by Ivy Smoak
"Pee in it."
"I can't unzip my pants. And I need to...you know...aim."
Right. I shook my head. I knew that. Which was why I'd tied his hands separately. "I'm going to untie one of your hands. But if you try anything...I will tase you." I pulled out the taser I still had in my pajama pocket. "No funny business."
"Yes, ma'am."
I took a deep breath as my fingers landed on the ropes. His other hand and both his feet would still be securely attached to the metal chair. I'd still be in control. I slowly untied my perfect knot. The one I'd studied endlessly on YouTube. "There," I said when the rope slipped from his wrist. I took a quick step back from him and waited.
"I need to stand up," he said.
I kicked the bucket closer to him. "The chair isn't that heavy. You can kind of stand up in a hunched over sort of way." I demonstrated leaning over with a fake chair on my back.
For some reason it made him smile.
I quickly righted myself.
"A little privacy then?" he asked.
"Nothing I haven't seen before."
He lowered his eyebrows at me. The same way he had earlier this morning. But this time I couldn’t look away to avoid that feeling his stare gave me in the pit of my stomach. Not because I wanted to see his penis. I didn't. But because if I looked away he might try something. I couldn't let him get away. I hadn't even started questioning him yet. He owed me a confession and access to my money. He owed me at least those two things.
"As you wish." He undid his jeans and then awkwardly stood up over the bucket.
I kept my eyes glued to his face even though my gaze really wanted to wander. If I looked down I might miss something. It would only take him a few seconds to overpower me, even tied to a chair.
I heard the stream of his piss hit the plastic bucket.
"Eyes up here, sweetheart," he said.
I glared at him. My eyes hadn't moved from his face. I was practically a saint. Not when you touched his abs last night.
"I actually don't care if you take a peek. I've got nothing to hide." The words fell from his lips so smoothly. Almost seductively. Like a command to my eyeballs.
And I looked down. Not because I wanted to. He was playing voodoo mind tricks on me. And right when I saw it...my phone started to ring.
I don't know if I imagined him taking a step toward me. Or if he was just getting ready to sit back down. But he moved when I went to grab my phone. So I moved faster. I pressed down on the trigger of my taser and made perfect contact with his perfect body.
He started convulsing as he and the chair hit the floor, knocking over the bucket full of pee. The first thing I noticed was that his pants were zipped. He had moved because he was zippering his pants. Not trying to get away.
Oh my God, I tased him for no reason! And oh my God, the only bucket I had to help clean up the mess had pee in it! I stared at the puddle of pee and his writhing body. Shit. I really didn't want to have to go to the store today.
Chapter 6
Saturday
The hardware store had already been decorated for Christmas last week when I was here buying kidnapping necessities. But now there were Christmas trees for sale in addition to their huge Christmas section to the right when you walked through the sliding glass doors. There were inflatable minions and reindeer lit up with red noses. It was vulgar. For some reason I stopped and stared at the display. Maybe it wasn't vulgar. Everyone looking at the items seemed so happy. That was me once. Hand in hand with my husband. And the reindeer were actually really cute. Maybe putting one of those in the basement would be good. At least it was easier than putting up a tree.
"Back again so soon, Ensley?"
I turned to see a salesman walking over to help me. A very familiar looking salesman with an easy smile and eyes that definitely seemed to recognize me. Had I told him my name last time I was here? There was no way I would have done that. That would have been careless while I had been buying duct tape and rope and...
"Did you get that deadbolt installed okay?"
And that. I'd been buying the deadbolt to put on my basement door. Why the hell had I told him my name? Probably because you never thought you'd actually go through with it. But I had gone through with it. And now it felt like this salesman was a loose end. I needed to think of a way to cover my tracks that didn’t involve hitting him over the head with a Christmas light-up reindeer. I cleared my throat. "I decided not to use it after all," I said. "I threw it out."
He frowned. "You only bought it a week or so ago. Returns are good for 30 days with a receipt."
