What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed

by D. M. Thornton

  Drew chuckles awkwardly. “You don’t look so hot.”

  I join him with a weak laugh, looking down at myself. My shirt has been torn clear off and my pants look as if I went through a shredder. I can only imagine what my face looks like considering it’s aching all over. “I suppose not.” When Drew hangs his head, I take the opportunity to slide myself over to him on my knees. “Are you okay?”

  “What the fuck just happened?” he asks.

  I answer matter-of-factly, “You saved my life.”

  “Who is that guy?” His head turns to me so he can stare at me, his eyes boring into mine.

  I’m not sure what he wants from me. The way he asks comes across a bit too accusing, but his eyes reflect concern. “I have no idea. I was just about to get into the shower when you knocked. When I closed the door and headed back to the bathroom, he jumped out of Jaz’s room.”

  And so the lies begin.

  “Do you know him?”

  I’m quick to blurt out, “No! I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  “You sure?”

  My blood is starting to boil through my veins. What the fuck is his problem? “Yes. I’m sure. I have never...” Then it hits me, like one of Brian’s punches to the face. “Oh, I get it. You think I’m messing around on Jett, don’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, I know that’s what he’s thinking. “Look at me, Drew. By the looks of it, does it seem that this is something I’m into? The guy came out of nowhere. I have no idea who he is or where he came from. But what I do know is, if you hadn’t come in at the very second that you did, he would have raped me and then killed me.”

  Drew shakes his head, most likely trying to clear his brain of any ill thoughts he was just having of me, or perhaps, the thought of how he just killed someone. He scans me over once more before leaning over, grabbing the robe from the floor, and wrapping it around me. “Jesus Christ. I don’t know what to do. We need to call the cops...call Jett. But this could seriously ruin me. Fuck!”

  “Listen, I can take care of it. You go, I’ll call for help.”

  “I can’t leave you here alone to clean this mess up. Besides, what are you going to tell them?”

  “I’m going to tell them what happened. That he attacked me, tried to rape me, and beat me up. I acted in self-defense,” I say. I mean, it’s not a total lie. That all did really happen.

  Drew stands and begins pacing the floor. “How could you have stabbed him in the back when you were pinned beneath him? How would you explain my prints on the knife, or my shoe prints? No, we need to call Jett. He’ll know what to do.” Drew keeps shaking his head from side-to-side as he walks from one side of the room to the other. If he continues to jerk his head so violently, it might just roll straight off his shoulders.

  “I’ll figure it out, Drew. You can’t be here when the cops come. You could lose your license to practice law, or worse, go to jail. No, you need to get out of here. I’ll wipe your prints off the knife and clean up your shoe prints. I’ll tell them that I was able to break away, then turned and stabbed him.”

  Drew puffs a heavy sigh. “First of all, if you touch anything, that’s tampering with the evidence, which could send you to prison for up to twenty years. Second, if you stabbed him in the back, that means he was running away from you, which would mean he was not attacking you, ultimately leading them to believe that you were not, in fact, acting in self-defense. No, we need to call Jett. Fuck!”

  Well color me purple and call me Barney. He’s talking like a fucking attorney. Dammit! I’m pulling all the short straws here. I need something that holds merit or I’ll never get him out of here. “If we call Jett, all we’re doing is pulling him into this clusterfuck. He’ll feel compelled to help and cover for you, which could backfire and, if that happens, he’d be sure to lose his job. Is Jett working tonight?”

  Drew shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Perfect. Then whoever they send out will be on the case and Jett won’t be involved, and no one will be any the wiser. I won’t say anything about you being here. Can you keep a secret? I can.”

  The wheels are cranking feverishly in that head of his, and he’s still pacing, and his head is still shaking, and from time to time he’s mumbling a whiney, “Fuck!” But then, with a furrowed brow, he quietly says, “I can keep a secret.”

  “Then no one will ever know.”

