by Matt Shaw
“Fuck you!”
I surprised myself. In the past, I would never have dared speak to him like that.
“I said, babe, give me a few more minutes and you can.”
And here he is - the boy I left.
I storm from the room, without looking back, and head down the stairs towards the front door. I want to cry but I can’t. Not yet. I’m so disappointed in myself - I hate what I’ve done - but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. Once again I’d fallen for his lies.
Never again. I mean it this time.
I open the front door and step out into the daylight.
Roll on tomorrow. Put today behind me.
I wish I could put the blame on Jackie, for this, but I only have myself to blame.
I slam the front door behind me with such force I hear the windows shake.
Fuck him. For all I care, he can drop dead.
* * * * *
It’s dark now but that’s a coincidence.
I didn’t plan to come back here in the dark. I’ve spent the last couple of hours planning what to say to him. The last couple of hours telling him - whoever he is - to back off because she’s with me now. I couldn’t just come here, unprepared. That would lead to getting flustered and more chances of being laughed at.
I’m not here to be laughed at.
I know I should just walk away from Susie but there’s something about her that I can’t seem to move away from.
I want her.
I need her.
I’m going to have her.
And whoever this boy is.... he’s not going to stand in my way.
I’ll knock on his door, say what I have to say and then that’s it. He’s gone. I’m gone. One less outside interference to ruin what I could potentially have with Susie. One less outside interference to pull us apart before we even get together...
But I know it won’t end there.
I need to get her alone sooner rather than later. I can’t allow anymore possibilities of things getting in the way. The sooner it’s just her and me - the better.
Need to step my game up if I’m serious about her.
And I am serious.
I cross the road, heading towards the house where I left her earlier.
I hope he’s home alone or this could get ugly.
I know she isn’t there - my Susie - I had a quick stop by her house earlier and saw her at the window. She’s safe and sound at home. Can’t guarantee he doesn’t have any other friends visiting though.
Fingers crossed he doesn’t.
I don’t even hesitate when I get to the front door - I just ring the doorbell and then slide my hand in my pocket.
A look around behind me, to see if anyone is watching me.
No one about.
Good.
Don’t fancy an audience for what I have to say.
I can’t hear movement from within so bang the door harder before putting my hand back in my pocket.
Footsteps.
He’s coming.
This is it.
I mentally whiz through what I have to say - just to be sure I have it right. Save the embarrassment of getting it wrong face to face.
The door opens and he’s stood there - Susie’s mystery man.
“Yeah?” he says.
I hate him.
“Fuck you!” I whisper.
“What?”
Before he can say anything else, in a swift movement, I push him back into his house with my spare hand, stepping in with him, and pull a knife from my pocket. He doesn’t have time to respond before I plunge it straight into his heart.
The shocked look on his face is priceless - truly a Kodak moment - and I can’t help but smile as he drops to his knees; a funny gurgling noise spilling from his mouth. As I pull the knife from his bloodied chest, I kick back with my foot - kicking the door shut.
I don’t need any witnesses.
On his knees, his head is the perfect height and I thrust the knife into his eye-socket. His body does a weird, twitch and another noise I’ve never heard before comes from his mouth.
That’s it.
Game over.
She’s mine.
I stand up to my full height and cast my eyes up the stairs - no shocked onlookers on the top step.
Good.
Not sure how I’d explain this.
A quick look to my left, into his lounge - no one there either.
Another result.
A glance down the hallway - towards the kitchen - and no shocked onlookers there either. Looks like my timing was spot on.
Okay.
What to do.
First things first; curtains.
I walk into the lounge and pull the curtains - ensures no one can peer in and see anything they shouldn’t. I quickly walk through to the kitchen and pull the window blinds - again, stopping the potential for anyone to peer in.
There’s another door on the left hand side of the kitchen - a quick glance out reveals it’s the way to the garage. Thankfully it’s empty. I can do what needs doing and then back the car into the garage, to load it up.
No need to walk onto the driveway with bags of whatever-his-name-is.
I wonder what his name is.
Was.
I wonder what his name was.
No, I don’t.
Fuck him.
He had it coming.
I stop dead.
He had that coming but.... what does he have coming next?
I haven’t thought this far ahead.
Moments earlier, the happy thought of not having to take bits of him out onto the driveway in carrier bags pointed out two things I hadn’t previously thought of....
1. Bits of him. I can hardly cut him up with this knife.
2. I didn’t bring any bin bags.
3.
10.
I’ve never seen such a poor arrangement of tools as I have in this garage.
Until my recent home improvements, I’d never been one for D.I.Y but - even so - I always made sure I had a garage full of tools on the off chance something needed to be fixed unexpectedly.
I mean, this is just weird, there are hanging spaces for the various tools - even pictures of what should be hanging on the hooks.... it’s just.... the tools are missing. Maybe, by trade, he’s a builder and he’s left them on a work site somewhere? More likely, when he bought or rented the house this set up had already been arranged and he simply put out what he had.
Even so, I couldn’t have done that. I would have needed to fill all the available spaces - matching them up perfectly with their picture counterparts. What sort of sorry excuse of a man was he?
Idiot.
I move to the back wall and thankfully find the piece I am looking for; a saw. It’s rusty and doesn’t look as sharp as it should do but I’m sure, with some effort, it will be what’s required of it. After all, how hard can it be to cut through bone?
