by Jaden Wilkes
“How could you say that?” chubby ginger asked, holding his hand to his chest in absolute horror.
“Think about it,” Luka said, pausing to take a drink of his vodka tonic. “He gets to fuck the hottest chicks, doesn’t pay, and doesn’t have to deal with their shit afterwards. Genius!”
“It’s horrible,” ginger chubs said, “I can’t believe you think this is funny. My sister’s friend from high school lost her cousin. They think she might have been taken by CK. This is no laughing matter, you know. The reality is that there’s a cold hearted killer out there somewhere.”
“Settle down,” Luka said, “I didn’t say I supported him doing it. Why would I want some guy making chicks nervous? It makes it harder to fuck them after the club closes, right?”
“Aren’t you married?” ginger asked with almost as much horror as when he reacted to the murders.
“I ain’t dead,” Luka shouted and raised his glass. Several of the guys at the table tapped their drinks to his and they all shouted their agreement that being married didn’t mean the end of fucking strippers after the club shut down.
“You’ve been awfully silent on all this,” Marcus said and set his glass down on the table. I ran my hand along the edge; it was sticky and probably hadn’t been wiped down in a while. It’s funny how critical you become of cleanliness after cleaning up a crime scene.
“How do you mean?” I asked and felt my hand twitch. I wanted to check in on the girl in the cell. I wanted to see her ghostly, watery form slide around in the dark. To catch the glowing whites of her eyes as she passed in front of the camera, her face a mask of confusion and terror.
“You’re the most serial killerish out of all of us here,” he said and laughed. The table went quiet and they all watched me. Did they all feel this way? Fuck, I’d better step up my game. Shit.
“Once again, how do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re single, a momma’s boy, and dress way too well to not be a murderer…or gay,” he replied. He laughed but there was no laughter in his eyes.
“You offering?” I said and made a motion to unzip my pants. The table erupted in laughter and he backed down immediately. Once things had died down a little, I added, “And I’m not single.”
“You say that,” Marcus said, “but we’ve never met her.”
“You will,” I replied and looked around at all of them, “but not before I know she won’t run the moment she realizes what fucktards my friends are, right?” They laugh, I order a round for the table and all is forgotten.
Some time later I got up and went to the bathroom. I took the time to slip into a stall and took out my phone.
The girl in the cell was curled on a stack of filthy cardboard in the corner. She appeared to be sleeping. I watched her for a few moments, watching her ribs expand and contract as she found freedom in her dreams.
I clicked the app and went to my second camera, Pet’s bedroom. She was sitting up in the center of her bed brushing her hair. She had a single lamp on next to the bed and she glowed with a soft, golden light.
I watched, mesmerized as she stroked her long, thick hair with the brush. I wondered briefly if collecting her hair might be a little too creepy, decided it was and let the thought pass.
I went to wash my hands and Marcus was pissing at the urinal. He looked at me, defiantly, with a little flicker of skepticism. I didn’t like how he was behaving lately, but realized any aggression from me would only serve to add fuel to his fire.
“You guys wanna go for sushi sometime soon?” I asked him as I shook the water off my hands.
He zipped, paused and turned to me. His smile was plastic and perfect when he said, “Sure thing bro, any time. You know I’m dying to meet her.”
Was that a hint of mockery in his tone? I smiled and passed him by, leaving him to wash up before coming back to the table.
It took him much too long to make it back. I wondered what he’s been doing in there to pass the time. He seemed nervous when he sat down a few seats over from me.
Or was I imagining it all? It didn’t matter at that point; I was in it too far and in way too deep to ever change. Besides, what could Marcus do about it? Nothing at all. He was as bound by the social constrictions of our class as I was, squealing on a fellow rich asshole was paramount to social suicide, no matter the reason.
Fuck, my hands were almost shaking as I thought about the reason for my heightened awareness at the moment, Pet and the girl in the cell. I resisted the urge to take another peek and forced myself to join in the conversation. They were discussing the merits of high reps versus low reps in weight training. Idiots, all they talked about were sports, pussy and working out.
I let my mind drift and put myself on autopilot, interjected at the right times, nodded at the right times, and said all the right things while my thoughts went back to Pet. The drunker I got, the more dangerous I felt.
I didn’t know if I should go home later.
I didn’t know if I would be safe.
****
“Honey, I’m home,” I yelled, took off my coat and dropped it as I moved down the hall. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation, it was anything but a domestic scene.
“Sweetheart, you awake? I know you are, I just saw you on camera,” I yelled and rapped on the door.
The metal echoed and I heard a whimper from the other side. It was cold down there, I should have left my jacket on, but it felt cumbersome, restricting, and I’d need all my movement to do what I was about to do.
I shoved the key into the lock, fiddled around, cursed a couple times as it didn’t quite line up, and finally got the door open.
It swung inward with a great groan, and the light stabbed the darkness, finding the girl immediately.
She was huddled against the far wall, her eyes bright with fear, her hair matted and filthy, and her clothing covered in dirt and grime.