  Drew makes sure, easily a hundred times, that I’m okay. He’s insistent that he helps me bandage my face, and I argue I’m fine. We have a brief disagreement before I cave and let him clean my hand. The gash is so deep it’s still bleeding, but dried crusty blood has formed around the flappy skin around the wound. “You’re going to need stitches,” he says, dabbing it dry before wrapping gauze around my palm in hopes that it will at least slow the bleeding.

  It’s something we finally agree on, my hand needing medical attention, but I can’t do that. Not in the state I’m in. Questions will be asked that I cannot give the answers to, so it’s best if I ride this one out. Looks like I’ll be taking another week off from school, if not two. After all, I’m still grieving. “I’ll get it looked at after I get this other little problem taken care of,” I answer with a wince. I bite my lower lip, trying to keep the foul language contained in my mouth. I’ve almost slipped a few times now.

  Drew looks at me with a weak half-smile. “You can let it out. You know you want to curse like a fucking sailor right now. And I must say, this event surely justifies a few curse words.”

  I grin. “A woman should always act like a lady. And a lady does not use a sharp tongue.” Ha! Who the fuck am I kidding? If he knew half the things that come out of my mouth, he’d start questioning my sanity. And that is exactly why, when I’m around people who aren’t included in my Toxic Trio, I keep a tight and proper lip.

  “I won’t tell.” Drew nudges my arm with an accepting smile, egging me to let one rip.

  I roll my eyes and whisper, “Mother-effer.”

  He cocks his head to the side with a snarled lip. “What the fuck was that?

  I shrug my shoulders. “A sad attempt to cuss, I guess.”

  “Wow,” he says with a heavy sigh. “You nearly just got raped and beaten, and I just fucking killed someone.” His voice trails off before he whispers to himself, “Holy shit, I’m a murderer.” His eyes widen and his beautiful face turns ashen. So, he takes a moment to gather himself, then says, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

  I stare back at him and scrunch my face up, which makes me cower in pain. My face is in stupid pain right now. I have yet to look at myself, but if the pain reflects at all what it might look like, I’m guessing I look pretty tore up. Now, my agony is not the same as what Drew is feeling at the moment. No, mine is only physical. But for Drew, the pain and angst he’s experiencing is spewing from his pores and it’s starting to smother me. I try to make light of a horrible situation, which I know is a heartless thing to do, but what can I say...I’m a heartless bitch, and so I say, “Fudgsicle.”

  Drew shakes his head. “Abso-fucking-lutely not. Try again. Say f-u-c-k,” he drawls.

  I form my mouth to say the word, but blurt out, “Fiddlesticks.” But when Drew presses his thumb into my palm, reminding me of the seriousness of the events that just took place, I lurch off the kitchen chair and scream, “FUCK!” It’s becoming rather clear that Drew has a side to him that is rather dark and mysterious. I know deep down he’s confused and scared because of his role in this clusterfuck of a night, and I think in some odd way, he’s trying to hide behind his being scared shitless with what sense of humor he might be able to pull from the pits of his gut.

  Drew sinks back into his seat with a relieved victory grin. “Feels good, don’t it?”

  “That was shady, Mr. Madison.” I shake my hand out, trying to cool the sting. Fuck me, that hurt. “Cruel. Real cruel.”

  “Eh, I am an attorney. What can I say? I fit the mold to a T.”

  My face drops to a serious exp
ression. I haven’t really had the chance to get to know Drew up until this point. He’s not so bad, and if I’m being real, he’s a good catch for Andi. I can see why she’s so head over heels for this guy. “I doubt that very much, Drew. After tonight, I think you’re a pretty swell guy. Even if you did just smash your thumb into my oozing, slashed palm all to get me to say a bad word.”

  “You’re not so bad either.”

  Great, now that we got all that out of the way, it’s time to get him out of here. And the only way that’s going to happen is if I initiate it. There’s a part of me that believes Drew would stay forever, only because the moment he steps foot outside the compound, reality is going to sink in. It’s going to hit him hard, especially when he’s sitting at home with nothing better to do than to think about what he’s done. I stand from the chair and clean up the first aid items sprawled out across my kitchen table, tossing everything in the trash beneath the sink. By the time I’m done cleaning, Drew’s standing, inching closer to the door.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asks one more time.