"Eh." I waved my hand through the air. "Too late for that. The fewer deadbolts in the world the better anyway, right? More trusting neighbors and all that?"
"I guess?"
I laughed awkwardly. I wish I had my taser with me. I could have lured him out to the Christmas trees and taken him down without anyone noticing.
"So you're not here to buy another one?" he asked.
"No. I'm actually just looking for a bucket. Preferably this big." I held out my hands to show him what size I was looking for. "For mopping," I added before he could come to any wild conclusions about my current bucket being covered in urine. "Several sponges would be good too. For those tiny places I can't reach with the mop." Or so I could toss them after they were soaked with urine. This was going to be the grossest morning of my life. "So if you could just tell me what aisle to head down?"
"I'll show you, Ensley," he said and started walking.
I was definitely going to have to kill this guy. I silently laughed at myself. I'm not a murderer. I bit the inside of my lip. I had some hard decisions to make soon. But there was no reason to think about them while I had a puddle of urine to clean up and a waterboarding to perform. Er…interrogation. No torture would be involved. Right?
"Here we are." He turned down aisle 13 and led me straight to the cleaning supplies.
I eyed the rows of options. It really was best to be prepared. If worst came to worst I'd be cleaning up blood instead of urine soon. I needed something to get rid of any DNA. I was no novice to crime scenes. At least the ones on TV. "What's the best to get rid of...germs? Bleach or ammonia?"
"What kind of germs?"
What was the best way to say the germs in blood without sounding like a serial killer? "Like...the AIDS kind of germs?" Oh my God, that was most definitely not the way.
He laughed.
So I laughed.
And then we were both laughing about AIDS in the middle of the hardware store. None of it was funny. Mostly because he knew my name. And he knew I bought a deadbolt, rope, and duct tape. And now he probably thought I had AIDS.
I turned away from him. "So...bleach?"
He was silent for a moment.
I looked over at him. Instead of staring at me like a crazy person, it seemed like he was actually contemplating the correct answer.
"Yeah, I think you're probably right. Bleach would be best. You'll want some gloves though, it's really harsh on your skin." He pointed to some yellow rubber gloves hanging right in front of him.
"Good thinking." I grabbed them more for the lack of fingerprint aspect than skincare, but he didn’t have to know that.
"Let me go get you a basket."
"Not necessary." I threw the gloves, a container of bleach, and a few packs of sponges into a bucket and lifted it up. "Basically a basket," I said.
I could have imagined it, but I'm pretty sure he stared down at my hand that had lifted the bucket. My left hand where I'd forgotten again to put my rings on. Did he see the tan lines? Was he just trying to see if I was single? Was he a spy that Detective Torres planted to see if I seemed like a devastated housewife with a missing husband?
I grabbed the bucket with my right hand and shoved my left hand into my jacket pocket. It was tempting to try to explain my lack of rings away. To talk about my husband who was missing. To say I was so spaced out I didn't remember to put them on. That I thought cleaning woul
d keep me distracted while the police tried their hardest to find him. But it all felt forced.
Besides, what were the odds that he was actually working for Detective Torres? There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of me last week. Unless someone had been monitoring all my recent Google searches about how to tie someone up and gag them. Or all that information I read about date rape drugs. Or the fact that for the first time since I moved into my home, my house wasn't decorated for Christmas at all. My house was pretty much the only one on our street that wasn't lit up at night. I needed to make some changes before I got caught.
"Anything else I can help you with?" he asked with a smile that made it seem like he was on to me.
"I would like to buy one of those light-up reindeer in the display up front. The Rudolph one."
"The one with the red nose?"
What other reindeer has a red nose? "Yup. My husband will love it."
He didn't seem to react at all to the mention of my husband. Which was good. He wasn't interested in me or the case I was accidentally creating against myself.
"Great, I'll go grab you one and I'll meet you at the register."
I breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared down the aisle. I'd never told him my name. I wasn't completely incompetent. But I had used my credit card when I'd checked out last time. He must have seen my name on my card. So maybe I was a little incompetent as a criminal. But it was my first time. And everyone made mistakes.
Detective Torres would never come here and question the staff. There was no reason for him to. And even if he did? The guy helping me probably wouldn't even be working. I winced when he met me at the register. He was wearing a manager badge. Crap. I memorized his name like he'd memorized mine. Don't mess with me, Jerry.
Jerry was a situation I might have to rectify at some point. But for now I was in the clear. After all, this guy didn't even seem positive that Rudolph had a red nose. Surely he'd forget about me by next week. I paid in cash this time so I would stop leaving a paper trail. I was getting better at this. Even the best criminals had a learning curve. Take Adeline Bell and Violet Clark. I watched my neighbors’ cases like a hawk, but they weren't necessarily role models. They both almost got caught. I wasn't planning on an almost.
I carried my bucket outside, humming Baby It's Cold Outside to myself. And I sang along to Christmas music the whole way home. I even hummed as I put on my wig and mask and walked into the basement with my new supplies.
I'd righted him before I left and made sure both his wrists were bound again. He was turned away from the pee on the floor like he was embarrassed, but he looked up at me as I walked toward him.
For a moment I expected a “welcome home.” But he was gagged.
"I’m in a Christmassy mood today," I said. "And I got a surprise for you at the store." I put my new purchases, minus the reindeer, in the corner and then placed the soapy bucket down and began sopping up the mess. His urine wasn't very pungent, fortunately for all of us. And he luckily hadn't rolled around in it when I tased him. It was a Christmas miracle.
I looked up at him after a few minutes of silent scrubbing. He was staring at the bleach I'd just placed in the corner.
"That's not your surprise," I said. "It's not for you at all, actually. It's for...dirt."
He didn't respond of course. But he did that thing with his eyebrows again. It seemed like he didn’t believe me. I never had been good at lying to my husband. Or reading him.
"It works for other things too, I guess. There's some mold in the master shower grout. Or is it in the caulk? I never remember which goes where. Either way, I might spritz some in there later to get rid of the discoloration and kill all that bacteria. Good idea, don't you think?"
He tried to say something through his gag, but then stopped.
I started to hum again as I finished cleaning, humming louder whenever I had to ring out the sponge.
When his mess was finally cleaned up, I tossed the contaminated sponge into the bucket. "Let me go get that surprise," I said. "But first, close your eyes."
He just stared at me.
"Eyes closed. Don't make me blindfold you too."
This time he shut his eyes.
Good boy. I took the bucket back upstairs and dumped the soapy water out the back door and into the grass. Then I tossed the sponge in the trash and removed my rubber gloves with a snap and tossed them in the laundry room sink.
The reindeer took a little longer to assemble than I thought. But when I finally had it ready, I yelled down the stairs to make sure he still had his eyes closed.
I carried it down gracefully. No accidental slips or pushes. I plugged it in and the white lights lit up all over the reindeer's body and his nose shone red. I smiled. Happy captive, happy wife. Was that how that old saying went? "You can open your eyes," I said.
He looked from the reindeer to me and then back again.
I was expecting a smile or a thank you. But I needed to help him do that. I untied his gag and let it fall to his neck.
No words fell from his mouth though.
"Don't you like it?" I asked. "He glows." I pointed to his surprise.
"Why exactly did you get this for me?"
"I thought you'd be more likely to give me answers if you were happy." I sat down in the chair across from him.
"And you thought a glowing reindeer would make me happy?"
"A glowing Rudolph. Yes."
"Ah. Of course."
I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees.
His eyes drifted to my breasts and I sat back up straight and cleared my throat.
"So you're happy?" I asked.
"You have me tied up in your basement. You made me pee in a bucket and then tased me while I was zipping my pants. And my whole body hurts, so I'm pretty sure you hit me with a baseball bat or something in order to get me down here in the first place."
