The Rest Will Come

by Christina Bergling

  She watched the thoughts move under his scalp, the swarm of panic on his face. His eyes flitted side to side as he groped at ideas.

  “Help!” Carl bellowed, the sound shaking his limp body. “Somebody help me! HELP!”

  “Huh, I guess they never teach guys that no one responds to a person calling help. It’s fire, sweetheart. Even if you’re getting raped in an ally, you have to yell fire.”

  You are just toying with him. Kill him already.

  Despite the thought in her head, Emma continued to watch Carl squirm.

  Carl looked at her bewildered for a moment then resumed shrieking. “Help! Help! HELP ME!”

  His eyes had begun to water in all his screaming, and the droplets trembled in the corners of his eyes, ignited by the firelight. He breathed heavily, his eyes shifting around the sky above them. He dropped the disgust from his features, straining to look up at her. His eyes grew until Emma could see the flames from the fire dancing in them. For a brief second time suspended, and they were frozen, staring into each other.

  “Please, Penny, I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything.” His tone changed under the heavy weight of begging. He was becoming boring.

  When she did not respond, Carl’s eyes flit frantically inside their sockets, drowning in the tears welling at the edges. He stopped looking at Emma, and his gaze fell distant.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t die like this. I can’t. I have parents. I have two sisters. You can’t kill me like this. They’re going to miss me. They’re going to find you.”

  “Maybe. And perhaps I deserve it.”

  Emma dropped the can in the cup holder on the chair and slid down to her knees on the ground beside Carl, picked up her rock, and leaned in close over him. Below his immobile shoulders, she could feel his heart throbbing, hear his breath strain hard through his lips. Carl looked up at the real and honest version of Emma, completely unleashed.

  “Fuck you, bitch,” he snarled, a tear spilling out down the side of his cheek.

  Emma heaved up the rock and brought it down onto Carl’s face until it collapsed into a bloodied mess, spraying her face. Her clothes absorbed the spatter.

  Later, while Emma twirled up Carl’s tent and gathered his things to drop into the hole, she discovered another protein bar lurking in a pocket of his bag. Snickering, she ate it recklessly after the dirt settled on top of his remains.

  Chapter 22

  Winter descended with its fat Colorado snowflakes blanketing the mountains. Still full from her camping trip, Emma faced hibernation. Though she could carve up a body in her heated garage in any weather, she could not bury her evidence in the frozen earth. Anxiety infected the tranquility she had grasped on the sunny rock on the mountainside after burying Cory, and in the firelight after Carl stopped moving.

  She realized she could not go dormant. The thoughts gnawed on the edge of her brain relentlessly. Her urge to kill seethed below her skin, filled her with poisonous restraint. She drew her thread of sanity with her online personas, resolving to play an extra-long game. She would select the perfect victim, cultivate the lie over the winter, and celebrate spring with his murder.

  Emma escaped into her running shoes and her yak tracks on the snowy road to find her peace again.

  The snow accumulated on her hat as she jogged across town. The music throbbing in her headphones, the freshly fallen snow compacting under her steps. She allowed the thoughts to dump out of the back of her head with each stride, focusing on measuring her breaths against her pace, her warm exhales pluming in front of her face. For the first time since her camping trip, she captured some semblance of that quiet in her chest again.

  A contradicting mixture of sweat and snow melting against her body heat wet Emma as she walked into the library. The rooms and bookshelves were relatively calm and quiet as most people sheltered from the storm at home. Emma embraced the solitude and sat down at a computer to create her winter persona.

  “Kristy” flirted with reality; Emma could not resist. She could not commit months to a complete alternative fallacy. She needed to be able to immerse completely in Kristy daily, for an entire season.

  Emma typed into the bio field, honesty leaking through her fingertips.

  I am sick of the dating scene, I have been on too many first dates to count, and I am tired of searching through lies and playing games. I am looking for a real partner, someone who wants a relationship and a family. I am divorced. I am a professional who supports myself. I have great friends and a great life. I know how to make myself happy. I don’t want to need you; I want to want you. I am an avid runner and hiker. I love to be outside. Message me if you are serious and would like to join me.

  It was like she had been writing redundant versions of this profile for all these past years sacrificed to online dating, both authentic and as murderous fishing. Although her instincts balked at her putting any fraction of her truth into her future crime, it felt right to type it. She could kill the next guy who failed to answer the question she had been asking all this time.

  Her grin remained plastered on her face even against the frigid air as she steadily jogged home.

  By the time Emma acquired the next prepaid phone, Kristy’s inbox had already begun to rack up suitors. Her alarmingly authentic and honest profile did not solicit the flood of messages the way the vague superficial postings of her previous personas did.

  She skimmed through ScottyB0y who promised to show her how a man treated a woman properly. She skipped past MountainMan85 who said Kristy just had not met the right man (him) yet. She missed TNBoy80’s canned, repeat message. He could not send it from his hole on the mountainside, and that made Emma grin.

