Decay

by Zach T. Stockwell

  “We need to talk about something.” He said it in a sort of nonchalant way, as if it was no big deal, but I feel as though the subject matter is a touch heavier. I hide my worries, and respond accordingly.

  “About what?”

  “Well, I’m afraid our time together may be short. I’ve enjoyed it very much, and I hope you have, too. But the police are onto me. They know I’m responsible for taking you away from your environment.”

  Perhaps a few weeks ago, that would have been a Godsend. But I’ve really come to know Alexander well. He’s told me his own personal history; he’s told me of the girlfriends he’s had over the past couple of months. How none of them really cared much for him, how they quickly grew to hate him, and how he will never see them again. With every bit of personal information I learn about him, the more I genuinely care for him. If only the police could see that.

  “How do they know?”

  I don’t know whether to follow his lead and act as if it’s no big deal, or allow him to see how I truly feel about it. I don’t want him to go anywhere, and I certainly don’t want to leave. I’ll be right back into my old rut, with the same people, doing the same things.

  “Your ex-husband told them who I was. They’ve been looking into me, and they even put my face on the news. And they don’t know dick about me!” He spat the words with gruff as he slammed his hand on the table, rattling some loose screws somewhere in the desk.

  “So, they have no proof?”

  “No, of course they don’t have anything. But that’s what I want to talk to you about. How much do you love me?”

  The words catch me. Love? Surely, I haven’t known him long enough to truly love him, right? Surely not. Or maybe it has nothing to do with the amount of time I’ve known him, and more to do with what we’ve been through together. He’s done a lot for me; he’s gone through a lot of pain and risk, and work, and stress for me. Maybe I do love him.

  “I love you, Alexander.”

  The words don’t just roll off the tongue; they burst out. I didn’t mean to say it as quickly as I did, almost cutting him off, but it just came out.

  “Then we’re gonna face the police together. We’re going to convince them that we’re in love. And we’re gonna stay together, in peace, away from them. And we’re gonna get them to leave us alone.”

  “How are we going to do that? They’ll arrest you… They’ll accuse you of all sorts of things. You know that.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have a plan. All I need from you is to wear your prettiest dress. I bought you some new ones that will fit better than the old ones. They’re lying on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom. Wear it tonight, okay? And maybe do your makeup. I brought some of yours from your apartment in the city. I expect the police will be here tonight, and I want you to look your best.”

  ---

  Zoey turned and walked out of the room, giddy as ever, practically bouncing in excitement at the opportunity to wear something pretty and do her makeup again. After feeling so dirty for so long, it was only natural to want to look pretty for once.

  Alexander clicked open the tab he previously had minimized. The page opened into his email, which was no-doubt being closely monitored by police. He was sure they had combed through everything at this point, through all of his e-mails and notes, through his bank account transactions and credit card statements, trying to find anything tying him to this house. It was so close to them, yet they were so far away. They just needed a little help.

  Alexander clicked on the red ‘compose’ button and began typing into his keyboard. After only thirty seconds or so, he marveled at the finished work.

  It was an e-mail from himself, addressed to himself:

  To my dear Boys in Blue,

  I am deeply sorry to hear about Detective Maxwell. I hear he was a fine police officer and better man. I’ll have you know that I didn’t do the job myself, but a reliable source told me that he only choked for a minute or two. Now, Terry Edmund, on the other hand, was a cunt and he got what he deserved. As for Zoey, she is here with me. I live at 344 E County Road 218, Dallas, TX. See you all soon ;)

  Regards,

  Alex

  Alexander wasn’t ready to send it just yet. No, no.

  He’d prefer the festivities happen at nighttime. There was something peaceful about the nighttime.

  NINE

  NOVEMBER 2015

  Alexander had been living in his cabin for several months by November of 2015. He had come to intimately know three girls since, however each of them weren’t quite up to accepting the intimacy. The intimacy was forced and dirty, and wrong. And it didn’t feel right. Even though that lust, that desire, that need was being satisfied on a basic level, it still left much to be desired. And he desired true intimacy.

  At night, he slept one level above the remains of three different girls, each of which had gone missing in the months prior. They were all very similar, to match the tastes Alexander wasn’t quite sure why he had. Each of them were rather portly, not overly obese in the health-risk category, but enough so that their self-esteems were shot. Just enough so that he could get close to them without being laughed off. Each of them had potential to satisfy his urges - with a little help, of course.

  But there was room in the basement for one more, and he had already selected his last girl: the girl he knew would be his last. She was the one he would end on, whether it be by his own hand, her hand, or the hands of the police, he wasn’t quite sure yet. But he did know that it ends here - hopefully, in love.

  That’s all he really craved, after all. He craved the power, the sex, and sometimes the blood, bust mostly he craved true love. The only true love he’d ever received was that of his mother, a person whom just recently taken her exit from the Earth. A therapist might have said her death is what triggered his need for intimacy with another woman, especially so sudden and so deeply. And especially, especially, ones that looked just like his mother. Portly, but not too fat. Pretty with potential.

