by Matt Shaw
Copyright©2014 by Matt Shaw
Matt Shaw Publications
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters in this book are purely fictitious.
Any likeness to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
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Although this story works as a stand-alone tale, to get the most of it you should have read
‘ART’and‘SEED’first.
Events from both of these books are touched upon in this story.
PSYCHOPATH
FOR
HIRE
M A T T S H A W
CHAPTER ONE
NATHAN COLE
One Last Evening
I
I could stare into her eyes all night. I never believed the saying ‘the eyes are the windows into the soul’ until I found myself looking into her eyes and staring directly into the heart of hers. And what a soul it was; filled with a radiant beauty and a goodness not often seen in humans. Most, including mine, are tainted by various aspects of a life lived, but not here. In these eyes the soul reflected was something special. She closed them - stopping the possibility of any more soul searching.
I tenderly stroked her cheek and called her a, “Tease.” Her skin was soft and warm to the touch. Such perfect skin. No blemishes, no marks. Nothing. Flawless. I leaned forward and gave it a delicate kiss as was my want. A lick of my lips and she tastes of peach. Must be some kind of lotion she used.
I ran my hand down her body starting at the cheek I’d just touched, down the side of her face, her neck, her bosom - down to the blade which jutted out from her stomach. I took a hold of the handle and gave it a twist. She moaned and winced. I pulled the knife from her stomach and looked at the open wound left behind before the ever-spilling blood made it difficult to see inside. Looked bad. Daddy will kiss it better. I moved down her quivering body until I was face to face with the torn skin. A little lick and a strong taste of iron. She flinched. I couldn’t help but to gag at the taste. Even so, I flicked my tongue across the slit as though lapping at her clitoris. I looked up to her face, her breathing is getting shallow. I pressed my hand against her bare vagina and started to stroke softly. A quick little spit on my fingers first and I slowly pushed inside of her trying my best not to tear her up from too much force and not enough lubrication. She moaned and winced. A whisper from me to her, “Go with it,” as I slowly started to move my fingers in and out of her vagina. My goal is to send her to Heaven before sending her to Heaven. I wonder whether the feeling of this would be enough to compensate for the screaming hole in her stomach? She’s moaning and squirming around my fingers - a move I take to mean she is enjoying herself. I let go of the knife, dropping it to the tiled floor, and ran my spare hand over her body until it rested upon her heaving breast. A ripple of pleasure for her as I tickled her left nipple - now standing to attention. Enjoy it my love for you deserve it.
I looked up to her face. She opened her eyes (seemingly with effort) and looked directly at me. She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the cold ceramic of the bathtub. A few more shallow breaths and her head fell to the side with her mouth agape. A final breath escaping her pink, full lips.
“Thank you!” I whispered to her. I withdrew my fingers and looked up toward the ceiling wondering whether she were up there, looking down upon her own empty shell and the man who helped to free her. “Thank you,” I repeated. I sat down on the cold tiled floor next to the bath-tub and looked down at the bloodied knife. Not finished with that yet. I took hold of it and leaned back into the tub towards the lady. I took a clump of her blonde hair in my left hand and pulled her head up so that her neck was stretched. With the knife in my right hand, I cut across in a neat line from one side to the other. If she wasn’t dead beforehand, she soon will be. Good night, my princess. Safe travels be with you. I dropped the knife into the bath and sat back against the wall as the blood trickled out. Should have done it whilst she was definitely alive as the blood flows more freely with the heart still beating. I couldn’t though. Just seemed cruel. I rested my head in my shaking hands and began to weep. It’s the same reaction whenever I kill someone. Tears. Spilt for both a life lost but also the thought of them now at peace in whatever Heaven their imagination created for them.
Sometimes I envy them as they lie dying in my tub. Sometimes I wished our roles had been reversed and it were me there with them kneeling by the side of the bath with the knife in their hands. I shook the thought from my tired mind and reached for a piece of tissue - torn from the toilet roll hanging on the holder next to the toilet. A quick wipe of my eyes and a blowing of my nose. No time to weep now for another lost soul. There is still much to do whilst the girl is still fresh.
I stood up and dragged her lifeless body up the bath a little so that it was lying at an angle; her legs higher than her head to allow for the blood to leak from the holes I had cut (neck and stomach). If things keep going on like this, it would most likely be worth my time installing some kind of pulley system to allow me to literally hang the corpses upside down so that the blood can drain easier. With her body in place I couldn’t help but give her a final quick glance before continuing with what needed to be done. Her death was such a waste. Such a shame. I shook my head and walked from the room.
