Eviscerating the Snake - The Complete Trilogy

by Ashley Fontainne

  I PULLED THE PIECE of crap, no gps, cash-only rental over behind the outcropping of rocks I had spotted during a previous reconnaissance of the area. The jagged boulders jutted out almost to the edge of the road and curved sharply back, holding just enough room behind them to completely obscure a vehicle from the roadway, which is exactly what I needed: coverage.

  I lost track of the hours of my life that had I spent slowly driving along this hundred mile stretch of road as I desperately searched out the terrain, noting everything of significance, from the closest people (over seventy-five miles away) to the layout of the arid land and the amount of traffic flow (practically nil). The five practice runs I’d made in the last week allowed me to memorize the route I needed to take to the spot on foot, even at night, so I wasn’t too concerned that I arrived with only about an hour until dusk. Had I not packed my clothes and gear earlier, before my meeting with Dr. Moore, I would be sneaking through the woods at midnight. That would have caused some problems with my intricate plan.

  My plan to kill Robert.

  Stepping out of the little Honda POS, I quickly retrieved my gear from the trunk, slinging the backpack over my shoulder. I locked the car and stashed the keys under the small rock by the back tire. The fewer items I had to worry about the better, and in this heat, covered in black from head to toe–including my warrior painted face–I was already sweating, and I had yet to start walking the four mile hike to the camp.

  Fuck, the things we do for love.

  After adjusting the straps of my pack, I then checked the laces on my black leather combat boots, making sure all bases were covered for this journey. I was on a euphoric high from my first kill, and my earlier encounter with the hissing monsters that Dr. Moore had been so fond of (had, hee hee,). I felt like I had dropped acid and ecstasy at the same time. Dr. Moore’s tragic demise (again, hee hee) hadn’t been nearly as up close and personal as Robert’s would be tonight, so the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

  I didn’t really have any reason to end Dr. Moore’s feeble little life other than the mere fact that he possessed balls between his legs. Yes, he bore a striking resemblance to Dr. Hopkins, whom I hated with a passion that was only matched in emotional intensity by my love for Olin, but…oh well, I needn’t worry about that now. I couldn’t help but wonder—had he actually been awake enough to have any—if Dr. Moore’s final thoughts would have centered on his poor choice of career.

  But Robert, I had many reasons for killing him, the most important one being to free Olin from that hellhole he was sitting in so we could be together. Our little jailhouse visits just weren’t enough; I needed to feel the rush of his hands on me after waiting so many years. I couldn’t wait to feel the exhilarated high that would overcome me when I watched Robert gasp and sputter for his last, extremely painful breath. Just thinking about that made my steps come quicker, the muscles in my body taut with the anticipation of the kill. My senses were heightened to the sights and sounds of the surrounding environment, my coordination and balance working in harmony. Picking my way easily through the dense scrub brush, I wound my body between the trees toward my destination.

  After about two miles, I stopped briefly by a craggy, meandering creek and leaned against a boulder that doubled as a seat as well as a cloak. It was recessed enough to allow me to sit back and be out of sight in case some rough cattle-puncher decided to walk up on me. I took my backpack off and set it carefully beside me, double-checking its contents to make sure everything was still intact and in its proper place. Satisfied, I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned back, glancing at my watch to discover that it was only 8:30. Fantastic. I was making great time. Grateful for the moisture sliding down my parched throat, I greedily slugged back a few gulps of water. Looking up at the beautiful Arizona sunset, I recalled how so many nights, locked up in my cell-like room at Haven Hills, I had dreamt about being outside—to be free from the wretched Dr. Hopkins and his incessant prattling about my numerous “psychoses” and my “obsessions” with the wrong men. He may have the letters “M.D.” after his name, but really, what did he know about the inner workings of not only my mind but my heart?

  Not a damn thing.

