.

  Bette’s face was a mixture of hunger and carnal thoughts, with a dash of malice. Her pupils were dilated wide and dark, like two pools of murky ink. But it was her teeth, whiter and sharper looking than I remembered, that snapped me out of the fog I lingered in.

  “I...I’ve got ‘em,” I said, stepping away from Bette and removing my pantyhose as quick as possible so that we could get going. Suddenly, I was glad that we were going to be surrounded by hundreds of people for the next several hours.

  Bette regarded me with mild shock, before composing herself, standing and saying, “I have a car waiting downstairs. Andiamo, Clara!”

  She turned, stridin
g down the hall at a pace that had me semi-running in heels behind her. Thankfully, the elevator ride passed without incident, though I did notice that we didn’t get off at the ground floor. Instead the elevator stopped in the underground parking garage.

  The doors parted and a black limo waited just a few steps away. A hulking beast of a man got out of the driver’s door and came to help us into the limo.

  “Grazi, Domino,” Bette said, taking his huge lump of a hand as she climbed in the car.

  Domino shifted his eyes toward me. I shuddered as I returned his gaze. His eyes were like two raisins shoved into risen dough, and trying not to look away first made me more than a little queasy.

  He did not offer me his hand, not that I would have taken it anyway, but that gesture told me I was right. Domino was being openly hostile towards me, which made no sense. I’d never met the man, so how would he know anything about me?

  “Come Clara.” Bette’s voice came from within the car.

  I mustered up the steeliest expression I could manage, and tossed it back at the driver instead of doing what I really wanted to do— stick my tongue out at him. Though he didn’t move, I saw something flicker in his eyes before he motioned to the open limo door.

  Feeling like I had won the game, I climbed in without a backwards glance in his direction. The little encounter had made me irritable, and I dreaded the ten minute ride to the convention center. I seated myself at the opposite end of the passenger area, kicking off my shoes and reclined against the seat. Bette regarded me with curiosity.

  “My head is hurting a little. I’m going to relax for a few minutes.”

  I didn’t wait for her to respond. I closed my eyes, draping one arm back over my face. The car began to move and for the next ten minutes I remained on alert just in case Bette tried anything. I concentrated so hard, it was almost as if I could see her sitting there, legs and arms crossed while she stared at me. But that was silly really. I didn’t have any comic-book-style superpowers.

  The limo pulled into the underground garage at the convention center, which seemed to be off limits to the general public, judging by the smattering of caterer vans and shipping trucks. Bette must be very rich and powerful, to receive special treatment everywhere she went. Of course, with charisma like she had, Bette probably had no need to wield monetary influence over anyone.

  The car stopped and the back door swung open, letting in the yellowed light from the garage. Bette motioned for me to exit first. I climbed out despite the overwhelming urge to be difficult. My mood had sure gone downhill in a hurry.

  Domino was standing in my path as I stood upright, like a pale side of beef. Did he really want to have another pissing match with me? I could feel myself getting angry. No, that wasn’t the right word. I could feel myself becoming unhinged.

  A flare of red light burst behind my eyes, flashing over my field of vision for a split-second.

  I thought before I even realized it— you listen here, you over-glorified hamburger, get out of my way before I rip your friggin’ throat out— and I’ll admit I was so startled by my own thoughts that I almost missed what happened next.

  As I was flipping out internally, Bette had stepped out of the car behind me. I heard her say, “Domino?” in a concerned voice, so I forced myself to look at him.

  His puffy face was turning a grayish-blue, and his hands were clutched at his throat. I could hear him trying to breathe and I swear it sounded like someone quietly gargling mouth wash. The agony of his expression snapped me out of my rage and I rushed to Domino as he fell to his knees.

  “Oh, shit! He’s choking,” I shouted as I circled the man, trying to figure out how to get my arms around his massive torso to do the Heimlich maneuver. As my fingers touched the stiff suit fabric on his back, an arc of white static leapt from my fingertips. And just like that, Domino slumped over, breathing normally though obviously shaken.

  I didn’t understand what had just happened, so I looked to Bette. She mirrored my gaze, but for the first time since meeting her, I saw something new behind her carefully controlled expression.

  I saw fear.

  At the moment, I had a healthy dose of fear pumping through my veins as well. “What the hell just happened?”

  “That… that was you, Clara.” Bette’s words sounded strained.

  “Me? What? That little spark?” I said, approaching Domino who was curled up on the concrete in a fetal position, sobbing.

  Bette remained quiet.

  “That was just static electricity. It happens to me all the time. At least a half-dozen times a day.” I reasoned.

  Bette looked away, like she didn’t agree but was in no mood to explain further. I dropped to a knee beside Domino, putting a hand on his shoulder to turn him towards me.