  Marco1819 caused Emma to hesitate.

  I am not going to tell you that you are beautiful. You surely already know that, and every other message in your inbox probably says that. I am not going to tell you that I am the one you need or the one you’ve been waiting for because how could I know that? We haven’t even met yet. I only want to introduce myself. Your profile did not catch my eye (I hate that line), but it interested me enough to message you. I hope that this message interests you enough to message me back.

  Emma read the message multiple times. Each time she rolled the words over her brain, something shifted in her chest. She responded to the message, feeling something besides the anticipant mixture of disdain and amusement.

  “Oh, he’s good,” Emma whispered. “Now this is my guy. He’ll be a nice, long challenge.”

  She did not even have to craft a reply, did not have to conjure Kristy’s mind to find the words; they came out of her naturally.

  I think that might have been the most honest message I have received on one of these sites. Consider me interested. My name is Kristy. Tell me more about yourself.

  Was his an honest message? Emma hoped it was for some reason, the same as she wanted to type “Emma” instead of “Kristy.”

  Marco1819 replied immediately.

  Hi Kristy. You may not have guessed it already: I’m Marco. If we are continuing on this honest vein, I think I have been trying to figure myself out since my marriage ended three years ago. That might be too much information or make me sound too damaged, but it is part of who I am now. By day, I work a mundane IT job that pays the bills well. By night, I am an avid runner (yes, I used your same words though I never got into hiking). I have been training for a half marathon. Running keeps me sane. I read post-apocalyptic books and like comedy movies. And I run some more. Did I mention I like to run?

  “Holy shit,” Emma breathed. “He sounds like me. He better be full of shit.”

  The sensation in her chest was familiar. The light, airy flutter, like a small bird trapped inside her ribcage. She knew it well from the many times she thought the man on the other side of the message could be The One. It was hope flapping against the bars of her bones. Once she recognized the feeling, it dropped out of her chest and dripped into nausea in her stomach. Her brain wrapped around the dar
kness seeping out from her memory.

  I could kill him for being full of shit.

  ***

  Winter wrapped around the weeks, slowing the passage of time, weighing it down with fluffy snowflakes. With each passing day, Emma felt heavier. Each day, she longed to expose Marco’s lies and introduce him to a blunt and forceful object. Each day unconsummated heaped upon her cells.

  The same text appeared on her burner phone every morning, without fail.

  Marco: Good morning, Kristy. I hope you have a great day.

  The same text appeared on the trick line each night, without fail.

  Marco: Goodnight, Kristy. Sleep well.

  He is too good at this. He is too charming and too attentive for this to be authentic. If I slept with him once, all of this would disappear.

  Emma felt expectant of the messages, needing even. Her morning completely began when Marco’s text put a smile on her face, and she settled down to sleep effortlessly when that final chime in the evening sang.

  He is making me dependent already. He is good at this game. Too good.

  Still, none of her thoughts dissuaded the swoon in her head when she read the words or the flash of exhilaration that climbed her spine whenever the trick line chimed. Beneath her flesh and her brains, her heart betrayed her and mounted acts of treason across her mind.

  Marco’s messages continued steadily each day. He did not falter or vanish. He dug beneath her skin with consistency. Nearly every time she picked up her phone, she could smile at a notification from him. He made her feel special, attended to. That was part of his game.

  Marco: Tell me about your first half marathon. What am I in for?

  Kristy: It was brutal.

  Marco: How brutal? Should I back out now?

  Kristy: Absolutely not. I am so glad I did it. It was so hard, and that made it such an accomplishment.

  Marco: It does make you pretty amazing.

  Kristy: You’ll just have to catch up now.

  It felt like he was stalking her, gathering intel to manipulate her. She caught each flare of infatuation and dosed it with a heavy swat of reality.

  Play the game. Just play the game. Keep drawing him in closer.

  Marco: Sometimes I feel completely behind my friends.

  Kristy: How so?

  Marco: They all have their families, and I’m back to dating like when we were in our 20s.

  Kristy: I understand that!

  Marco: My best friend just had a baby girl. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to congratulate him or get stupid drunk and feel sorry for myself.

  Kristy: I feel the same way about my nephews.

  Marco: Maybe we should get stupid drunk together.

  Kristy: We can. We don’t have babies to take care of the next morning.

  Marco: You might be brilliant.

  The weeks passed with Emma growing more and more accustomed to the constant communication with Marco. She imagined his profile picture animating and coming to life. Her brain applied a calm and seductive voice to his messages. Her anticipation welled inside her. Winter suddenly seemed like such an exhaustively long season. How could she wait until spring to meet and murder him? If she waited much longer, he might have her completely duped and wrapped around his digital finger.

  As she gauged her excitement increasing with each message, each perfectly worded correspondence, Emma resolved that she could not wait. She could no longer hibernate through the months of frozen ground. She was posing too great of a risk to herself, and she refused to regress into the Emma that got her here.

