Nikki's Secret

by William Malmborg

“Or it could still be the daughter,” Bill said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It didn’t occur to me until now, but what if she hired someone to do this?” It seemed very plausible, especially if she was crazy like her mother, but also had enough sense to try to get away with everything.

  “Like a hit person?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wouldn’t they have just killed me and been done with it?”

  “It all depends on what she paid them to do. If she wanted them to torment you first and make you suffer, I can’t think of a better way than to get people sent to the house to try to have sex with you. It also would add to the suspect list once all is said and done.”

  “But we know it isn’t one of those men because you’ve seen her.”

  “Yeah, but that was purely by chance.”

  Kimberly didn’t reply.

  “We just got lucky,” Bill added.

  16

  Where in the world am I? Mark silently asked himself as the dark, unfamiliar room unfolded before him. A moment later his memories provided him with an answer, one that brought a smile to his face as he recalled all the different things he and Amy had done together.

  A few days ago you were despairing over the possibility of never having sex and now . . . his mind didn’t continue the statement.

  BEEP!

  Mark shifted himself toward the familiar sound, which belonged to his cell phone, and silently groaned. The beep was telling him he had a voicemail, and would continue to tell him this every five minutes until he opened the phone. He had to get up.

  Unlike the other day, Amy and he were not entangled with each other, so slipping free from the bed was quite easy. The same could not be said of moving around the apartment, which was dark. Fortunately, he did manage to make it to his phone without crashing into anything.

  The voicemail was from his mother, which didn’t surprise him. He also had a text from Nikki letting him know that she knew he was with Amy.

  I’M ENJOYING WATCHING YOU TWO BECOME INSEPARABLE.

  God, will it ever end? he asked.

  Thoughts of the police station and talking to the officer earlier came to mind, followed by thoughts of the writer guy being the real Nikki. Anger came next, but didn’t stay very long. How could it when he had just spent the entire evening having sex with a beautiful young woman who seemed to like him very much?

  Tell her to go fuck herself, his mind said.

  Or better yet, tell her that you now know the truth behind the real Nikki and see what she says.

  Does she know the truth?

  From what it sounded like based on what Bill and Kimberly had said at the police station the answer seemed to be a solid NO. It also seemed that the new Nikki was pretty convinced that Kimberly was the same girl who had caused all the drama in her father’s life, if their theory on who Nikki actually was turned out to be correct.

  So, enlighten her.

  She probably won’t believe me.

  Plus, given how crazy this girl had to be to do all this, telling her the truth could prove disastrous. Instead, it was probably better to leave things alone and just let the police deal with it. Once they had her in custody, they could explain the situation to her. Until then . . .

  Fuck it!

  He decided to tell her to leave him alone and that her messages no longer had any effect on him. Nothing good would come of it, and truth be told, not saying anything would probably be more of statement about the effect of the messages, but he didn’t care. He also decided to tell her that Kimberly knew the items coming in the mail were from him, and that Amy knew that anything Nikki said to her would be a lie.

  Message ready he hit SEND . . .

  . . . and heard a faint BUZZ sound from somewhere near the front of the apartment.

  Startled, Mark stared at his phone, his eyes trying to visualize the name AMY where the name NIKKI was displayed. It didn’t work. He hadn’t accidentally sent that message to Amy, which meant . . .

  He didn’t dare complete the thought.

  Send another one.

  Hope that it was all just a coincidence, yet fearing it was not, filled his mind as he typed the word TEST and hit SEND.

  The BUZZ echoed again.

  With it came an understanding of why Nikki had been able to know so much about Amy. The two were one and the same.

  Or maybe not?

  Maybe there really is an explanation?

  Maybe . . .

  The thought drifted away without completion.

  Check it, a voice instructed.

  Though he knew what he was going to find, the actual confirmation of the situation hit him hard. Making it worse, there was nothing his mind could do to argue against it. Looking at the phone there was no question that it was the one Nikki had used to message him, the SENT MESSAGE folder having all the texts within it. There also was no question of who the phone belonged too, its location inside Amy’s purse pretty much solidifying things.

  Now what?

  He stared at the shadowy figure sleeping in the bed and wondered if everything had been real. Had she had sex with him because she really did like him, or because she wanted to continue messing with him?

  The fact that he cared about this startled him because in the past if presented with such a situation he probably would have simply shrugged and said, “At least I had sex.” Well, this is what he would have pictured himself doing. Now, given the interaction and statements Amy had made, and how good just being alongside her had made him feel, he wanted it all to be real. It went beyond the sex at this point.

  Amy rolled over and said something in her sleep.

  He then watched her lift her head and look over at where he had been, her hand quickly reaching around for him, and then, after she twisted back around, over to the lamp cord.

  Light flooded this area of the apartment.

  Confusion distorted her face as she caught sight of him sitting in the corner chair staring at her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Mark tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t, and simply held up the phone.

  Amy looked at it for a moment, her face puzzled, but then understanding dawned.

  Seeing this helped Mark find his voice. “You’re Nikki,” he said. It was not a question.

  Amy didn’t reply.