  “Are you alright? What were you choking on, gum, candy?”

  Domino didn’t respond at first. It wasn’t until his tiny eyes made contact with mine, that he spoke. Or rather, he screamed.

  “Get away from me, you crazy bee-tch! You try to kill me!” He said, backing away from me, like a crab scurrying for cover in the marsh grass.

  “Domino, enough.” Bette said. “Take yourself back to the hotel and rest. I’ll call you when we are ready to depart.”

  Bette joined Domino by the front of the limo, speaking in hushed tones. She seemed to be soothing him, and his body language relaxed visibly.

  I was thankful that Bette had silenced our driver, but his brief accusation still ricocheted in my head. I hadn’t caused his attack, right?

  It was absurd, the very idea that I’d managed to attack someone just by thinking—like with my mind. But then again, most of the past twenty-four hours hadn’t made much sense to me either.

  I’m a logical person and as much as the recent events didn’t make sense individually, maybe together they somehow fit a larger picture? I thought back, plucked out the most important details, and made a mental list.

  First, I lost IQ points every time Bette came near me and it got worse when she touched me. But, I already had suspicions that Bette was the source, not me, so I filed that away to think about later.

  I had to focus on me. What was the first strange thing? I had played the violin without any prior experience. What had Bette said about the violin, that it was haunted? And that it had called to me, deemed me worthy. The question was, worthy of what?

  I saw the limo pull away and Bette motioned for me to follow her. I quickly caught up, and together we waited for the service elevator to arrive.

  “Bette, can I ask you something?” I said.

  She sighed and hesitated for several beats. “Now is the time for business. We work now; tonight we talk.”

  “But...” I started to say as the elevator chimed and opened.

  “Come now, we both have work to do.” she said.

  I followed her into the elevator, miffed that she was blowing me off. I wanted answers and if Bette wasn’t going to help me until later, then I would just analyze everything myself until then.

  Moving on, what else had triggered the that’s-not-right vibe? Right, the shocks. I’d suffered daily battles with static for a very long time, at least since I was a teenager. I had no idea if they always came with a blast of white light, like when I’d touched Domino. Bette seemed intrigued by them, so maybe I should be too?

  Also, there was the whole disappearing-Bette moment in the bathroom. She denied being there, and it would have been impossible for her to leave without me noticing, yet I know what I saw. Bette had been standing in the bathroom.

  The elevator jarred to a stop and the doors clanged open. We seemed to be in a subsidiary hall used by staff, but Bette headed to the left like she’d done this before, so I followed her.

  I felt like I was forgetting something, a very big something. Oh, yeah. There was the whole forgetting-thing. How was it possible that I had no memory of an entire evening? Granted, I’d had a lot to drink but without the typical hangover the next day I couldn’t use tha
t as an excuse.

  I wondered if Bette touching me turned my brain to pudding, had she done something worse that amplified the affect? That only made the tiniest bit of sense, so I added that to the list of things Bette and I had to discuss later.

  We stopped right in front of a set of metal doors. I looked to Bette, who seemed to have something to say.

  “Um, aren’t we going in?” I said.

  “Yes, in one moment.” Bette looked me up and down. “How do you feel? Hungry?”

  Why was she always trying to feed me? “No, I’m good.” I said, “I just have a lot to accomplish in a few hours.”

  “Fine. You go do your work, but if you need anything I will be watching.” She said cryptically.

  I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but my patience with Bette was wearing thin. It seemed as if she didn’t have much of an effect on me anymore.

  Bette continued, “It is noon now. Meet me at my booth at say, three so that we can travel back to the hotel.”

  “That’s not enough time. I need at least until the end of the day.” I whined, aware of how childish I sounded.

  “Clara...” Bette grazed my cheek with her slender fingers.

  A ripple of current spread from my face where she’d touch it, all the way down to my toes. It felt familiar and safe. I felt the tension in my body wane; she unfurled me.

  It was a moment before she spoke again and in that time I had a reversal of opinions. Why had I been so suspicious of Bette, when she’d been nothing but helpful to me? And loving, I couldn’t forget that.

  “I need...” Bette said, only this time I silenced her.

  Pushing her back against the metal door, I kissed her, and I must admit that I wasn’t very gentle. Her shock faded quickly and her hunger began to mirror my own, or was it the other way around?

  Bette clutched the back of my neck, her fingers cool against my skin. I snaked a hand around to the small of her back, looping my thumb over the top of her skirt. She sucked lightly at my bottom lip, I pressed her body with my own, the two of us being supported by the door. She pushed her leg so that the top of her thigh pressed on my crotch. I groaned, and shifted my stance to allow for better contact between us.