II
The spare bedroom was lined with cupboards along all four walls. Maximum storage space for all of the clothes I had accumulated over the years. Some of them were purchased from charity shops I had visited in the nearby town and some of them were stripped from the people who’d come to my house. Technically I didn’t have to dress the people back in their clothes once they were dead - and sometimes I didn’t - but if I were to dress them I liked to have various options as to what they could wear. Just because they turned up in one outfit, it didn’t mean it was the best choice for them to be put back into. After all - maybe their outfit could have got a spillage on it during the course of the evening, or maybe it didn’t suit them as much as it could have done? Whatever the reason, I didn’t think it would hurt to have options.
The left hand side of the room belongs to women’s clothes and the right hand side belongs to men’s clothes and shoes for both sexes.
Unsurprisingly I have a greater collection more geared towards the female of the species.
In both collections - I have something for nearly every sized person you can imagine but the majority is geared towards ‘medium’ sized people. With regards to the outfits themselves I like to think I have something for every occasion. For the men I have suits, shirts, tee shirts, trousers, jeans, shorts, trainers, smart shoes and flip-flops (not that I’ve ever found a use for the latter) and for the females I have leggings, jeans, skirts, dresses, g-strings, thongs, french knickers and even some PVC. I had a latex dress here once too but I split the damned thing trying to squeeze a well-suited lady into it. A shame because she would have looked incredible with the rubber hugging her perfect form. PVC is close enough to latex for me and it’s a damned sight easier to get them into it. Take the red PVC dress I have, hanging in the far closet, for example - a simple concealed zip down the front of it…So easy to slip it onto the girls if the mood suits (which it tends to).
Tonight’s lady seemed too innocent for any of the PVC outfits I had stashed away. The look in her eyes suggests she had never tried such a garment o
n and I think it would be unfair of me to force her to do so - even in death. I opened the second cupboard - the one where I hung the various dresses - and picked out a long flowery dress; light yellow in colour and a thin material - perfect for Summer days where a lady would like nothing more than to relax.
I held the dress up against my own body as I looked at my reflection in a mirror which formed part of one of the cupboard doors. I didn’t imagine myself in the dress. I imagined her - as though she were here now, standing with me, trying it on. I think she’d look pretty in it. Certainly good enough for tonight anyway.
Satisfied with my choice, I took the dress from the room and headed back towards the bathroom where she’d have hopefully (more or less) drained by now.
III
I had been too eager. My date wasn’t ready to come out of the bath yet. Not without making an unnecessary mess on the floor at least and whilst that wasn’t really a problem I had enough to clean up after tonight without adding to the list. I was in the bedroom folding the clothes she’d been wearing earlier in the evening. They smell pretty fresh and they look clean so I won’t bother washing them. I’ll just hang them in the wardrobes in the spare-room on the off-chance I can use them again. She’s a pretty average sized woman so I’m sure I will.
I had let her use the bedroom to get changed. Funny really - giving her the privacy - considering I was going to be seeing her naked anyway. I’d also offered her a shower to cleanse herself. She’d gratefully accepted the offer. I had told her that the shower was in the bathroom - above the bath. I had waited for the water to start running before charging in there with the knife. I stuck it straight into her stomach and had given the blade a twist to really tear the organs up in her gut. She started to collapse as soon as the blade penetrated her but I had caught her and gently lowered her down so as not to have her bang her pretty little head.
Her handbag was next to her clothes, at the foot of the bed. I picked it up and started to go through it. Keys, hairbrush, purse, some kind of spray, lady products… Better safe than sorry I guess… and an envelope. That was for me. I took it out and put it on the bedside cabinet. I’ll take a proper look at it later; I’m sure it’s all there anyway. Back to the bag and that’s more or less it with the exception of crumpled pieces of paper and a small notebook with various scribbled notes within; nothing of any worth or interest. I was pleased to see no mobile phone. They know I do not like them. They think it is because I do not want us to be interrupted with a ringing cell but that’s not the reason. I don’t want the authorities to try and trace it. I’m still not sure whether that’s something they can actually do or whether it is only something you see in the movies but I figure there is little point in risking it. Much easier to simply say ‘no mobile phones’.
The purse was also worth investigating and I soon had it open. Various credit cards in the front compartment - I’m guessing most nearly maxed out or one hundred percent maxed out - and a few pound notes in the back section. No life-changing sums of money here but enough to make my weekly grocery bill a little easier on my own pocket. I took the notes out and folded them into my back pocket. I went to close the purse and noticed the girl’s driving licence. Jenna. Pretty name. Pretty girl too but you wouldn’t think it looking at the God awful picture on the identification.
I tossed the purse back into the handbag and threw it into the corner of the room. Tomorrow, I’ll burn it all.
IV
Our evening had moved back to my dining room where it had first begun. She was sitting opposite me in the dress I had selected for her. It didn’t match but I had put a scarf around her neck to hide the wound I had caused with the knife. I knew it was there and I knew why it was there but it didn’t mean I wanted to look at it whilst I role-played with her. I never used to cover the wounds up, used to leave them, but I realised I couldn’t properly relax into the scenario as I should have done and it left me with a bad taste for the evening.