  Jackie lived her final days alone and depressed. She’d never remarried after Tom’s tragic disappearance to Southeast Asia; she had no interest and, even if she had, there certainly weren’t men knocking down her door for her attention. The only person she ever talked to or made an effort to see was Alexander, and he was far too busy with work to drive out to his poor old mother’s house. What a shame really, and Alexander felt tremendous guilt for neglecting her the way he had.

  But if he could find love for once, he could die with it before he managed to ruin it. That way, it would live eternally, and it would die with him, instead of die at his hand. Because, although he or his chosen mate may not be immortal, love certainly was. And a love that followed him to his untimely grave was unburdened by future possibilities, or rather, probabilities.

  Alexander began following Zoey in November.

  This was a harder task, however, because she seldom left home. She was new to the city, and her crippling anxiety left her homebound outside of her meaningless job. Another thing they have in common, he thought. But when she did leave home to go to work, or the store, or to visit her own mother, he made sure to accompany her. After the first week, he began detecting patterns. She always left around the same time in the morning, and she always arrived right on time to work or late, but never early. She would leave either right on time or early, but never late. Then, she would get home, and that’s where she’d stay for the night, and that’s where the night of stalking usually ended. She lived in a high-rise, so peering in through her window from outside simply was not an option. On weekends, she usually stayed home, but he was there waiting in case she made a trip to the grocery store or to her mother’s.

  After the first full month, he knew her schedule like the back of his hand. She shopped for groceries every other weekend, and visited her mother sporadically; there was no real pattern there. Her favorite coffee shop was around the corner from the law office where she worked, and her favorite place to eat was a fa
st food burger joint near her apartment. Her right tail light went out on Week 3, and she didn’t have it fixed until Week 5, but was never pulled over for it. She had, however, been pulled over once in that almost two-month period of stalking, and did receive a ticket for it. Speeding, six over the posted speed limit. For the next several weeks, she did not speed one time. Alexander found out what floor she lived on, and the apartment she lived in, and began waiting outside for her lights to turn on around Week 2. From the time she parked her car, it was about four minutes until the lights in her apartment shone through the window outside. Once the lights did come on, it was safe for Alexander to go.

  Staging a run-in would be a bit trickier with her, he realized, as there was a possibility she would recognize him. Although they had never formally met, it wasn’t unrealistic to think that her husband had mentioned his own business partner before. He was kind of a jerk if he didn’t, actually, and he then thought more about how Terry never deserved her in the first place. What an ass, he thought, the whole thing might be easier if he were just dead.

  So, staging the run-in was out, and he’d have to do this a bit more stealthily.

  Going into the night of New Year’s Eve, he had still yet to contract a plan, and none of it really came together until he followed her to the bar that night. He stood outside, waiting, thinking. But it didn’t take much waiting or thinking once he saw Boston approach. He was tall and handsome, and desirable for any female, much unlike Alexander himself. From there it was easy to convince big, dumb Boston that he was her husband and that they were fighting, and that he just needed his help in getting her out.

  And the rest, as they say, is history.

  ---

  December 31, 2015

  6:15 p.m.

  There’s no real use in trying to look pretty. I’m sure most girls out tonight will be wearing their prettiest red dress and high heels, with curled hair and done-up makeup. I’m sure compared to them, I’ll look like an unappealing mother sloth, but no biggie. I’m not worried about finding Mr. Perfect tonight, or Mr. Anything for that matter. I just want to drink somewhere other than my own couch.

  Tee shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes it is. I think I’ll go to that place Terry and I used to always visit when we came to the city. Maybe that hot bartender, Anthony will be working, and I’ll get good and drunk before coming home at midnight.

  ---

  11:12 p.m.

  God, this place is busy. I mean, I knew it would be; it is New Year’s Eve, after all, but this place is a nightmare. I’m lucky to have even gotten a seat at the bar.

  Four drinks in, I feel great. The world feels a bit narrow, and I can only concentrate on one thing at a time, but I feel good.

  To no surprise, I haven’t been approached by one man yet, but no biggie. I’m not worried about that, anyway.

  “Excuse me, Miss?”

  I turn to look at who the voice came from and if it was even directed at me, but I jerk my head too quickly and almost stumble off my stool before he catches me. I’m drunker than I thought I was.

  “Woah, there. Gotcha,” he grunts as he hoists my mostly limp body back securely onto the stool. “Mind if I take this seat next to you, or is it taken?”

  He talks like a perfect gentleman, but he doesn’t have the look of one. He’s handsome with tattoos all the way down to his wrists, and I imagine there’s more hiding underneath that leather jacket. He looks like a bad boy, like the opposite of Terry.

  He sits down and we talk for a while. He asks me some basic things like where I’m from and what I do for a living, and I get way too personal, way too quickly. In response to where I’m from, I tell him where I went to high school. And that that is where I met Terry and fell in love. In response to what I do for a living, I make sure he hears all about my shitty job in a law office, that I’m not even sure why I work, because I don’t need to.

  Another half hour or so passes and I’m two, maybe three, maybe four drinks deeper, and at this point it’s hard to tell what’s what. When did all these people get here? Why is this handsome person talking to me? Why does the loudness of the bar sound so muffled, so drowned out? If I try to stand up, I’ll surely fall. Maybe I’ll have one more drink and head home.