How many days had I left her down here? Surely it wasn’t more than one or two. Or maybe three or four. Pet consumed me so, it was difficult to leave her side at times.
The place smelled like shit, piss, and naked terror. I inhaled and drank in the scent. Disgusting, and yet poignantly authentic. This one was going to die, and she smelled like death.
I crossed the cell in two long strides, took a fistful of her shitty green hair and dragged her along behind me.
“Come on now, I hate it when we fight,” I told her as she tried to claw at me and scramble away. “If you’re a good girl, I might just let you go.”
We both knew it was a lie.
The adrenaline was kicking in and I was losing the buzz from the booze I’d been consuming all night.
“You missed a great party,” I said and pulled her up the stairs. She was jabbering away about letting her go, please don’t hurt her, she won’t tell a soul.
Of course she wouldn’t tell a soul, she’d be dead. Immortalized.
“Actually, I lied,” I said and turned towards her when we got to the main level. She looked panicked, a comical expression, as she thought I was going to do it right then and there. With what, my bare hands? I’m not a fucking savage.
“I lied about the party,” I went on, “it wasn’t great, it fucking sucked. I hated every god damned minute of it, it kept me from you, from this.”
She relaxed and looked around, noted the huge, hollow space and asked, “What are you going to do with me? If you let me go right now, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll even fuck you first, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Oh sweetheart,” I said, “you smell like a porta-potty. I wouldn’t grace you with my cock if you begged for it. I have much more exciting things in store for you.”
I dragged her behind me again, towards the room I’d set up in the middle of the bank of former warehouse offices. I opened the door and hauled her up onto the table in the center. As it turned out, straps were easily fixed to the table and they came in handy now. My first experiment, this felt very special to me.
She went almost limp as I strapped her hand down, pulled the leather tight and buckled her in.
I moved to her other hand and she lunged, scratching me down the cheek and going for my eye. She was trying to gouge me, the bitch.
I pushed her hand down, hard, I felt something snap and she screamed in pain. I don’t think I broke her wrist, but at this point I didn’t care. Her health wasn’t my top priority.
She went totally quiet after that, her breath was rapid and shallow, like a little rabbit, and her eyes glassed over.
It always concerned me, how quickly people, well, women gave up in this situation. It’s like they knew their lives were going to end so they stopped fighting.
It flattered me, they perhaps were in on my conviction that I was preserving them in their most perfect form, but it also disheartened me.
I know we all watch shows like The Walking Dead and imagine ourselves surviving and fighting hordes of undead or killing our enemies, one by one.
The truth is, most of us would fall under the first wave of whatever came to decimate us.
At the end of all things, most people just gave up.
If you’ve ever watched a wildlife documentary, you know there comes a point where the prey just gives in. Their eyes became steely with determination and they bare their neck to the predator.
We’re no different, we’re simply animals after all.
She bared her neck to me that night, she gave up and she gave in.
The only thing I hadn’t been counting on was my inability to finish the job.
I didn’t know if it was the booze, the filthy unbeautiful state of her being, or the fact that my heart now belonged to Pet, I couldn’t get off.
I stumbled from the warehouse as the sun was dawning, bringing the hope of a new day to the sleepy city and illuminating the terrible place I was in.
I had to get home, to Pet, to something…so I left the girl strapped to the table and promised her I’d be back.
Eventually.
And then I would finish the job. One way or another, I would immortalize her.
Chapter Three
Patty Wilson
Staying clean was hard, and staying away from Jason was even harder. Patty balanced Sarah on her hip and waited for the bus home. She had at least two hours of homework tonight, Sarah was teething and cried constantly, and she was scheduled for four hours at Walmart tonight, shelf stocking and inventory control.
She was exhausted, sad, and would have killed her own mother for a bump of coke to help her through the next few hours.
Not that it really would have taken much convincing to kill her mother.
Sarah started to squawk, drawing angry looks from a couple fellow passengers waiting alongside her in the cramped bus shelter. If it weren’t raining, she could have at least stood outside or taken Sarah for a walk to calm her cries.
As it was, she was helpless against the squall that was her baby. She hated not being able to ease her pain, and she hated every single one of the judgmental asshats in the shelter with her, but most of all she hated Jason right now.
Hated to love him, more like it.
She didn’t talk to him for a week after he’d attacked her, but he’d come sniffing around and she’d opened her door and her legs for him.
But he’d been so cute, he’d brought a little white teddy bear holding a red heart for Sarah. So it said Variety Club 2012, and had a little grey tinge to the ears, but it was the thought that counted in this case. And when a thoughtless man did anything for you, you didn’t look that gift horse in the mouth.
The bus pulled up and creaked to a halt with a pneumatic hiss. Her fellow passengers pushed past her and left her to shift Sarah’s weight, pick up her backpack and pull herself up the bus stairs.
There was nowhere to sit when she got on, and the bus driver embarrassed her by standing up and refusing to move until somebody grudgingly got up and let her take their place.
He shot her a look of pure hatred as she sat down and said thank you.
She looked down at her knees and jiggled Sarah, hoping the movement would calm the crying baby down.
