by K B Jensen
“I’m glad you’re meeting him in public. He could be a serial killer or something.”
“Internet dating is perfectly normal these days,” Minnie said, with a sigh. “God you’re old fashioned, Liz. A lot of people get married this way, you know, not that I’m in a rush to get married.”
“You wouldn’t mind it,” Liz said.
A few hours later, Minnie found herself in the coffee shop about to embark on a typical twenty-first-century date. Daytime TV was blasting in the corner, clapping and cheering as a man walked in the door. Her heart leapt up as she sprang to her feet.
“Mike,” she said hopefully.
“Minnie?” he said.
He came up to her and kissed her on the cheek. Her first impression was positive. He met all the criteria she had listed on stellarmatch.com. About six feet, check. Tan, check. Nice smile with good teeth, check. Hypnotic green eyes, check. He actually looked like his profile picture and all the right boxes were still checked, just like the form she had filled out. He was made to order, one highly selective match. You have to love technology, she thought.
“Do you want anything?” he asked, wallet in hand as he stood by the counter to order.
“No, thanks, I already have my mocha,” she said, grinning back at him.
Once he got his cappuccino, he sat down across from her and stretched out his legs in front of him, tapping one foot uneasily on the ground.
What’s your fatal flaw, she wondered. What could it be? You look too perfect to be single. Hell, so do I. And so she asked him.
“What’s your worst habit?”
He smiled at her. “Is this a job interview?” he asked. “Because if it is, then I’m supposed to pretend a strength is a flaw, say something like, I work too hard.”
She laughed, but her mouth formed a small pout.
“You haven’t answered the question,” she said.
“Why do we have to start out with the bad habits, anyway,” he said gently. “Let’s start off on the right foot, why don’t we?”
“Isn’t it strange we have so much in common?” she said. “It’s almost too good to be true.”
“What’s your favorite movie?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like the scary ones,” she said.
“Your favorite then?”
“You’re gonna think I’m a freak,” she said. “Silence of the Lambs.”
“Huh,” he said, leaning back and stretching his hands out behind his head in a relaxed pose. “I like that one too. Classic. I saw it when I was a kid and it scared the hell out of me, especially that scene where Hannibal Lector chews off the guard’s face.”
“I found it scary too,” she said. “But I’m pretty good at handling scary stuff.”
“So you’re not the kind of girl who would dig her nails into my arm during a slasher scene, then?” he said, shifting in his seat. “Interesting.”
“Maybe we should go see a scary movie sometime and you can find out,” she said, crossing her legs. Nylon brushed against nylon.
“How about now?” he asked. “There’s a theater down the street.”
“We can walk,” she said, sipping the last of her mocha and setting down the cup. Ceramic clinked against ceramic a little too loudly. Her hands were shaking out of excited nervousness.
“You look like such an ideal man,” she said. “How are you still single?”
“And you look like the ideal woman. How are you still single?” he asked, laughing.
They put their empty cups on the counter, and he held the door as they left the little café. He had his arm in hers as they walked slowly down the street. She was tottering on three-inch heels, unused to wearing them.
“I’m a bit picky,” she said. “When I find something about a man I don’t like, I tend to dispose of him pretty quickly. That’s why I like to ask up front about bad habits.”
“Doesn’t that scare them off?” he asked.
“The ones worth having tend to stick around,” she said, pulling him closer to her. She liked the way he smelled.
“So I gotta ask you again, what’s your fatal flaw?” she purred. “You’ve got to have one.”
“Maybe I don’t have one,” he said. “Maybe I’m a man without fault?”
“Is there such a thing?” she said, laughing.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we should have a little fun before we get into all that.” She grabbed his hand and swung his arm, practically skipping to the box office.
They sat through the slasher movie, sat through the bullets and the blood and the gore. They sat through the fire and the explosions, and she didn’t jump once. She held his arm but didn’t flinch. He didn’t flinch either.
But as they were walking out of the movie, she caught his glance follow the behind of the girl in front of them. She didn’t like it. That’s it, right there, she thought, staring at the girl’s short shorts. He’s a cheating bastard, isn’t he? Just like the last one.
“Where to next?” he asked. “Shall I walk you back to your car?”
“Yes,” she said, winding the red scarf around her neck.
“How about we take the riverfront trail back?” she said. “I’m not in a huge rush, are you?”
“Not at all,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Such a charming downtown area,” she said. “I love the old fashioned streetlights.”
He was encased in a yellow halo of light. Rows of 1920s buildings surrounded them, only a couple stories tall, with arches over every window that made it seem like the old buildings had eyes and eyebrows. They seemed to have their own souls when you looked at them for a while.
“So why do you like slasher movies, so much?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I just like cheap thrills.”
“I usually like something a little more cerebral,” she said.
“I know what you mean,” he said.
She was playing with the tassels on her scarf and winding it through her fingers.
“What else do we have in common?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “You have any pets?”