  I have to kill him now before I totally buy his bullshit. I just won’t bury the body. I can do this. I’m practically a goddamn professional now. Ditch the body. Leave no trace. I can do this.

  Marco: Can I suggest an unconventional first date?

  Kristy: Please do.

  Marco: You said winter running is your favorite. In warmer weather, I usually do a run club downtown. They also do one at a northern location, which would be more convenient for you driving down from Denver.

  My idea of a perfect date, Emma thought.

  Kristy: That sounds great actually. When?

  Marco: Thursday night.

  Kristy: Send me the details.

  On Thursday night, Kristy layered on fleece lined compression tights and shirts and laced up her favorite running shoes. She lingered near a vacant table near the run club setup, a Gatorade cooler perched on the end of the counter beside the sign in sheet and copies of the route maps. A strange nervous edge lined her normal pre-homicide trepidation. If she failed to recall her purpose, she could practically think she was on a normal date.

  “Kristy?” The voice came from behind her.

  Kristy turned around to greet Marco. A perfectly clean, straight, and white grin parted his face and scrunched his eyes up pleasantly. His wide eyes lined up below her nose. Somehow, she did not even notice that he was slightly shorter than her. At eye contact, at the sensation of his skin when they shook hands, a jolt seized somewhere in the coils of her spine. The impact struck low toward her center and undulated in vibrations down her bones and over her nerves. She scrambled to maintain her composure and find her voice.

  “Marco,” she returned. “I barely recognized you in your running gear.”

  “Same here, but you are the only girl in the place wearing winter running gear.”

  “Then we’re both crazy. It’s nice to finally meet you. I feel like we have been messaging and texting forever.”

  “I think we have. I have been looking forward to this all day. Do you want to hit the trail straight out?”

  “No, let’s get some water first.”

  Let me hear more of your bullshit to make killing you all the sweeter.

  They poured water into paper cups beside the run club sign in sheet, which Kristy had avoided both signing or touching.

  “Are those Hokas?” Marco asked, spying her shoe peeking out from beneath the table.

  “They are.” She rolled her leg to angle her shoe up, as if to confirm for herself.

  He chuckled. “You are hardcore about running then.”

  “I might have a problem. It’s most of what I do when I’m not working. When I’m on the trail with my music, I run until I can’t think anymore, and I just feel…I don’t know…”

  “Peace.”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “When did you start running?”

  “Literally when I got divorced.”

  Marco laughed out loud. “How did you manage that?”

  “The marriage was over. My husband had just left. I ran out the front door. In something ridiculous like bare feet, I’m pretty sure. I nearly got run over by a truck. I ran until I didn’t exist anymore. Somehow, I felt better.”

  That was the truth, Emma! You are not Emma; you are Kristy. Stop talking like Emma.

  “That is potentially the best running story I’ve ever heard.” He smiled broadly. “I love it.”

  “We’ve been here all of five minutes, and I’ve already brought up my divorce,” Kristy diverted. “I’m one of those girls.”

  “It’s okay. We’re divorced. It was bound to come up eventually. You are not one of those girls. Not yet. Now, if you compare me to your husband at every point down to how I chew my food, you are most definitely the worst of those girls.”

  “Gross. Really?”

  “Yes. And not even only one girl. Happened more than once. I have been on some awful dates. So many awful dates.”

  “I have too. I feel like I’ve been going on bad first dates for the last five years of my life.”

  “Exactly! I once went on a date with a woman and she brought her mother.”

  “Her mother?”

  “Yes! And you want to know the worst part? I related to and connected with the mother more than the girl. It was the most surreal thing ever.”

  “That’s pretty bad. I went on a date with a guy once who up and decided halfway through the date that his heart
wasn’t in it.”

  Why are you telling him that? He doesn’t need to know that. He is exactly like him, and you will kill him just the same.

  “Ouch. Better than a dine and dash. I have had those happen. I think I always knew they were coming. I could see it in the girl’s eyes the second we met.”

  “Better than them sticking around long enough to get you invested. Then they split and give you the ‘you’re awesome but’ speech on the way out.”

  “That is honestly the worst. If I’m so awesome, why are you leaving?”

  “Right!”

  “Aren’t we just the saddest dating rejects?”

  “At least we have plenty in common.”

  “So what is your escape plan if this date goes horribly?”

  “Friend call with a fake emergency. We have a safe word I can text her.”

  “Classic. Wow, you didn’t even pretend to not know what I was talking about.”

  Kristy giggled. “Well, you could be the Don Juan killer. You never know.”

  “I’ve heard about that guy. Picks up girls on online dating sites then kills them, right?”

  “On the date, I’m pretty sure. My friend is a little obsessed with him or with me not becoming one of his victims. Did you know he kills with piano wire? Where do you even get piano wire?”

  “Music store.”

  Kristy laughed again, deeper. “Fair enough.”

  “Or maybe those wire camping saws.”

  “Oh yeah, the ones with the handles. Wait, should I be worried that you know that? I run with a knife, just so you know.”