  Mark waited.

  The two stared at each other for nearly a minute.

  Mark then dropped the phone back in her purse and stood up. “I think I’ll be going.”

  “No, wait,” Amy said.

  Mark reached for his pants.

  “Mark, please!”

  “Tell me why,” he said once his pants were in place.

  Nothing.

  “Do you really like me like you said, or was it all just a ploy?”

  “No, I really do like you, which is why I contacted you with my real profile. I wanted to get to know you and see if you really were as sweet as you sounded whenever you talked with me.” Tears appeared in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Confusion hit and once again, he didn’t know what to say.

  Amy’s tears continued to fall. “Please don’t go.” She wiped away at some mucus. “Not after everything we’ve done.”

  Her emotions startled him. Confused him too. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Please,” Amy repeated. “I love you.”

  “Then why did you keep sending me messages from the Nikki side of things?”

  Amy rubbed at her eyes.

  “And you made me spend a ton of money on those things for Kimberly,” he added.

  Nothing.

  Mark waited.

  “Because . . .” she started, but didn’t finish.

  Mark crossed his arms.

  She sighed. “Let me just show you.”

  “Um . . . okay?” Mark said.

  Amy stood up and headed into the kitchen area.

  Mark followed.

  “Open the fridge,” she said
.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Open the fridge and look inside the egg carton. It will help you understand.”

  Unsure what to think, Mark simply did as she suggested, his eyes squinting against the sudden brightness from within as he searched for the egg carton. Once found, he opened it. No eggs were present, just two . . .

  Are those knotted condoms? he silently asked himself.

  He turned toward Amy to ask her why in the world she had two used condoms in her egg carton, but the question never got a chance to leave his mouth as the large knife was plunged into his chest.

  Shocked, and unable to comprehend what had just happened, Mark stood where he was for ten seconds, eyes focused on Amy who was still crying.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “You left me no choice.”

  He shifted his gaze from her to the knife handle and then, without warning, watched as the floor rose up to smash into him.

  No pain arrived with the fall, just an odd type of numbness that had spread throughout his body.

  “I love you,” Amy said again. She then leaned down and pulled the knife free.

  Blood spurted, followed by a hissing sound.

  He tried to say something but couldn’t get enough air to form the words. In fact, he couldn’t really get much air at all.

  Panic set in.

  It felt like he was underwater.

  “You really were a great guy,” Amy said, the words somehow comforting him. “And I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

  That, mixed with the sound of the air hissing out of his punctured lung, was the last thing he ever heard.

  17

  Overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, Amy was unable to do anything but sit on the kitchen floor, crying. Mark’s hand was in her lap during this. She had taken hold of it shortly after pulling the knife free, but wasn’t sure if he had even realized it. What would go through one’s head during a moment like that? Did the brain even allow for thought, or did it simply go into a reaction mode as it tried to comprehend the trauma and then fix it?

  No answer arrived.

  This didn’t stop similar questions from filling her head, their presence probably the result of her own brain entering into a type of survival mode, one that wanted a temporary distraction from the horror of what had just occurred. Not the horror of the violence. She could handle that without a problem. But the horror of having to kill a man she had fallen in love with, one who she had actually started to see herself with long into the future.

  It would never have worked.

  Even if she had decided to abort the part of the plan that called for his semen, chances were something would have happened down the road that would have made him leave her. That was what always happened it seemed. In the beginning, the two couldn’t get enough of each other, but then, as time passed, the man would start to lose interest. It was part of the human condition according to her mother. Men were programmed to try to have sex with as many women as possible in order to populate the planet, while women were programmed to covet the men in their lives so that they would have a strong protective figure to help in the raising of their child.

  Looking back this had been one of the last things her mother had ever shared with her. The conversation had taken place right after the divorce during a time when it had looked like she was going to live with her mother. Eventually she had decided her father would be better though, at which point her mother had refused to speak with her ever again, the word ‘traitor’ being used several times during her angry rant.

  Better now than later, Amy said to herself as she shifted her thinking back to the situation at hand. Mark would have left her life at some point, of that there was no question, so at least this way she didn’t have to experience the horror of a slow breakdown of their relationship. Plus his death would serve a purpose, which was an honor few ever got to have attached to their name.

  But in the process you will tarnish his name.

  That put a damper on the positivity she was trying to muster up.

  It had to happen, she finally told herself. It was a bummer she had fallen for him the way she had, but that was life. Nothing could change it. Plus she could feel good about the fact that he had gotten to enjoy himself in the days leading up to this moment.

  And that neither one of you has any bad memories from the time together. Everything was pretty positive and enjoyable.

  With that thought, she carefully set his hand on the floor and stood up.

  A yawn struck.

  She endured it and then began devising a course of action for the body. Killing him in her kitchen had never been in her prior thoughts. Actually, killing him in her apartment had never been considered, her plan having been to take him out into a cornfield, or some other rural area of DeKalb.