  I drink one more, and the handsome man asks if I’d like to leave, saying this bar was a dump. His apartment would be quieter, and have free drinks. I oblige, and try to stand up, but the weight of the alcohol forces me to the ground. He hoists me up once more and throws my arm around his shoulder. We say nothing as we walk out of the bar together.

  Just outside the bar, he’s shaking hands with someone. Who’s this other guy?

  ---

  My eyes have adjusted to the dark.

  TEN

  6:01 p.m.

  “Holy shit! Captain, come in here now!”

  Gus, or as his colleagues affectionately referred to him, The Computer Guy shouted from his corner of the department. His closet of a lab was usually silent, and he was rarely heard from, but for once, he had reason to be excited. Captain came running.

  As Captain Cole entered the long, narrow computer laboratory, Gus continued.

  “Look at this. A few hours ago, I got into his emails, his Google Drive and saved documents, and all of that, but there was nothing. I just went back to look through it all to see if he’s active on it, and look what appeared in his inbox less than fifteen minutes ago.”

  Gus turned the screen slightly to give the Captain a better look. He muttered the words out loud as he read them, like a second grader might, and then darted from the room.

  “Marco!” he yelled, as he rounded the corner into his office. Marco also came running.

  By the time Marco made it through the Captain’s office doors, he was already coming back through, and they bumped chests. He was in a hurry, strapping his holster around his shoulder as he moved.

  “What is it, sir?” Marco’s heart was thumping through his chest. There was only one explanation for this: they must have found him already. Over the last several hours, Marco had been calling every construction company and private contractor listed in the phone books and on Google, all turning up nothing. Everything was turning up nothing. Phone calls were turning up nothing, the internet was turning up nothing, and this guy had no sort of family or friends list to contact. He was practically a ghost, and hard to find just by good police work alone. It took a stroke of luck every time, with every new lead. More than a stroke, actually. It took nine parts luck, and one part good police work.

  “First off, my name is Jim. Second, the son of a bitch is taunting us again. Sent an email to himself, talking to us, because he knew we were monitoring his accounts. He gave us everything we need. He practically confessed to killing Edmund and Gene without actually confessing, and he admitted to abducting Zoey, and that he has her there now.”

  Captain Cole was buzzing from one word to another, with very little enunciation or break in speech, or emphasis. It was hard to catch most of the gibberish, but luckily for Marco, he spoke gibberish.

  “There’s no reason on God’s green Earth that he would give us everything we need to put him away for life, if he was gonna go down without a fight. This fucker’s at the end of his ropes, and the crazy son of a bitch probably wants a fight. I know, I know, crazy shit, right? Well, we gotta go. And we’re bringing everyone.” Captain Cole turned his attention to the crowd of murmuring officers and shouted, “Everyone! Briefing room, now!”

  As soon as he yelled it, the officers scattered throughout the room at their individual desks, stood up and scurried into a herd that quickly found its way to the briefing room. Behind them, with a little less giddy up, followed the Sergeant and Lieutenant. Last to enter, Marco and the Captain himself. Marco took his quiet corner spot, and Captain Cole found center stage.

  “Okay, everyone shut up, so I can get this over with quickly!”

  The faint, whispery roar of the room hushed in an instant, and all eyes fixed on the Captain. His muscles
were still trying to break through the shirt barrier, as if they just needed out for some air. Now he wore his shoulder holster, his gun tucked against his left side.

  “Hart knew we would be watching his emails, so he wrote directly to us. He was taunting us, knowing he was one step ahead. He all but admitted to killing Gene, killing Terry Edmund, and abducting Zoey, who we know for sure is with him now,” Captain said, addressing the room. “From what is sounds like, though, she is still alive.”

  Captain Cole was working himself out of breath as he continued without drawing a single breath. He had to pause to recollect himself, but as soon as he took in his dosage of air, he continued.

  “He’s challenging us. He’s taunting us. He wants us to come to him. He even gave us his address. He’s waiting for us. He is extremely dangerous, and he has already proven that he’s not afraid to kill cops. He’s at the end of his ropes, and this is probably his last-ditch effort. His back is up against the walls, so he is probably going to bite. He will likely be armed, so we need to be ready for anything he throws at us.”

  The Captain panned the room as he spoke. The faces of the men in the room drew sullen. Scared.

  “I know almost all of you have never been involved in open combat,” Captain Cole continued, “but that’s what you need to prepare for.”

  The room was heavy, and growing mustier by the second due to the collective perspiration growing amongst the officers. The room became hot with body heat, and this was compounded by the weight of the moment. No one was prepared for what the Captain thought was coming.

  No one, except for Marco. For some reason he didn’t quite understand, he wasn’t scared in the slightest. Perhaps the gravity of the situation hadn’t sunk in yet, or that this could very well be his final hour, or hours, on Earth. Perhaps he wasn’t afraid of Alexander, or he wasn’t afraid to die. Or perhaps his desire to avenge his friend outweighed all of this, dispelling any fear that might otherwise harbor within him.