by Jeff Strand
Kutter continued to prod him. Charlie reluctantly petted his head.
"What's wrong? Were you just stressed out because your old owner tried to take you away?"
That might've been it. Byron's unexpected presence might've confused the poor animal. And Kutter might've been scared by having Charlie go down into the basement so soon after Byron left. Maybe he thought that Charlie had left him forever.
"I'm sorry," said Charlie. "You're not a bad dog. We'll make up." He took Kutter's paw in his hand and shook it. "Deal?"
Kutter licked his face.
* * *
Charlie watched the 11:00 PM news to see if there was anything about Patti. Nothing. That wasn't surprising--she'd hadn't been missing for very long, and if she lived on campus and had a boyfriend, it might not be unusual for her to come home late.
He had time.
"What a waste," he told Kutter. A beautiful girl in his basement, and he simply didn't feel like torturing or killing her. How had his life turned out this way?
He decided not to go downstairs to check on her. She'd be fine until tomorrow. Then Charlie would call in sick to work, and spend the morning either following Patti's plan, or disposing of her body.
* * *
The alarm went off as usual at 6:30 AM. Charlie got up, threw on a robe, took Kutter for a quick walk, came home, brushed his teeth, and then practiced his "sick voice" a few times. He thought it sounded pretty good. He considered leaving his voice mail without using a script, then lost his nerve and wrote down what he wanted to say. He kept it simple--giving more information than was necessary made it sound like a lie.
He dialed Bob Testiro's number. It rang twice.
"Hello?"
Charlie froze. Bob was never in this early. "Uh, Bob? It's Charlie Stanlon."
"Hey, Charlie, what's up?"
He considered coughing into the phone, then decided it would sound forced. "Nothing much. I'm just calling in sick."
"What's wrong?"
"Sore throat. Some aches and pains."
"Charlie, we're already two people down this week. I worked all day Saturday and half a day yesterday to get ready for the global operations center's visit. You really can't fight through a sore throat and some aches and pains?"
"I...guess I can."
"Thanks. It's just really not a good time for you to be out. If you're still not feeling well on Tuesday, it won't be an issue. See you in a bit."
Charlie hung up. That hadn't quite gone as planned. He couldn't afford to get fired, so it looked like he'd be going in to work today.
It would be fine. He'd left women in his basement countless times while at work. It even made the day more pleasant, knowing they were down there. He'd simply have to treat this situation no differently than any of the others. If there'd been a witness, the cops would've been at his door by now, so he'd just trust that the security measures he already had in place were sufficient. And maybe this was a good thing. His job was pretty boring, so he'd have all day to brainstorm ideas on how to let Patti live.
And after he dealt with that, he thought he might build Kutter a doghouse.
* * *
Charlie stared at the stapled papers.
Alicia had been doing so well, but there it was, stapled in the top center instead of the top left. Only one of them--the others were done correctly--but this could be the start of a trend. If he didn't say something, the entire batch of papers could be improperly stapled tomorrow. He'd have to pluck out all of the staples and redo them, which wasted staples and put his fingertips at risk for puncturing.
He started to type an e-mail to Bob, then stopped after "Bob, I need to bring to your attention--"
Alicia was always nice to him. She was the one who'd suggested that he keep Kutter. If he hadn't listened to her, Kutter could've been gassed or adopted by an unloving home. She'd said that if he had a problem with her, he should bring it to her directly, so that's what he'd do. She deserved that much.
He picked up the flawed papers and walked over to her desk.
"Uh-oh, did I screw something up?" Alicia asked.
Charlie shook his head. "No. It's all fine."
What was he saying? It wasn't fine. It was wrong in a way that he'd already asked her to fix. Why was he suddenly compelled not to mention it?
Coming over to her desk was a mistake. He should've just e-mailed Bob. It was never a good idea to change the plan.
Alicia was a lot more beautiful than he remembered.
"I just wanted to tell you that I get to keep the dog," he said. "The real owner came over, but he's letting me keep him."