I never thought I’d find myself pondering that.
It’s been a strange evening...
I take hold of the saw and yank it from it’s hanging space - leaving another blank space on the wall of useful equipment. I just need some bags now. I wonder where someone like this keeps their bags?
The kitchen.
That’s where I keep mine.
Near the swing-top bin, to be precise, so they are always within reach when the bin needs emptying. Surely that’s not just me, though. Surely that’s just common sense and everyone does the same; keeps their black bags near to the bin.
I remember who lives here.
‘Common Sense’ could be a big ask.
Regardless of my sudden doubts, I step out of his small garage and back into the kitchen. No obvious bin to be seen so I move towards the sink - presuming there will be one of those little pre-installed bins hiding in the cupboard underneath.
I open the cupboard - bingo - there’s the bin.
No bin-liner, though, it’s one of those small bi
ns that’s only just big enough for a carrier bag.
Damn it.
I wonder, how many carrier bags would it take to dispose of a human body? And you can’t really trust them anyway. They’re too easy to split. The last thing I need is to be chasing his ugly head as it rolls away from me, down a busy high-street. Bad idea.
Maybe I should pop out to the supermarket and buy me some of those bags for life? They’re only ten pence and I’ve never had one of those split on me before now, even after I’ve really crammed it various sized tins of food.
No.
Stupid idea.
Someone might come round and find him.
Why is nothing, in life, simple?
Forget the bag, for a bit, I can’t afford to run out of time. If the sun comes up I won’t have the cover of darkness to make my getaway. I’ll get the messy bit done and then worry about a bag - after all, there must be something I can use in this house to shift him from the scene.
I close the cupboard again and turn back to the body that’s waiting for me in the hallway. With saw in hand, I approach him - not entirely sure on the best way to tackle this.
I should have Googled it before I came out.
Google knows everything.
I sit on the bottom step of the stairs and look at the corpse I’ve recently made.
Okay.
Keep things simple.
Six pieces should be small enough. Start with the head - it’s creeping me out. Everywhere I go, it’s like the eyes follow me. Definitely start with the head. Then the arms and then the legs. Should I detach the feet and hands, I wonder. Is that over the top? Entirely necessary?
Fuck it - keep it simple. No need to overcomplicate things. Especially when time is against me. Six pieces will be fine.
I pounce from the bottom step and land, on my knees, next to his head.
He’s still looking at me.
Okay.
This is it.
I take the saw with my left hand and press it against his neck. I use my right hand to take a handful of his greasy-hair to help steady his head from rolling from side to side when I start sawing.
Seriously - did he even know what shampoo was?
I’ll have to wash my hands afterwards.
I press down harder on the saw so the teeth bite into his neck.
Wait.
Blood.
There’s already a pool of blood from where I stabbed him. That will be hard enough to get out of the carpet - unless of course I just cover it with a rug or something... even so, I don’t need more of a mess to clear up.
I need to put him on something - something to soak up the blood.
Or, at least, something easier to clean than carpet.
Like a bath-tub.
Simple.
As long as he has a bath-tub, that is.
I should have killed him around my house - it would have been so much easier to fix everything afterwards and I would have had the right tools for the job! I drop the saw and quickly run up the stairs to see what I can find.
The first room is his bedroom. Small and messy, there’s a strange smell in the air.
Don’t ask.
Not that he’d answer if I did ask.
The second door leads to the airing cupboard - empty. Hardly surprising. He’s probably never washed an item of clothing in his lifetime. Probably still bagged it up and passed it back to his mother.
If that is the case, least it means there are some bags knocking about the place.
I’ll find them later.
The third room is the one I wanted.
The bathroom.
Complete with a large, white bath-tub.
Happy days.
Happier days had I killed him upstairs - save having to drag his sorry arse up the stairs. Still, no point dwelling on that. The sooner I start, the sooner I’m back in the safety of my own home - back to preparing it for Susie and I.
The perfect little nest for the two of us to live happily ever after - I can’t wait.
I shake my head.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
First things first. I’ve got some cleaning up to do...
Some serious cleaning up!
Even so - not bad for a first attempt. I’m fairly proud of myself.
* * * * *
Normally he’s called by now. I’d walk out, he’d let me go and then, a couple of hours later, he’d send a text which I’d ignore - after that - the telephone calls start and continue until I answer him.
He was always persistent.
Not now, though. Not even a text.
Good.
I don’t want a text message from him. I don’t want to hear from him - no text messages, no phone calls and certainly no home visits.
Home visit...
He wouldn’t would he? He wouldn’t skip the texts and calls and just come over would he - angry at how I spoke to him? I shouldn’t have got angry with him. I should have just got dressed and walked out - maybe even lied to him and agreed to see him again, had he asked.
Anything to keep him happy.
Save the possibilities of seeing the temper again.
I let out a sigh.
Why did I think he would have changed? Why do I always believe he’s capable of changing. The first time it ended, my mum told me that a leopard never changes it’s spots. I wish mum was here now. She always says the right things.
It’s too late to call her.
Why do I feel disappointed he hasn’t sent me a text? I don’t want to hear from him and yet, his silence is deafening. I roll onto my side and glance to my mobile phone that’s sitting on the bedside cabinet with it’s charger plugged in and, just as I do, the screen illuminates and a message pings through.
A smile sneaks onto my face.
A smile?