The near-empty plates, which once had our meals upon them, were still between us from where I hadn’t cleared them away yet. There was a bell at the side of her plate. A small bell with a gold head and a wooden brown handle. I always put a bell next to my dates’ plates on the off-chance they felt the need to ring it in order to bring our evening to a hasty end, forcing us to go our own separate ways - much like a bell in a speed dating bar. It was always bittersweet when they rung it. On the one hand I knew they’d get to live another day and on the other hand I knew I wouldn’t get to role-play with them once the evening’s tasks were completed.
“Have you had a pleasant evening?” I asked.
I have. Thank you.
I knew she wasn’t speaking. I knew none of them spoke but it didn’t stop me from trying to imagine it regardless of their current state of health. When I imagined she’d said she had had a lovely evening I felt my face blush. Stupid really and I was grateful there was no one around to actually witness my awkward embarrassment.
“That means a lot to me, thank you.” I paused for a moment, “Can I get you any dessert?” I stood up and went to clear the plates when I suddenly interjected with a male voice asking my date who the hell I was. I looked towards the corner of the room where I had earlier planted a man I murdered the previous night. I had dressed him in a suit and - in my mind - he had come home from work only to witness his wife get into my car. He followed us back to my house and is now bursting in on us. In reality this man is nothing to do with the dead woman before me. Despite the two of them having so much in common - the two had never met.
“What’s going on?” I asked my date.
She’d tell me that it was her ex. She’d explain that they’d broken up a few weeks back and he had been pestering her ever since. A lass like this, I could see why he’d have a hard time letting go of her. She was beautiful.
“Look I don’t know what the story is but you’re upsetting my friend,” I told the stranger. “I think it’s probably for the best if you turn around and leave.”
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He’d have a go at me. He’d call me all the names under the sun and he’d threaten me with clenched fists. I wouldn’t have to hit him though. I would never have to resort to violence. A look would be enough to quieten him. A look would be enough to make him about turn and leave. Of course - in real life - I’d happily resort to using violence in order to make a point but it wouldn’t work in this situation; not whilst I am role-playing. After all, it’s hard to get into a fight with someone who is already dead. Hard to imagine them hitting you, ducking and weaving your punches and - well - it just feels counter-productive using a corpse as a punching bag. Especially when the energy could be better spent elsewhere.
I threw a table cloth over the festering corpse of the man. He was still there but, in my mind and in the scenario playing through my head, he was gone. She thanked me for getting rid of him and I told her it was my pleasure. I went further and told her that, if he came back, I’d have a sterner word in his ear. Make sure he really got the point. I know the reality was different from the one playing in my head but I still felt as though I were a hero. I felt powerful. I felt appreciated. Don’t usually feel either.
I smiled at the dead girl and - in my imagination - she smiled back. She then invited me to go somewhere a little quieter with her.
It would be rude to decline such an invitation. Besides, I deserved this - what with all of the work I’d put into this evening. This was my right.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
The dead girl with the pale face nodded.
V
I had stripped her out of the dress and put her in some fine lingerie. I say ‘fine’ lingerie but, truth of the matter is, I had purchased it from the clothes section of a supermarket so - you know - it looked appealing to me but was actually cheap. Black lacy knickers with a matching bra and some suspender hold-ups - although the right one was unfortunately ripped when I was trying to squeeze her leg into it. I had re-brushed her hair too as a
ll the struggling with getting her out of the dress and into the undies had made a mess of it. She looked good now though, lying on top of the bedding on my own bed. I didn’t put her under the duvet for two reasons; the first was that I didn’t want her dead skin staining the sheet underneath and the second was…I didn’t want to be underneath the duvet, getting hot and sweaty whilst I fucked her. I have to confess - that is currently the last thing on my mind though. There’s a different and new feeling swimming within me - one I am unsure of.
My mind heard Jenna ask me what was wrong. I felt bad for her death. I’m not entirely sure why because she wasn’t the first person I had killed. The more I thought about it the more I wondered whether it was to do with the beautiful soul I’d seen in her eyes. Seemed a shame to have released such a beauty from the body. More than that - it seemed wrong. Looking into her eyes now (holding the lids open to do so) and there was nothing there but a vacant look. A fog clouding over the corneas, concealing the soul. I wondered whether it was there, hiding behind the dead eyes, maybe lingering somewhere back there.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I need to know.”
I pushed my index finger against the corner of the left eye and pushed in. It felt soft. Mushy. The noise was worse than the sensation. I twisted my hand and hooked my finger around the eye before pulling it out in one fluid, quick movement. I dropped it to the floor and peered into the new hole left behind. No soul hiding there. No trace of humanity.
She tried to distract me in my imagination by asking me to make love to her. Hold her tight one last time; push inside of her with my erect penis and pump until I ejaculated deep within her. I can’t though. Normally I would have but tonight I’m just not in the mood.