  Ha! Am I okay. Buddy, I should be askin’ you that question.

  I grab his arm with my good hand and give him a gentle, reaffirming squeeze. “Totally, completely and utterly A-okay.”

  “Are you sure we’re making the right decision here...tampering with evidence? Maybe we should call...”

  Oh dear Lord, get the fuck outta here.

  I raise my hand, stopping Drew from finishing his idiotic thought. “Trust me, I’ll take care of this. You were never here.”

  Here’s a clue for you...if someone says, “trust me,” it’s the last thing you should do. I’m the last person to trust.

  Drew nods. His expression is drawn and his face pale. With a hesitant step, he walks out the front door, but before he gets too far down the walkway, I call out to him one last time. “Drew?”

  He turns to look at me. He looks defeated, worried. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. You saved my life, in more ways than one. I’ll never forget that.”

  Drew attempts a light grin. “You’re welcome, Gray.”

  * * *

  There’s a lot of work to be done, and I waste no time the moment the door closes behind Drew. But this time, I make sure his car has left my driveway before I start. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than grateful that he was still here. I mean, shit, he’s my saving grace. However, the predicament that I found myself in could have gone either way. Drew very well could easily have walked in on me extracting Brian’s organs and wrapping him to be placed in the garden. That really would have been a problem.

  I suppose the stars eventually aligned in my favor. Though, in my opinion, it came a little too close to comfort this time, and I much prefer to be on the giving end of the knife than the receiving. Lesson learned, that’s for sure. I either proceed with my ladies in tow, or I lay low. I won’t be attempting to do another one of these by myself.

  It looks as if a modern artist walked down my hallway flicking a paintbrush full of blood at the walls. Splatter here, a streak there, thick red blobs everywhere. It’s a big ol’ mess. But, I got to get ‘er done, so I carefully tiptoe around what I can, slipping on a puddle of blood near Brian’s head. I catch myself from falling, using the wall for support, as I step over his body. My bare feet are coated with the still warm, sticky goo, and I must say that I love the feeling of it between my toes. Yes, I know. We’ve already been around this merry-go-round. I’m a little off my rocker, what can I say?

  I close my eyes for a minute and wiggle my toes. There’s something about the smooth, silky feeling of blood on skin that’s comforting. At least for me it is anyway. It’s like silk...slick and smooth. Now, I may not be as morbid as Andi, who would love nothing more than to swim in the stuff, but I do find a certain kind of relaxation that comes along with touching it. Though, I much rather prefer to have gloves, or shoes, on for sanitary reasons.

  All the blood actually comes in handy with moving Brian’s body. The floors are so slick that I’m able to slide him into my room, where I dump him in the middle of the floor. I have two options here. I can go old school and dissect him then wrap him, or I can chop him up in small pieces so he’s easier to transport to the garden. As much as I love mummifying anything and everything, I have to opt for cutting him up. Sure, it will take longer, but I’m on my own here, and I need to be able to get him outside with minimal effort. I’m as certain as Brian being buried under the flowerbed that I’ll be sleeping like a fucking baby tonight with how goddamn tired I am. Today’s events have left me banged up and exhausted.

  Speaking of, I step in front of the mirror in the bathroom that’s attached to my room and gasp. “Ah, fuck me.” I’m tore up all right. There’s a large purple goose egg on my forehead, a cut across my cheek, my lip is swollen, and I have claw marks everywhere on my skin from this asshole trying to rip my clothes off. And don’t get me started on my hair. Shitballs. My red hair is crusted and matted to my head with blood highlights and when I rub my hands over my scalp, there are at least three protruding knots. To say I look mangled is putting it nicely. Yep, I won’t be going back to school any time soon. My grieving process keeps getting longer and longer.

  Fuckin’ A.

  I grab my tools and take a seat next to Brian’s body. Looking down at his pasty blue face, I say with a laugh, “Looks like you lost, cock-sucker.” Pulling his arm taut to the side, I lift the cleaver. “This is for the girl who you raped with a Lacrosse stick.”