  Now, however, she had to figure out a way of removing him from her place. Simply bagging him up and taking him downstairs and out to her car was not possible. Even if she could carry him like that, the fact that she would have to travel through public parts of the house made it too risky. Dismemberment. It was her only option. No one would question her carrying down bags of trash. It was a sight everyone had seen countless times. Only her trash would not go into the dumpster outside, but into her trunk. After that . . .

  Think about that later, she told herself. Right now you have work to do.

  Heeding the suggestion, she reached down and grabbed Mark by the legs, her fingers marveling over the odd feeling his skin had already acquired, and began dragging him toward the bathroom. Once there she struggled to get him into the bathtub, her hands attempting to balance his upper half on the tub edge so she could lift the other side. In her mind, she figured he would just flop into the tub, but instead he kept sliding back toward her. Frustrated, she finally lifted his torso onto the edge and twisted him so that his head and shoulders would fall into the bottom of the tub. Once like that she lifted his legs and pushed the rest of him in, the body taking on a crazy handstand like appearance before crumbling down into the tub, the right ankle knocking down several of her bathing products in the process, and then slamming into the faucet.

  Exhausted, she took a seat on the toilet, her body savoring the moment of relaxation.

  I could fall asleep just like this, she realized.

  Allowing that to happen would be a mistake. She needed to get this situation taken care of, for the longer it took the greater the risk became.

  You also will need some rest if tomorrow night is going to be the night.

  Though she had not originally had a specific date in mind for the death of Kimberly, and now the writer too, she had always known it would have to occur shortly after killing whoever the man was whose semen she planned to use for the DNA evidence. Ideally, she had hoped this would take place on a night when she, as Amy, contacted Mark while he was at home and begged him to come out to her because Nikki was harassing her. The reason for this was simple. She wanted his car being tagged going through the I-Pass on I-90 in the middle of the night so it would look like he had finally flipped out and driven out to Kimberly’s place. Whether or not the bodies of Kimberly and the writer were found the next day wouldn’t matter. All she wanted was for there to be evidence that Mark had raced out to the area. That, coupled with his DNA inside of Kimberly, would pretty much focus police attention on him.

  Not having that one little bit of evidence wasn’t a big deal, however, since she was sure the DNA she had acquired would be enough to focus that attention already.

  Especially with the packages that should be arriving soon.

  Those would be traced back to him.

  There also would be evidence of his having traveled back and forth on I-90 quite a bit during the time of Kimberly’s harassment thanks to his prior passes through the I-Pass. Amy wasn’t sure if all those trips would match up nicely with the actual moments that she had done things at Kimberly’s place, but she was sure they would be enough to add to the suspicion that he was to blame.
>
  It’s all going to work out nicely, she told herself. And now get to work.

  A trip to the kitchen provided her with the tools she needed – or thought she needed. Cutting up the body was a lot more difficult that she had contemplated, and at no point prior to starting did she suspect that it would be an easy task.

  I really need a saw.

  She realized this while working on the legs. Given their length, she figured cutting them in half, or even thirds would be her best bet, but once the skin and muscle was cut away she realized the serrated edge she was using would not slice through the bone. Between bones on other parts of the body it had worked, its edge severing the connecting ligaments and tissues nicely. Cutting through actual bone was another matter. It couldn’t be done.

  Maybe just separating them at the knee will be enough.

  She gave this a go, her knife and hands having a tough time toward the end due to the kneecap. Being forced to reach down into the tub to do all this was awkward as well, especially given the limited amount of space between the tub, sink and toilet her tiny bathroom provided her. Adding to the mess was how slippery things were getting. Turning on the shower and rinsing everything off would take care of some of that, but she didn’t want to go that route given how loud the water in the pipes was. The last thing she wanted was for all her neighbors to wonder what she was doing turning the shower on and off throughout the night.

  As it turned out, separating the leg at the knee wasn’t the most difficult task when dealing with the legs. That honor fell upon removing them from the hips. It also marked the first moment when she had to stop and get some fresh air thanks to the exposure of fecal matter that occurred when she cut the upper half of his pants free. Before this, she had occasionally noticed the smell, but for some reason hadn’t allowed it to register. Once exposed there was no ignoring it. She also couldn’t refuse to turn on the shower any longer, the need to wash all that shit down the drain overpowering the fear of waking her neighbors and having them wonder what she was doing up here.

  Tuesday, August 23, 2011

  1

  Ugh, why? Bill demanded as he lay in bed with his eyes wide open at five thirty that morning. Having stayed up to almost three surfing the web he had figured he would sleep to at least ten today, but instead his body had decided upon five. And fighting it was out of the question, though he had tried. For the last half hour he had stayed curled around a pillow, eyes closed, body relaxed, yet sleep would not return. It was crazy. Several years ago when forced to get up so he could be on shift at six in the morning getting out of bed had been nearly impossible. In fact, he had been required to set his alarm to go off three or four times between four and five just in case he went back to sleep. He had also put the alarm clock out of reach so that he couldn’t hit the snooze without having to walk over to it, which, of course, he never did because once he was on his feet he would be awake enough to realize he needed to stay up. Now, he had no reason to be awake, and actually wanted to sleep all morning, yet his body said NO.