"I drugged you actually. And then you fell down the stairs. It was an accident."
"Was it? Or did you push me?"
"What?" I put my hand on my chest. "Why on earth would I push you down the stairs?" Say it. Tell me why you deserved it.
"Why on earth would you kidnap me in the first place?" His chair jumped forward slightly as he struggled against his restraints. "You're fucking crazy!"
I sighed. I thought we were getting along so well earlier. And the Rudolph was a peace offering. What had gone wrong?
The doorbell rang and we both looked up at the ceiling.
Shit. Who the hell was at my door? My heart started racing as I stood up. Had Manager Jerry already informed on me? Was Detective Torres just checking in? Was it stupid nosy Sally? Fingers crossed it was the mailman. I ran for the stairs.
"Help!"
My head snapped back toward him.
"Someone help me!"
"Stop it," I said. "Be quiet."
"I've been kidnapped!" he yelled.
"Stop it right now," I said more firmly.
"I'm being held against my will by a psychopath!" he screamed.
I’m not a psychopath. I stared at my prisoner.
He stared back at me.
The doorbell was accompanied by a loud knock this time.
"I'm not a psychopath," I said. "Words hurt."
"You know what else hurts? Having coarse rope tied around your wrists!"
For goodness sakes. "Only because you keep moving," I said. I grabbed the fabric around his neck. It took me longer than usual with his head squirming around, but I successfully gagged him. I grabbed his chin, turning his face to me. "We'll continue this discussion later."
His nostrils flared.
"Be quiet or I'll...hurt you. I mean it." I dropped his chin when there were more knocks in rapid succession.
Whoever it was at my front door wasn't giving up easily. Please don't be Detective Torres again. I hadn't gotten a chance to put my rings back on yet because I was scrubbing up piss. And two days in a row was not going to look good.
C
hapter 7
Saturday
I pulled back the blinds by the door ever so slightly and peeked out. Son of a bitch. Detective Torres was standing there holding a stack of papers. He turned his head toward the window as if he sensed my stare. I pushed the blinds back in place and pressed my back against the door. Had he seen me? I touched my forehead and felt the fake bangs of my blonde wig. Crap. I threw my wig and mask into the potted plant in the foyer and took a deep breath.
Detective Torres was a terrible detective. He probably didn't even remember what color my hair was last night. And he'd probably been looking at a cat or something outside, not me. I wasn't a suspect. I was an innocent housewife with a missing husband. Act the part.
I took one more deep breath and then opened the door just a crack, blocking any view he had of my foyer. Detective Torres was staring back at me with a somber expression.
He knows I kidnapped my husband. I tightened my fingers on the door. My taser was sitting in the pocket of my pajamas upstairs. There was no easy escape this time. "Detective." I shifted so that I could knee him in the crotch if he got any closer. Or at least slam his hand in the door as I made a run for it.
"Good morning, Ensley. The mailman was just dropping off your mail. And your paper from this morning was still on your driveway." He handed me the stack of mail and the paper.
I slid it through the small space between me and the doorjamb. "Oh, thank you." But I didn't mean it. He'd probably been going through my mail without a warrant. I pretended to drop the mail onto a table in the foyer. But there was no table there. So I threw it on the floor instead of abandoning my post.
We were both silent for a moment. Staring at each other.
What was I supposed to say? Oh, right. Play the concerned wife. "Is there any news about my husband? Have you found any trace of him? Like through security cameras or anything? Maybe he made some purchases on his credit cards that could pinpoint him at a certain time and location?" Don't mention credit card statements! They'll find out what I've been buying at the hardware store! "Not that credit card statements are accurate because of all the crime in this area." There was little to no crime in these suburbs. What was I even saying? But for some reason I kept going because he didn’t offer me anything. "Someone could have stolen all his credit cards and fled to California for all we know. Or maybe he was assaulted on his way to work and his credit cards were all stolen! I bet that's it." For God's sake stop talking. I pressed my lips together.