"Really? That's great! I bet you're thrilled!"
"Yeah. So...thanks."
"For what?"
"For your help."
"Oh, I didn't do anything. I just told you to keep him."
"That helped."
Alicia smiled. "Well, then I graciously accept your thanks. Now tape a damn dog picture to your monitor. That's the rule."
"Okay."
She returned her attention to her work. Charlie didn't leave. His mouth had dried up and he ran his tongue all over the inside, trying to replenish the moisture so he could speak.
"Did you...did you want to get coffee sometime?" he finally asked.
Her smile faltered. Just for a fraction of a second, but it faltered.
"You know," she said, "some of us get drinks after work on Wednesdays."
He knew. Alicia had mentioned it a couple of times, but he always declined the offer. It sounded boring.
"You should come with us."
Did she really want him to come along, or was she just trying to get out of a coffee date? He was almost positive it was the latter. He couldn't blame her for that.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I wasn't asking to...I wasn't asking because I wanted to..."
"No, no, I understood. Coffee as friends. I'm sure you have a rule against dating co-workers just like I do. But you really should come with us for drinks on Wednesday. Coffee counts as a drink."
"Maybe."
"Is that a legitimate maybe, or a maybe meaning no?"
"A legitimate one."
"Great! We'll look forward to having you along."
Charlie returned to his desk, feeling humiliated. He never should have asked her out. That was idiotic. There was no possible way she'd ever have said "yes," and now she'd go around the office telling everybody what he'd done.
He could hear her voice: "Oh, he's got a cute little crush on me! It's so adorable!" She probably thought he was a pathetic little puppy, following her around, too stupid to know that she was out of his league.
He wasn't sure if he should go with them on Wednesday or not. Most likely, Alicia had just invited him to escape from the awkward social situation.
He'd leave her alone from now on.
* * *
After an endless day, Charlie drove home. At least he knew Kutter wouldn't decline his invitation to go for a walk.
As soon as his key touched the lock, he could hear Kutter's happy barking on the other side of the door. He opened the door and his best friend gave him the usual wildly enthusiastic greeting. "Good boy," Charlie said, crouching down and petting him. "You're always a good boy, aren't you?"
He glanced over at his couch.
No new tooth marks. No stuffing all over the floor.
However, there was a big puddle of vomit on the left cushion, much of which had trickled down the front and onto his carpet.
"Aw, come on, Kutter, why would you do that?" Charlie asked. "You couldn't hold it in until I got home? I've got an entire kitchen of tiled floor that you could've puked on. Why did you need to do that on my couch?"
Kutter did not answer.
"What are you even eating that you would've--aw, shit!"
Literally.
"That's horrible, Kutter. Horrible. That's a horrible thing to eat and a horrible thing to vomit on my couch. I can't believe you would do that."
; Charlie's was not always a life of great dignity--after all, he'd once found himself in his basement sobbing over the corpse of a victim who'd died too soon--but he'd never eaten and thrown up his own feces. Even his moments of most intense shame were never that low.
"You suck, Kutter." Charlie glared at his dog. "If I had let you lick my face before I saw that, you'd be out on the street."
Oh well. If there was one thing that Charlie's home didn't lack, it was cleaning supplies.
He took Kutter for a much shorter walk than usual, then brought him back inside and took off his leash. When Charlie opened the basement door, Kutter pushed past him and ran down the stairs. Charlie didn't bother calling him back--Kutter couldn't jump up on the table, and Patti couldn't get down, so it really didn't matter if the dog was down there or not.
He had mentally run through scenarios all day, trying to figure out how he could let Patti go without putting himself in serious danger. He couldn't think of any, except to leave her here and flee to his cabin, but even in that scenario he'd be more likely to get captured and arrested than if he just killed her. Still, he was the first to admit that he didn't always think of every possibility, and he hoped that she'd been more successful.