  Love… I had been in love three times in my life. The first was to my ex-husband, Nick. His dark, sultry face; those huge, limpid brown eyes that stared right through me; and the gentle touch of his hands on my body- oh, was he something! He was fresh out of law school and I had just graduated with my accounting degree when we met as interns at Winscott. I ended up staying after my internship, but he left after being offered a position at Ketner Law Firm in Scottsdale, where he was now a full partner and on the team of lawyers for Olin—which was rather shocking since I divorced him over Olin. Our courtship was brief, and he proposed amidst candles and champagne with a huge rock that almost blinded me. For the next several years, our life together consisted of brief interludes that rarely included a romp in the sack. We both travelled so much that we were never home long enough to have a relationship, so we grew apart.

  After the first five years, I realized that our biggest issue was the fact that I didn’t have the right equipment between my legs to entice him to bed. That little bit of information was forever ingrained in my vision from the time I caught him in a compromising position with his newest in a long string of many assistants, Greg. An impromptu visit to surprise my husband ended abruptly when I walked into his office and saw Greg bent over Nick’s desk as the receiver. Walking in on that little escapade shocked me, but not as much as it should have. My feelings for Nick had already changed over into the brother/friend realm as I realized I no longer yearned for his touch and actually was quite repulsed by it on the rare occasions he tried to initiate sex. In the back of my mind, I always knew he was a rump ranger. After hastily yanking his pants back up, Nick had chased me to the parking lot and cried, begging me to stay. Sadly, this panicked display was not because of his “love” for me, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of the scandal and how it would affect his ability to become a partner. So we came to an agreement right there in the parking lot: we would remain legally married but were free to pursue our own agendas. This freedom was contingent upon discretion, and in exchange for my part in the charade, I was to be given free reign with the finances, no questions asked.

  For the first few years, that arrangement worked out just dandy for me. I went on an excessive buying spree. I bought, without Nick ever even looking at it, a five million dollar estate that was nestled in the hillside and had panoramic views of Camelback Mountain and the Phoenix skyline. I spent another two million dollars furnishing it, and then once that little project was completed, I went out and bought myself a brand new Mercedes.

  But I was still bored and lonely. By then, I had made minority partner and my travelling days had diminished quite a bit, and I started working closer with him.

  I felt a tear slide down my painted cheek at the mere thought of my one true love, Ralph. I knew I needed to get going since there was no time for sitting here cruising down memory lane. None of all that pain mattered now anyway, since I had my Olin. Quickly, I packed my water away and secured my pack and hopped off the rock to begin my journey again. I tried to concentrate on the trail that was now dark because my footing needed to be sure and steady, but oh, I should never have thought about Ralph. In mid-stride, I stopped and slapped myself twice, hard, trying to rid my mind of images of his face. Good God, I had loved that man with a passion just as strong as the one I now felt for Olin. Funny, thinking about the two of them at the same time used to make me feel a sick, twisted sense of guilt, almost like I was cheating on Ralph with Olin; but that was just silly, since I never actually had the chance to consummate my physical longing for Ralph before he killed himself. God knows I tried on countless out-of-town audits that he took me on, but he always spurned my advances. He was such an honorable man. He had looked so sad when telling me that he felt like a mentor to me and that it would be wrong of him to take advant
age of me in that way. Hearing his chivalry made me want him all the more.

  The distracting images would not leave and I began to worry that they might harm my plans. Slapping myself silly wasn’t working, so I resorted to a measure I knew would. Reaching into my pants pocket, I retrieved the small knife hidden there, then quickly rolled up my sleeve and started slicing vigorously. The painful ecstasy raced through my blood and rushed to my head, wiping away all traces of coherent thought, save for the beautiful, burning pain. I shuddered slightly, almost orgasmically, and sliced once more, the blood now dripping onto the dry, desert floor. Replacing my knife, I rode the waves of glorious, mind-numbing pleasure.