  WHACK.

  I pull the cleaver back again, over his leg this time. “And this is for the girl who you brutally raped with a soccer trophy.”

  WHACK. WHACK.

  I scurry to the other side of him and yank out his other arm. “This one...this is for the girl who you horrifically assaulted with a hot curling iron. Over and over again.”

  WHACK.

  “And for the girl you viciously molested with a martial arts staff.”

  WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.

  Sliding on my knees to the top of what’s left of Brian Harvarti’s body, I raise my meat cleaver high above my head. “And this one,” I scream, “this one is for me!” With a loud grunt and a powerful strike, I bring down the blade of the knife and lop Brian’s head clean off his torso.

  Damn. That felt amazing. My skin is tingling and I’m trembling with adrenaline, and it continues to course through my veins until I toss the cotton sheet containing Brian’s dismembered body in the deep hole that I dug between the flowers in the garden.

  It takes me a helluva lot longer to clean up the broken glass and blood that trails throughout most of the house. After it’s clean, I sanitize the areas using bleach then add another layer of hospital grade disinfectant. The chemical smell is overpowering, but I know it’s clean, so I can suck it up. Besides, I kinda like when my nose and chest burn from the toxic stench. The only thing I can’t fix at the moment is my front door. I’ll have to make a run to the hardware store as soon as my face heals. Better yet, I’ll order that shit online. I have a feeling that will be quicker than waiting for my wounds to vanish.

  I take a shower that could drain a levee, washing my hair and scrubbing my body until there’s no more trace of blood running down the drain. The scalding water is exactly what my muscles need to relieve some of the stiffness from being pummeled, but it’s making me tired, and I still have to drive home. I’m a damn prune by the time I get out, but I’m clean and relaxed, so all is right in the world.

  After dressing in the same clothes from earlier, I step through my broken door and use a bungee cord that I found out in the shed in an attempt to keep it closed. It’s definitely not secure, but it will have to do. My brain is officially fried, and I don’t have enough energy to fight with it any longer. All I can think about right now is getting home, slipping under the sheets of my comfy bed, and drifting off to sleep. I’ll have no problems with sleeping tonight, not when I know there’s one less parasite contaminating our planet. See, I t
old you. What I do is for the greater good. You just have to open your mind and be willing to accept that I’m saving you, saving me, saving the whole human race...one body at a time.

  Chapter 32

  Jaz

  Gray has been MIA for nearly two weeks, and it’s time that she comes out of her cave. I think she’s taking this grievance leave a bit too seriously, in my opinion, and today she’s going to cut it out. She knows that I won’t leave her alone, and after not having any of my calls or texts returned, I’m paying her a nice little visit. So, I’m banging on her front door, tapping my foot impatiently, as I yell insistently at the door. “Open the fucking door, brat! I know you’re in there! Open. The. Door!”

  The door flies open, and I’m hit in the face with blaring classical piano music. Look, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind this music, but I swear, it’s for the fucking depressed. I need something that moves me...gets me going. This elevator crap is just noise. Before Gray can close the door on me, I push past her as I rant, “Where have you been?” I shout over the music. I walk straight over to her speakers and turn that shit down. “You haven’t called Andi or me, or gone to work. It’s like you fell off the fucking planet. What’s your—” I stop mid-assault when I spin around and see that her face resembles Slimer from The Ghostbusters. “What the fuck happened to your face?” I charge at her and grab her face between my hands, jerking her head from side-to-side so I can inspect the sporadic bruises across her face. “Did Jett hit you? I’m gonna kill that motherfucker.” I’m seething.

  “Shut the hell up, Jaz. You have no idea what you’re saying. I haven’t seen Jett for over two weeks and he would never lay a hand on me,” Gray snaps, tugging her head out of my grasp. “Get your hands off me, weirdo.”

  She tries to pass me, but I grab her arm. “Then who did that to you, and why didn’t you call me or Andi? If it looks like that now, what the hell did it look like last week, or the week before? Dammit, Gray, who did this?”