Kutter scampered around the room while Charlie cut off Patti's gag. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She looked scared, but she also looked defiant. She could be as defiant as she wanted--she was still strapped to a table, and she wasn't getting away.
"I tried to find a solution," Charlie said. "I really did. What did you come up with?"
"Here's what I came up with. If you kill me, my parents will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. You will never know another moment of peace. You will--"
Charlie put his hand over her mouth. "I didn't ask you to come up with a speech. Is that really all you've got for me? A threat? All this time down here and your answer is to tell me that your parents will seek revenge?" Charlie was incredulous, but it also made him feel a little better about himself. If she'd spent about twenty hours in a basement with absolutely nothing to do but think about how they could work things out, and even she was unsuccessful, then there truly had to be no answer. It wasn't just him.
He pulled his hand away. "They'll torture you," Patti said.
"They'd do that even if I let you go."
"They'll fuck you up."
Charlie picked up the knife. "You didn't do what you were supposed to. This isn't my fault."
"You'll burn in hell."
"You think I don't know that?"
"They'll—"
"Enough! Do you want the blade in your throat or in your heart? You pick."
Patti bit her lip and said nothing.
"Throat or heart? Come on. It's not that difficult of a decision."
Her voice became frantic. "I have a place where you can stay. My parents own a cabin. Nobody will find you there. I'll take you there right now if you let me go. I'll never tell. I swear."
Charlie shook his head. "That won't work. It's better than the threat, but it won't work. Heart or throat? You can also think of it as slice or stab. Which do you want?"
"I--I don't..." Tears began to stream down the sides of her face. "Which one hurts less?"
"I don't know. I think heart."
"Please don't kill me."
"We'll do heart."
Charlie raised the knife over Patti's chest. Kutter began to whimper.
"What's wrong?" Charlie asked. The dog continued to whine, clearly distressed.
What was wrong seemed pretty obvious: Kutter didn't want him to stab her.
Great.
"It's okay, boy," Charlie assured him. "You don't have to be scared."
He set the knife down on the table. Wow. He never would've expected to interrupt killing his prey to avoid traumatizing a dog.
"Kutter, upstairs. Come on." He whistled and started up the stairs himself. Kutter didn't follow. Halfway up, Charlie clapped his hands and whistled again. "Come on, boy!"
He spent another full minute trying to coax the dog onto the stairs, then gave up and just picked Kutter up. "It'll be fine," he said in a soothing voice. "Nothing bad's going to happen to you." Kutter continued to whine as he carried him upstairs into the kitchen. He closed the door behind them and set Kutter on the floor. Kutter immediately started to scratch on the basement door.
"Stop it," Charlie said. "You know better than that."
Charlie decided that he might as well clean up Kutter's mess before tending to the problem downstairs. Stupid pukey dog. "It's not too late to take you to the animal shelter," Charlie said, even though he was considering no such thing.
By the time Charlie finished cleaning up the couch, Kutter had fallen asleep on the floor and was snoring softly. It felt weird to be sneaking around in his own house, but Charlie crept into the kitchen and slowly opened the basement door. He shut it behind him as he went down the stairs.
He walked over to the table and sighed with frustration.
And then he slid the blade across Patti's throat, receiving no pleasure from the sight of her gushing blood.
- 10 -
The next evening, a policeman showed up at his door. Charlie told him that a girl had indeed tried to sell him a magazine subscription, and that he felt bad turning her down, but that he couldn't bring himself to do anything that might encourage further door-to-door solicitation. The officer seemed satisfied with his response, gave Charlie his card, and asked him to call if he thought of anything else that might be helpful. Charlie promised him that he would.
* * *
"So are you coming?" Alicia asked, as Charlie shut down his computer.
He'd decided that he wasn't. She'd only asked him to join them as a way to be nice about turning down his request for a date--not even a date, coffee as friends--and he didn't particularly like the other people he worked with. He knew their names and whether or not they had kids (mostly because they talked about it so loudly in the aisles) but not much else, and wasn't interested in knowing more.