“Me and pets don’t get along,” she said. “I used to chase my parents’ cat around the house with a fork.”
“That reminds me of the children’s story, Where the Wild Things Are,” he said. “The little boy chases the dog around with a fork. I used to love that story.”
“Me too,” she said. “That’s where I got the idea. God, that’s eerie you picked up on that.”
They were both children of the ’80s, that was for sure, she thought.
“I’m pretty familiar with the story. My mom used to call me a wild thing, and lock me in my room for hours,” he said. “All I had to do was read books by myself.”
“That sounds sad,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“She wasn’t a very nice woman,” he said. “I’m still angry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, anyway.”
They had walked down the steps and were on the trail now. The sun was long gone and the river was a dark gray silver, twinkling under the lamplights. She liked the way the light reflected on the churning river snaking next to them. There was something elegant about it, so close and so deadly. The water had claimed three lives within the last year. It made her shudder to think of it. Boulders lined the path, and she pulled him closer to the concrete edge, the rail.
“So you still want to know my secret?” she said. “Why I’m still single?”
“Your fatal flaw, as you call it?” he said. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”
He reached for the end of her scarf, and she gave it a little tug to release it from his grasp. “Oh, so you like scarves, do you?” she asked.
He wound the scarf around her neck and unwound it in a toying gesture. She gripped at it and pulled it away from his fingers.
“Not so fast, mister,” she said.
“It’s my turn.”
She ran the scarf around his neck. “You ever heard of autoerotic asphyxiation?” she asked. The comment usually bought her some time.
“That’s very dangerous,” he said.
“Do you like that kind of thing?” she said, pulling the scarf tighter around his neck and standing behind him.
“I’m not into strangling,” he said hoarsely, pulling the fabric from his neck.
That was when he pulled his knife out of his pocket, flipped it open and thrust it out behind him, at her.
Minnie leapt back and laughed and laughed when she saw it. It was a funny thing to bring on a first date. His face flushed red like she had somehow emasculated him.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m very scared.”
“Then why are you fucking giggling? I could kill you.”
It was then that she pulled the handgun out of her pocket.
“Not if I kill you first.”
“I’ve never had this happen before, on a date,” he said.
“Neither have I,” she said. “I keep thinking that the computer algorithms have gotten awfully advanced. Everyone always jokes about an online date with a serial killer…”
Her gun was still pointed at him. “Can you guess why I’m still single?” she said.
“You like to kill men,” he said.
“And you, you like to kill women, don’t you?”
He coughed and nodded.
“Tell me, when two serial killers go on a date, is it a perfect match or does it end with bullets and bloodshed?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe if you put down your gun and I put down my knife we could give it a try.”
He threw his knife into the river with a gulp and eyed her gun.
“Forgive me if I hold onto this for a while,” she said, slipping it into her right pocket. “You are a bit bigger than me.”
“How are we supposed to trust each other?” he asked.
“I don’t know, maybe that’s part of the thrill,” she said, taking his hand. The two of them walked along the riverbank.
“They should really rename that website,” he said. “Stellarmatch.com doesn’t cut it.”
“It should be killermatch.com,” she said, laughing. Who knows, she thought, maybe he was marriage material, after all.
“Tell me about your first time,” she said.
“Her name was Melissa Jones,” he said dreamily.
“Not that type of first time,” she said. “Your first kill.” She was excited to meet someone she had so much in common with. “It was one and the same,” he said. “Melissa’s parents died in a car accident a few years before I met her, and she wanted to be with them but she was too scared of death to do it alone,” he said. “She was my first love and one night I told her, I’d do anything for her. ‘Anything?’ she said. ‘Anything’ I said, and she told me that I could make love to her if I promised to slit her wrists afterward. So I did. I spent my first time thinking about how this was the last time I was going to kiss her lips, her breasts, press my thighs against hers….”
“Too much detail,” Minnie said.
“Anyway, I didn’t know how I was going to do it, but she made it so easy. She took some pills and held out the knife in one hand. I took the knife, kept it pressed in her fingers and cut along the vein. I watched as the blood left her body and her face faded into a soft violet shade of pale I had never seen before. I didn’t cry because she was smiling. She was happy to be with them again.”
“That’s almost sweet,” Minnie said.
“I do it out of love, you know,” he said. “I’m a collector of hearts, beating and broken. I like to put women out of their misery. That’s my type. The way I look at it, it’s an act of kindness really. I’ll be whatever you want for a night, be your dream man, and then I end it without any tears. Love heals all wounds, and I love for one night.”
“That’s sick and twisted,” she said. “But I can relate.”
“A lot of people love for one night but with a lot less finality,” he said. “Why leave the woman the next day? Think about it, she never has to wake up alone again. No more rejection. She gets to live forever, entombed in my glorious basement, her heart in a jar.”
“I don’t want your type of kindness,” she said, gritting her teeth slightly. “So you didn’t go to Yale. That makes you a liar. I like to kill flawed men, especially cheaters. That’s my pathology. Are you a cheater?”