  Clear headed now, my focus back on my prey, I moved at a quicker pace through the twists and turns of the trail under the bright desert moon, covering the final two miles in record time. Before I even climbed the rocks to my perch overlooking the camp, the acrid smell of smoke from the bastard’s fire greeted me, and I heard the faint whinny from his horse. Immediately, I slowed my steps down to a crawl, mindful of the noise that my footfalls would make if I misstepped. I quietly made my way up the rocks and across the short vista to the large grouping of Palo Verde trees at the edge, which was my designated lookout point. Pausing every few steps to listen for the telltale sounds below that would signal that I had been discovered made my trek even slower. Hearing nothing but the crackle of the fire, I made it to the trees and gently removed my backpack, setting it down beside me as I flattened myself to the dry ground, belly first, and peered over the edge, eagerly watching my former colleague who was now my prey.

  He had his back to me as he tended the roaring fire. His horse was about twenty yards away, tied loosely to the tree closest to his small tent. I quickly scanned the rest of his little camp, looking for the one item I counted on him bringing as part of my plan—a bottle of bourbon. I smiled a bit, thinking that he hadn’t changed a bit since my days at Winscott; he was an alcoholic and always would be.

  Just what I’d hoped for.

  My eyes caught every movement the rat-bastard made while he fiddled with the fire and eventually plopped back down on his pallet of blankets. I watched him reach over and take a full, long pull of his bottle and squinted a bit after he set it back down, trying to determine exactly how much was left. My hope was that he had already consumed plenty. My patience was rewarded when he stood up and began to make his way to his tent, stumbling twice and almost falling into the fire once.

  It just couldn’t get any better.

  Crouched like a hidden tiger as my prey nested in his tent, the snoring of a dead drunk ringing throughout the valley, I waited for over an hour before I rolled slowly over and reached into my bag, extracting the syringe from its resting spot inside the cooler. Stealthily, I crept back over to the boulders and climbed down, knowing it would take me a good ten minutes to circumvent this small vista to the campground. When I was a little over fifty yards away, I picked up a small rock and threw it in the direction of his horse. Startled, it snorted and whinnied for a few moments. Like a statue, I didn’t move as I waited to see if the noise from his trusty steed awoke the fucking prince. Thankfully, all I was greeted with was louder snoring.

  Perfect.

  I walked a bit faster this time, heading straight for his horse and untying its rope from the tree despite its vigorous protests. Big ugly thing, it didn’t even wait for a slap on the ass; as soon as the rope hit its neck, it twirled around on its hind legs and raced off into the darkness. Again, I stopped and moved my blackened frame behind the cover of the tree, waiting and listening for sounds from the tent, hoping that the heavy thud of the horse’s hooves hadn’t disturbed my old friend. My ears were delighted to hear the obnoxious rattles blaring from his nostrils.

  With my heart racing and my blood flowing through my veins as the adrenaline rush overtook me, I crept up to the tent and peered inside. Robert was passed out on top of his sleeping bag rather than inside it, and a small lantern flickered in the corner, which was going to make this easier than I thought. I gently reached over and uncapped the syringe and began to unzip the tent, keeping my ears pealed for the slightest change in his nostril symphony. I took two steps inside, crouching down to my knees as I stopped next to his head, deciding that the best spot to inject him was in his exposed neck. Suddenly he rolled over, his arm hitting my thigh, and in my attempt to move too quickly, I lost my balance and fell over. I tried to protect my hand that held the syringe, and in the course of doing so, I landed hard on my left side, almost on top of Robert.

  All the commotion brought him out of his drunken stupor, his swollen, red eyes trying desperately to focus as he blinked rapidly several times. Although I knew he couldn’t actually see my face, he felt my physical presence and reacted to it, kicking out both legs and smashing his left knee into my temple. I grunted loudly, and he screamed, his voice raspy and heavy from the booze and sleep.

  “What the hell? Get off me!” he yelled as he tried valiantly to sit up and take a swing at his attacker; his lack of body control was almost laughable. With energy and excitement running through me now, I ducked, rolled over and set myself upright once again. My reflexes were almost catlike, and my face was only inches from his as I answered him, “Olin says hello, motherfucker!” I jabbed the needle up to the hilt into the soft crook of his neck, releasing the entire contents of the poison into his bloodstream. Immediately, his face contorted in pain and his hands flew to his neck, clawing and twisting at the burning wound.