"Nah."
"You really should."
"Okay, I'll go," he heard himself say.
"Great!"
Oh well. No big deal. He'd survive this. Worst-case scenario, he'd have a miserable hour or so, and then he'd go home and spend some quality time with Kutter. Wednesdays were now Frisbee night--he'd stop at the toy store on the way home and get the nicest plastic Frisbee they had.
* * *
Five of them sat around the table in the restaurant. Mike, Gary, and Jessica had all expressed surprise that Charlie was coming with them, and it looked like Jessica had purposely picked a seat where she wouldn't be next to him, yet they were all reasonably pleasant. Everybody ordered alcoholic beverages except Charlie--Gary had pushed for him to get a beer, but Charlie needed to remain in full control of his mental state. He'd never been drunk, and could see no positive outcome to having too much to drink and accidentally blurting out something like "Say, were you aware that during my non-working hours I slaughter innocent women?"
They started by talking about tedious job-related stuff that Charlie had no interest in. He didn't care about the whispered rumors about possible mergers or layoffs in other departments or suspected affairs between bosses and their administrative assistants. Charlie did his own job as well as he possibly could, and expected others around him to do their jobs correctly, but outside of his area, he didn't much care what was happening. None of this conversation affected him personally or professionally. What a waste of time that he could be using to choose the perfect color of Frisbee. His thought was blue, if they had it, though dark green might also work.
"So, Charlie," said Alicia. "Tell everybody about your new dog."
Charlie's stomach clenched up. He hated being the center of attention, even in a small group. "Kutter," he said.
"What kind of dog is it?" Mike asked.
"Boston
terrier."
"Oh, I love those!" said Jessica. "Those cute little faces. You didn't get him from a puppy mill, did you?"
"No."
"Charlie found him under a park bench, badly hurt," said Alicia.
"Not badly hurt."
"I thought you said he was hurt."
"He just had some scratches. But he was freezing to death, I think."
"So you saved his life."
"I think so. Yeah."
"I had no idea you were a heroic puppy-saver," said Mike. Charlie couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Then Mike smiled, and Charlie decided that he wasn't.
"He isn't a puppy," Charlie explained.
Charlie noticed Jessica rolling her eyes. He was screwing this up. He never should've agreed to this torture.
"I just meant that if he was a puppy I probably wouldn't have been able to save him. It's good that he had grown up."
Charlie wasn't sure if that explanation helped things or not.
"Why the name Kutter?" asked Gary.
"It's my grandfather's name," Charlie lied, as he'd planned in case anybody ever asked him.
"Kutter Stanlon?"
"Yes."
"That's a pretty bad-ass name."
"Thanks." Charlie took a long drink of his Cherry Coke, and then checked his watch. Alicia kicked him gently under the table. He thought he'd been more subtle.
"Do you have a picture?" asked Alicia.
"Not with me." Charlie did have to admit to himself that he appreciated the way Alicia was trying to keep him involved in the conversation. Yeah, he'd rather be at home, but all things considered, this really wasn't so bad. If nothing else, this place knew how to make a good Cherry Coke--he hated the weak ones. He couldn't see himself joining his co-workers every single week...but perhaps once a month, just to be nice.
Maybe he'd try something new. Something he couldn't remember ever having tried before in his adult life. Maybe he'd ask somebody about themselves without any motive except to hear the answer.
"Do any of you own dogs?" he asked.
Mike owned a golden retriever named Zak who carried around a teddy bear, and a parakeet named Twitter who said three different phrases in German. Gary was allergic to dogs but owned goldfish, which he flushed and replaced on a regular basis so as not to disturb his daughter, who tended to overfeed them. Jessica desperately wanted a puppy, something that would stay small, but her apartment complex didn't allow pets. And Alicia had three cats, Wilson, Puffs, and Jagged Edge, each named by one of her children. Charlie hadn't known that she had children.