It didn’t, and it just got worse as the bus got more and more crowded, the heat and humidity making everyone short tempered and ill at ease.
She practically leapt from the bus when it finally hit her stop.
She made it home, opened the door and found her mother’s boyfriend, John, in his underwear, scratching his balls and watching The Price is Right.
He didn’t even look up at her, but kept yelling out the answers, all of his were wrong of course. Patty sometimes wondered if he could really read.
She stripped Sarah’s jacket off and noted the red flush on her cheeks. She felt her head and was alarmed at the heat coming off her baby.
“Do we have any Tylenol?” she asked John, kicking her own boots to the side of the entryway.
“Shit, I dunno,” he replied and pulled his hand out. He gave it a sniff and Patty shuddered at the thought of his smelly ball sack. “You gotta ask your mom. She’s gone out to the bingo hall though; tonight’s the big one. We might be rich if she wins that jackpot, ten thousand dollars, can you imagine?”
“Yeah, it’d be great,” she said and took Sarah to their room.
“I made some mac n cheese,” he called to her just before she shut the door, “you’re welcome to it. The baby might like some too.”
“Thanks,” she said and clicked the door shut. What a fucking moron, not only did she not want to inadvertently inhale one of his wiry pubes, but she didn’t think macaroni and cheese was exactly recommended eating for a five month old baby.
She finally got Sarah settled, made herself a sandwich with a single slice of bologna on Wonder Bread, and got ready for work.
She hoped her baby would be okay without medication; she’d have to pick some up at work tonight and treat her when she got home after midnight.
Her mom wasn’t home by the time she left, so she reluctantly left Sarah in John’s care.
He was a pig, and disgusting, and did she mention, a pig? But he wasn’t a pervert, and he was good with the baby. He had daughters of his own, grown now, but they still came to see him.
That had to be a good sign, she told herself and forced the thought of something bad happening far from her head before she started her shift.
Besides, her bad luck had to let up some time, and why not let it end at her daughter?
They both deserved it.
***
“Fuck, Patty, I swear sometimes you’re a fucking retard,” Marty said. Marty was her shift supervisor; he suffered from miniature Hitler syndrome. He got a tiny bit of power and went fucking nuts with it.
“I did it exactly how you said,” Patty replied, choking back a scream.
“I said I wanted the dollar ninety nine items on the top, the higher priced items on the bottom.”
“You didn’t, I swear,” Patty said, but she couldn’t really be sure. She was so tired she couldn’t guarantee she’d hear him right.
“Do it again, and you will be docked if you take a break. This is unacceptable, one more time and I’ll write you up.” He stomped away as if she’d just offended his mother, the Queen of England, with her shoddy shelf arranging skills.
What an asshole.
She got back to rearranging the items on the shelf when she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Always terrified of some bad news regarding Sarah, she yanked it out and read the text.
It was Jason, he was in the neighborhood and he had a surprise.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to take her break, she couldn’t afford it, but she really wanted to see him.
She knew he probably just wanted a blowjob in the front seat of his shitty Mustang behind the store in the loading dock, but she didn’t care. He wanted a blowjob from her, and right now that made her feel like a fucking Disney Princess.
She waited for him, nervously bouncing on the balls of her feet until she heard the motor and sa
w his car slide around the corner.
She stepped from the shadows, unable to keep the grin off her face when she saw him.
“Hop in,” he said. She opened the passenger door and eased herself in beside him.
“What you got?” she asked and turned his music down a little. Hip-hop of some kind, she didn’t know the artist.
“I got you something nice,” he said, “but first you gotta be nice to me.”
“You know I got what you need,” she replied. She was almost giggling at him wanting her. Pathetic, but that’s just how it was.
“That’s my good girl,” he said and unzipped his jeans. He popped his cock out, an unimpressive six inches, but she loved him for it. He didn’t seem like he was trying to prove anything with his average dick.
She moved towards it, took it in her mouth and started the thing with her tongue that drove him crazy.
He wove his fingers into her hair and held her tight against his crotch. His pubes bristled against her nose and threatened to make her sneeze. She inhaled slowly, ignoring the smell of his unwashed body, and finished him off in record time.
She sat up, licked her lips and swallowed every drop of him. He smiled at her, stroked her cheek and said, “Now why can’t you be like this all the time?”
He stuffed his softened cock back in his jeans, flipped the waistband of his underwear up and zipped himself in.
“What did you bring me?” she asked, ignoring his question.
“Surprised, babe,” he replied and pulled out a little plastic bag of coke. She was disappointed but tried not to let it show.
“Oh, thanks,” she said, and reached for it.
“What, you’re not happy?”
“I like it, but you know I’m trying to quit.”
“Fuck it,” he said and went to put it back in his pocket. “You know, I try to be nice but you always gotta be such an uptight cunt about it.”
She didn’t want the coke, she didn’t know if she’d have the willpower to resist it, but she didn’t want him mad at her.
“Give it here,” she said and held out her hand, “I was just kidding, geeze. Of course I want some blow. How else can I manage working here?”