  I leapt to my feet and took a step back, my senses taking in the violent scene before me. He was writhing around the tent floor now, his guttural screams piercing the night and ringing through my ears, and his body began to convulse as though he was being electrocuted. In his frenzy, he had actually torn pieces of his skin from his neck, and the blood was now flowing freely from the wounds. As the convulsions worsened, his hands fell from his neck to his sides. The screaming stopped and his breath came in great gasps as his eyes began to bulge out of their sockets. His skin was turning an almost ashy white when suddenly, ever so slightly, he turned his face in my direction, his pain-engorged eyes locking with mine. I smiled lovingly at him, hoping beyond hope that he might recognize me under this entire stealth garb as I knelt down beside him, reaching out with my gloved hand to gently stroke his face. For a brief moment, behind all the pain, I almost sensed a hint of recognition behind his eyes and my smile grew even bigger as I leaned over to his ear and whispered, “And the snake recompensed the rat twofold.”

  The backstabbing bastard struggled for his last breath, his eyes rolling back in his head. His body gave one final jerk and then went limp, his bowels immediately evacuating all over his sleeping bag, filling the tent with a horrendous odor that almost made me vomit. Turning away quickly, I made my way out and ran back to the spot where my satchel was then jogged for the first mile or so back toward my car. The vibrant moon was almost in the center of the starry sky, giving me plenty of light to maneuver across the rocky terrain as I slowed my gait down just a bit. The energy that flowed through me now was overwhelming, and it spurred my muscles with renewed vigor; after a few minutes, I was running full speed again. The hot night air whipped across my face and filled my lungs with its warm vapor. In less than forty-five minutes, I rounded the bend back to my hidden spot by the road.

  Retrieving my keys from their shallow grave, I opened the trunk and flung my backpack into the dark space. I forced my pounding limbs to stay still for a moment so I could listen for the sounds of any traffic; hearing none, I unlocked the car door and started the feeble engine up. Backing up in the dark was a bit difficult, but once out of the hole, I slowly made my way to the edge of the road with my lights off and checked for any signs of oncoming vehicles.

  It was clear as a bell. With that, I gunned the engine, and the car shot out into the road, its little lawn mower engine humming a protest to my heavy foot. I turned the lights on and made my way along the twisty roads. I smiled at the image of Robert
’s distorted face, another memory forever ingrained in my head. It was a shame that Olin didn’t get to see that lying sonofabitch suck in his last breath; I would need to recall every detail when, at last, I could hold him in my arms and share all of this with him.

  The road whizzed by, and I headed back to Phoenix under the cloak of darkness. I began laughing uncontrollably, and tears rolled down my sticky, dirty cheeks as I thought, One down, two to go.

  WEDNESDAY

  THE SOFT, BLACK LEATHER recliner—no couch, thank God—was at least comfortable in this uncomfortable situation. The silent yet patient face of Charlene Bray, the counselor I had contacted a week ago on Steve’s recommendation, stared back at me. I had been surprised when she contacted me later that morning and had an appointment open for the following Wednesday: today. I couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had something to do with that, since most of the time, therapists were booked far in advance.

  I had just finished spewing out the last eight years of my life to her—including the day I eviscerated the snake in the conference room—and ended by regaling her with the tale of my recent nightmares. Although she was a professional therapist, I could almost sense her struggling to retain neutrality when I described how Olin was led out in handcuffs by my now detective-boyfriend, her eyes widening slightly as she took furious notes. I expected to see smoke rising from her pad any moment if she wrote any faster. My mouth was parched and felt like I had swallowed several cotton balls, and as I took a few gulps of water from the bottle I brought with me, Charlene finally finished her copious scribbling and looked up at me. Her huge brown eyes had questions running around behind them, and I could almost see her internal search to pluck out just the right one to ask me.

  “Audra, after all you’ve experienced over the years, especially the last five, why do you think you decided seeing a therapist now was necessary?” She tossed the question out in front of me almost like a hunter setting a trap full of bait for its prize to sink its teeth into. And of course, I bit.