Killing Kiss

by Sam Stone

  Halfway through the meal she begins to tug her skirt in an attempt to cover her thighs and she pulls up the front of the top in an attempt to cover her exposed, though small, cleavage. When she gives up trying to use the chopsticks I am unwilling at this moment to lay a hand on her to demonstrate in case the lust affects her again. She is calmer now, and more the girl I am interested in. Whores have never appealed to me.

  I am careful not to touch her as I help her put on her coat an hour later. We have fifteen minutes to spare. We walk out down the street and she links my arm snuggling into me for warmth. Through the thickness of my jacket and hers we are quite safe unless I send the lust out on purpose. I relax in her company, pleased with her smile and pretty girlish manners. Even her breath as it steams in the freezing air thrills me. In the dark her skin takes on a bluish hue that makes her eyes stand out more.

  ‘Well, I said to take me to somewhere you know, and here we are.’

  ‘Yes, my darling. Here we are.’

  We enter the foyer and present our tickets to a tall man in a black and gold bellboy uniform. He takes them, tears the counterfoil away and holds it out to Carolyn’s eager hands. I lead her in over the plush red carpet and up a few steps to the cloakroom. After leaving our coats I buy her a programme and some chocolate and we climb up stairs to our box. I walk a few steps behind her to watch her slender hips sway and she runs her hand over her hip. Deep down I suspect she realises my motive, but doesn’t really mind. Maybe the short skirt isn’t so bad after all.

  Inside we find the ice-filled bucket, with the bottle of champagne I had ordered, standing on a small round table. Two chilled glasses sit either side with a single red rose in a flute vase.

  ‘Oh, Jay. This is wonderful.’

  ‘So are you.’ I bend my head to meet her upturned face and I press my lips lightly on hers.

  Arousal ripples from my mouth down my throat and out through every pore. I bend her into me. Her mouth is nourishment and I feed from her like the starved. She groans, collapsing in my arms, giving into my strength. I feel the urge to crush her with desire. It would be so easy to give in to my murderous nature but instead I ease away from her, letting her crumple onto one of the chairs. I sit beside her. Holding her hand, I calm us again. Control is something I have practiced; it was almost too easy to pull away from her.

  ‘Wow!’ She blushes and I release her hand quickly as a surge of desire pulls at me.

  I uncork the champagne and pour, trying to distract myself. She takes the glass gratefully and swigs ungracefully. I look out over the balcony and the lights dim. The opera begins and as the curtain rises I am grateful for the distraction. Carolyn fans herself provocatively with the programme and I watch her face light up with her excitement when she notices the beauty of the set.

  ‘What do they call those?’

  ‘A Sphinx.’

  ‘Wow!’

  I almost reach out to her. As a man I ache for her, but surprisingly as a monster I am quiet. Her life and blood are safe a while longer I’m sure. Lilly has awoken the man in me. How strange. Sex and blood have become part of my existence. They have always been inseparably linked and now I am thinking of them on two different planes. Is it possible to appease one appetite and hold back on the other? It seems so.

  I glance at her once more, knowing I’ll enjoy the excitement on her face, but her eyes appear too wide. Her skin, a greyish blue, turns lifeless in the dark. The lipstick, dark pink in the light, looks plague cobalt. My stomach heaves. She is so like Amanda tonight. Amanda, lying dead in my arms ...

  As Amanda grew cold the sweat of our passion dried and congealed on her cheeks and body. Her heart quieted and I held her close trying to push some of my warmth back into her body.

  ‘Live. Please ...’

  The cabin swayed gently. The sea was calm. We were aboard the Princess Marie bound for Egypt on our honeymoon. Though everyone in England thought we were headed for New York. My hand stroked down her motionless arm. Through the soft tissue I felt the muscles tighten. Drained of blood, her body became less pliable. I could feel the first onslaught of rigor mortis; subtle but definitely present. There was no blood to settle in the lowest part of her body and therefore no ugly bruise marred her. I was unfamiliar with the disintegration caused by death. I’d always disposed of the bodies long before they decomposed, even though in the early days I’d held onto them at least overnight, making sure that I had been unsuccessful. Unlike her predecessors I was sure Amanda would revive. She had to; I loved her.