“Nope,” he said. “Never been in a relationship long enough to cheat. How do you end up with so many cheating men?”
“I attract the wrong type, I guess,” she said with a sigh. “I’m tired of killing men. I wish I could find one worthy of keeping alive.”
“Maybe you like the wrong type. If you’re tired, maybe I’ve got a solution for you,” he said.
“That would be…”
“Death, of course,” he said, laughing.
“I’m not feeling particularly suicidal but thank you, Dr. Kevorkian.” She laughed and squeezed his hand. “I’d rather just find the perfect man.”
They were back in the parking lot, and she unlocked her car.
“Are you going to give me the axe, or let me come home with you and stay the night?” he asked.
She couldn’t help but giggle as she leaned against the car door. “Maybe both.”
She whispered her address into his ear and kissed him, biting his lower lip. For a moment, she wondered if she had finally found the perfect man. If not, well, there was a hatchet under her pillow. It would be there waiting for him with a red ribbon tied around its wooden handle.
* * *
“Oh come on, you’ve got to be effing kidding me, not even a little blood and guts? And you avoid the sex scene…” Peter said, his breath rising cold in the dark. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Julie said, blinking her eyes, trying to get used to the blackness inside the car again, after the burst of white snow.
“Have you ever tried your hand at writing about forbidden love and sex? Romeo and Juliet? I bet you’d make a great romance novelist, if you gave it a try.”
“I’m no good at those stories,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Not enough experience really.”
“Make it all up then,” he said. “Don’t hold back. Why are you holding back?”
He still wasn’t wearing his gloves. He put his hands in Julie’s jacket pockets.
“Aren’t your fingers cold?” she asked. It was all shadows and darkness in the car.
“They’re warmer in your pockets, closer to the body heat,” he said. “Which reminds me, you know I’m sure the survival shows say we should take our clothes off and snuggle to stay warm.”
Her head was on his shoulder, and she lifted it to face him.
“Oh for the love of God! How can you even think of getting naked at a time like this when it’s so damn cold?” She squirmed on his lap. “I can’t even feel my feet or my hands anymore. The last thing I’m going to do is take off clothes.”
“Skin against skin is always the warmest,” he said. “You can trust me. I’m not going to try anything. You know that. Come on. Do you usually distrust all men?”
“Men are generally untrustworthy in my experience,” she said.
“Let’s not be silly. We are two adults, here. Why not have a little fun in our last moments?”
“How hard did you hit your head again?” she sighed. “How can you possibly be thinking about sex at a time like this?”
“If you’re going to go out, why not go out with a bang?” he said, laughing. “No, I’m just kidding… Unless you’re interested of course.”
“No way in hell,” Julie said. “Sexy story maybe, but actual sex, hell no.”
She was cold, but he was shaking. She could feel his muscles shuddering against her, fluttering against her. They still felt warm but how much longer would that last? She could feel the warmth of his breath against her c
heek. She wished she could pull away from him, but it was impossible. They both needed the warmth. She knew it was going to hurt when they warmed up again, that her feet and hands would burn when the sensation returned. It would be a relief, but a painful one.
“Anything to get my mind off dying in the cold,” he said. “And don’t be afraid to throw some sex in there.”
“Fine, you want Romeo and Juliet,” Julie said, gritting her teeth slightly. “I’ll give you Romeo and Juliet.”
Throwing Stones
The first day she had seen him, she had asked him his name, and it had told her everything she needed to know. He was from a Muslim family. Her Hindu family would never accept him. Her family would never have faith in his faith.
She knew she shouldn’t want him. It was dangerous and wrong to play with a man she wouldn’t be allowed to marry. And yet she did want him, even if it was against the rules. She wanted to feel his hands running up and down her body, his breath on her bare shoulders, hot on her neck. She wanted to tangle his long, wavy black hair around her fingers.
He had dark brown, hypnotic eyes. His skin was tones of olive and gold and… his smell. She could lean in and smell him and feel alive.
They met on the beach. She found him along the shore one day skipping stones. She wanted to ask him to show her how, but she couldn’t. She watched his flicked black stone skim the blue surface and hop joyfully across the water. When she tried on her own, the stone sank. She picked up a cold, wet piece of glass that had been frosted and rounded by the waves and wondered what that would feel like, to become such a stone.
She felt like she was all rough edges. She felt weak and sharp. The words never came out. At first, she just sat there with him in silence on the bench by the old, rotting wooden pier. Never sure what to say, what not to say. But her eyes betrayed her. His eyes did too. The way he looked at her, like it hurt him to look, and yet he had to look. The way he winced at her beauty. It spoke a thousand words.
It was safe in the silence. She could imagine it was nothing, just her imagination, just two people skipping stones at dawn. She wondered if he’d come back just to see her every day? If he was always there at the same time or if he just loved the water, not her at all? They kept watching the sun rise together. They kept watching it break across the water, spilling gold across the waves.