  I filled the small porcelain face bowl, lifted it from the top of the oak dresser and placed it on the floor beside the bed. I rubbed her favourite soap into her sponge and ran the soft material over her forehead and face, then patted her skin dry, taking care not to bruise her. I dipped the luxurious natural sponge, wrung it out and ran it lightly over her arms and torso. The water beaded in long trails along her stomach on her whitening skin as I washed away the final trace of our ardour. I dipped tenderly between her legs, and down the long stretch of her limbs. Each vigilant swirl of sponge was followed by the tender pressure of the soft beige towel until she no longer smelt of lust or blood. Once clean and dry I admired her ceramic beauty before I dressed her in her finest nightgown; her naked glory left me speechless. I considered making love to her again but decided to wait until she revived. Then I lay her in the bed, gently pulling the sheets over her.

  ‘You are so lovely Amanda. You’ll make a beautiful immortal. Tomorrow we’ll walk and talk together and I’ll tell you everything.’

  I kissed her hand, a block of ice in my now warm fingers, and rubbed my cheek against hers. Her eyelids wouldn’t close; she stared out at the ceiling, blank and beautiful in her pale pink robe, a white film imposed around the edges of her brown irises.

  ‘You can’t imagine what it’s been like ... Lucrezia changed me. Just like you’ll change, and for that I’m grateful. I have immortality. Surely that is something to be thankful for? But she ... was so cruel. I could never treat you like that. I want to care for you, love you ...’

  In the morning the steward, Samuel, brought breakfast and I took it from him at the door, whispering so that we wouldn’t disturb my sleeping wife. Samuel smiled, giving me a cautious wink.

  ‘Hard night was it, sir?’

  I laughed with forced joviality.

  ‘Honeymoon. You know how it is ...’

  He grinned.

  ‘We’ll have all our meals in the cabin for the time being,’ I continued.

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  I put the tray down on the small round bedside table.

  ‘Breakfast.’ I sat her up, padding cushions around her but she wasn’t hungry, she merely stared at me silently while I ate. ‘You have to build up your strength. The transition takes a lot out of you.’

  I picked at both portions; sipped from both coffee cups but I felt full and didn’t want to eat. Then later I put the unfinished food outside to be removed.

  ‘You’ll love Egypt. You should see the desert in a sandstorm through immortal eyes. Every grain is like a delicately chiselled crystal ... You should hear the whisper of the wind; feel the intoxication of being buried under layers of dry salty sand knowing you can’t suffocate.’

  The ship rocked in time with the waves of my memory and Amanda slipped slowly onto her side, her arm hanging over the edge of the bed. She lay unmoving, her empty eyes staring pitifully out at me.

  ‘You’re tired. Let me tuck you in.’

  She didn’t answer but I knew she appreciated my care and attention, I could see it in her glassy eyes as they stared up at me. I straightened her limbs; it wasn’t easy because she was stiff and immoveable in her sleep. One arm had locked, bent into her chest. I tugged it straight as I changed her nightgown. The bone cracked but she didn’t complain and I knew then that she had to live.
r />   ‘Wake up, darling. Dinner’s here.’

  I sat in the dark, knowing the light may disturb her. The day had drifted to evening with the steady progress of moss growing on the side of an old cottage.

  ‘The world has progressed so much since my birth. We are moving into a new era; an age of amazing inventions. You and I will float through time. It will all be wonderful if you just - wake. Don’t you want to see the future? Don’t you want to explore the world?’

  I begged her to live, but she refused as she lay in sullen silence.

  ‘I know, I should have warned you. I thought you might have been afraid. Don’t hold it against me. I never wanted to hurt you. Have I ever been anything but kind? Even with your wretched mother ... I have wealth; riches beyond imagination. It is so easy to accumulate when you know what’s in the hearts of men. If that’s what you care about. All that you want, it’s easy to get anything when you know how.’

  There was a loud crash next door. The ring of cutlery merged with the discordant sound of breaking glass and I could hear the man curse.

  ‘You stupid woman!’

  I heard the echo of a slap and the woman yelped.

  ‘Ignore them, darling. The man’s an uncouth pig.’

  The room was cool and shadowy by day and night because I kept the lighting to a minimum. I opened the cabin window to keep the air fresh. As we approached our destination the temperature began to rise. The closed cabin filled with the smell of putrefaction even though I kept her unsoiled and swatted the flies that insisted on entering the porthole.

  In the evening I heard the young woman next door cough as she peeled away her tight corset. Her husband yanked off his boots dropping then loudly on the floor.

  ‘Take that off.’ Fabric ripped like the sound of a dog yawning.

  Her thoughts floated in as her husband, grunting, took his conjugal pleasure. As the cabin bed creaked she lay silent and impassive but her mind screamed. Hate him! Hate him! Fat, contemptible monster!

  ‘Can you believe that?’ I asked Amanda. ‘It’s awful how some parents marry their daughters off to old and decrepit men. We are so lucky to have married for love, don’t you think?’

  The night stretched into days. The cabin became my prison, the marriage bed a vile parody of a tomb slab. My bride declined to rouse, lying in her ball gown as though in a shroud.

  After a few days, the stench began to attract attention even with the cabin window constantly open, but I couldn’t accept that it was useless to continue.

  ‘You can do this if you want to. You’re just punishing me for some ill you think I’ve done. You don’t want to end it here, Amanda. All you have to do is live. It’s simple. Lucrezia only did the same as I. I’ve thought it through. She must have willed it. Even though ... I know you can live if you want to ... I know ...’

  A sharp knock on the cabin door drew my attention. I froze, staring at the door.

  ‘Mr Jeffries? It’s Samuel. I have your meal for you.’

  I looked at Amanda.

  ‘Would you like to eat in the restaurant this evening, darling?’

  I sent Samuel away. Maybe it was some misguided sensibility that made me believe she would survive; I had married Amanda after all. She was the only one that I’d taken so much trouble with. Perhaps I even loved her more than the others.

  In the evening I washed and dressed her in a dark purple gown of heavy velvet. I opened the pots of creams and powders on her dresser and carefully patted her bluish cheeks white. I found a pot of blue powder and gently applied it to her eyes but I had to press the stubborn lids down; my finger pushed into the glutinous gel. It had the consistency of conserve. I yanked my hand back, violated.

  ‘Did I hurt you?’ But the intractable mouth refused to reply.

  The rouge was easier to apply, the powder had absorbed the mouldy moisture that sat on top of the skin and the pale cheeks now felt grainy instead of oily. I rubbed the rouge over her cheek bones with the barest brush of my finger tips.

  ‘Your colour’s returning, darling. I think you might just be feeling better. Just a little on the lips ... there.’

  Then I sat admiring my handiwork. She looked normal - almost. In the dark of the evening no one would be able to tell.

  I was certain. In fact she looked so beautiful that I couldn’t resist placing a cautious kiss on her pouting mouth. Her lips tasted of the grave, and I gagged on the strong odour that wafted from her flesh. I fell down on the soft bed beside her, panting for breath; desperate for fresh pure air.

  I lay until the twilight stretched into night and the last of the sunset bled to black; the sun was replaced by the silvery glow of the moon. I heard the bustle of the evening’s activities, a middle aged couple, in the cabin opposite, left to go to dinner.

  ‘The smell is worse down here, I’m sure,’ the lady cried as she passed by my door.

  ‘I suspect it’s a dead rat. I’ll get onto the steward immediately,’ her husband replied.

  I wanted to kill him. How dare he?

  ‘They know nothing! Stupid, sick and wasteful mortals.’ I turned over, looking at the disintegrating frame of my wife. ‘Stop torturing me! Why won’t you join me? Didn’t you love me? Even a little? Was it all for wealth?’

  Hours passed and I listened with intensity to the movements of those aboard; the bustle of the crew attending the needs of passengers; the light pat of feet echoing from the ballroom; the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchens deep below. After dinner, when the last of the guests had dispersed and gone to bed, and I was sure that most of the stewards had retired for the evening, I carefully wrapped her in a charcoal black cloak and carried her silently out on deck.

  Outside I gulped a lungful of clean air and I was dizzy with the purity of the sea smell. The atmosphere tasted of salt and spices, distinctly Egyptian and I knew we were near Alexandria. I rested her tranquil body by the rail, removed the cloak and merged with the shadows, feeling the familiar numbness slip up my limbs and, like a chameleon, I fused with the railing and the vent - there but invisible to mortal eyes.

  ‘I don’t want this ... You know that. Why won’t you? I don’t want to let you go, but you leave me no choice.’

  I waited, knowing it was over. Any hope of revival gone with her deteriorated body, but I longed for still more time. The moment came sooner than I expected as our steward, Samuel, came rushing down the deck carrying a tray full of empty glasses as he hurried towards the kitchen. I chose my moment carefully, making sure he had seen Amanda apparently standing by the rail.

  As Samuel slowed, a picture of propriety, I operated Amanda’s limbs like a skilled puppeteer and rolled with her as the body pitched forward with the heave of a particularly high wave; she seemed to fall over the rail as her corpse crashed into the sea.

  The tray smashed to the floor, shards of glass flew in all directions. Samuel ran to the rail almost crashing into me seconds before I moved aside, changing my colours with every new position. Amanda’s dress rapidly soaked up water and we saw her body dragged under and tossed back up with each heave of the sea.

  ‘Man overboard!’ Samuel screamed, and in response the pounding of feet came from the direction of the scullery deck. Samuel shivered, feeling the cold chill that emanates from my flesh during invisibility. I stepped away from the rail and backed up silently to the doorway leading to the first class level as crew poured onto the deck from below. I waited inside the doorway, fading into my normal density before strolling out, carrying my wife’s cloak. I froze, my face stunned.

  ‘Amanda?’

  ‘Oh my God, Sir! Your wife ... She fell overboard!’

  ‘Amanda!’ I ran forward, dropping the cloak. I threw myself onto the rail.

  Several pairs of hands grabbed at me, my coat tails ripped as I was tugged back to safety.

  �
��Hold him!’ yelled Samuel. ‘We don’t need another one over.’

  I pushed away from the crew, attempting to climb the rail.

  ‘I can’t see her!’ I screamed.

  ‘Don’t be insane, man. Let us do our job.’

  I was yanked back and I saw the first mate had arrived.

  ‘We’ll ask the watch.’

  ‘There! The current’s pulled her out, perhaps a quarter mile starboard.’

  I looked out. Sickness pulled at my intestines as the ship lurched around and a lifeboat and crew were lowered. The watch continued to call directions. I could see her body clearly, pulled down, then thrust up as though even the sea found her wasted carcass offensive. Finally she went down, and I stared at the spot anxious for her to reappear. The watch sent the crew the wrong way, believing he’d seen something, but in the pitch black, all the lanterns in the world couldn’t find the rapidly bloating body of my wife. As I stared out over the sea the thought that I would never again see her smile, the slight roll of her dark brown eyes, the shake of her small head, brought forth a torrent of grief that engulfed my mind and drowned my soul. I almost heard the crack of my heart as my sanity threatened to leave me. My stomach lurched and I vomited over the deck, splashing the first mates’ shiny black shoes, with more blood than a human stomach could possibly retain.

  The first mate panicked at the sight, and began to shout orders that my fevered brain thought was the most bizarre indiscernible language. All too soon his meaning became clear. I let two crew members lead me to the ship infirmary and the onboard doctor.

  ‘Mr Jeffries?’

  Doctor Henry Portman was a humble man in his late fifties. There had been gossip among the guests about his presence on board. Widowed? Without a family? Maybe even some question of negligence. All these things were discussed in the privacy of the cabins on the first class deck. Mostly the guests were used to incompetent doctors aboard cruise ships, but Portman was far from that and that was what raised the questions. He was knowledgeable and so I had much to fear from his curious stare, and his careful probing of my stomach.