by Jeff Strand
He shut the door, entered the passcode, then went back upstairs.
Vivian was still on the couch. "How's she doing?" she asked.
"Not great. That's pretty awful what you did to her fingers."
"She's lucky I didn't feel like tracking down a pair of pliers."
"But you got the information out of her?"
"I know my next step, yes."
"And that is...?"
"Are those your toys in the bedroom?"
"No," said Ken. "They're not. I promise they're not. They belong to my friend Darrell. He pays most of the rent on this place."
"Do we need to DNA test them to be sure?"
"I'm not lying."
"I know. I'm messing with you, sweetie. Will Darrell mind if we borrow some of them?"
"I assume so."
"Do you care if he minds?"
"Not at all. We'll wash them."
"Let's go."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ken sat at his desk at work, a little sore but feeling good. He'd been very sore when he moved Gertie's car out of the parking lot last night and disposed of it.
Vivian had called in sick to her own job, so she could do a "research trip." She'd promised him that it was for the acquisition of information only. They'd discuss the next step together.
* * *
Travis sat in his favorite coffee shop, playing a word game on his phone while he sipped his espresso. The place was a lot more crowded in the morning than when he usually got here, but he wanted to run some errands before he opened the restaurant. At least he'd been able to find a table. He'd woken up to an e-mail from the attorney of the woman whom Charlene had dumped lasagna on, saying that she was suing for mental distress, but he'd decided to worry about that after he got a nice big dose of caffeine in his system.
A woman he didn't recognize sat down across from him.
"Hi," she said, smiling. "Remember me?"
"Ummmm..."
"Surely you haven't forgotten me already."
"You've got the wrong person," he said. "If we'd had any kind of meaningful interaction, I promise that I'd remember somebody like you."
She leaned across the table. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Just speaking the truth." It wasn't just her looks—and she was definitely attractive. Travis had a good memory for faces, even if it was a barista or a grocery checkout clerk, and if they'd had more than a passing encounter, he would've remembered her. She definitely had the wrong guy, which was a little disappointing. His relationship with Renee wasn't going anywhere, and she'd been ghosting him for the past several days, so he was very much available.
"I notice you're not wearing a wedding ring," she said.
"Right. It's frowned upon to wear them when you're not married."
"Girlfriend?"
"Does it count if she hasn't responded to your texts since last weekend?"
"Nope. Sure doesn't."
"Then no."
The woman held up her left hand. "What do you see here?"
"An imprint of a wedding ring."
"That's right. It came off this morning. I am free, free, free. And so, full disclosure, we've never actually met before. It was just a way for me to sit at your table without you shooing me off right away. You're by far the most appealing guy in this café."
"Thanks," said Travis. "I'm honored."
"I'm Veronica."
"Travis."
"I would never commit adultery. Never. Not ever. Not even if he cheated on me first—which he did—and not even when it took a year for our divorce to become final. That was a long, lonely year. I've been counting down the days until my court date. Guess what day that was?"
"Today?"
"First thing this morning. Now, don't misunderstand me. I'm not looking to jump the bones of every hot guy I meet. But I can celebrate with one, right? Doesn't that sound reasonable?"
"It sounds very reasonable."
"What's on your agenda for today?"
"Nothing I can't cancel."
"Do you have to go into work?"
"Not for a couple of hours."
"What if I wanted more than a couple of hours of your time?"
"I'm the manager. I'll let one of my employees know that I'll be late."
"You should do that."
Travis sent a quick text to Marco, the head chef. Marco responded right away, saying that it was no problem.
"We're all set," he said.
"That was easy."
"It's good to be the boss."
"Would you like to get out of here, or would you like to finish your coffee first?"
"It's already in a to-go cup. I don't live that far from here, and I don't have roommates or anything."
"House or apartment?"
"Apartment."
"Let's go to my house. Like I said, it's been a really long time. I expect to be loud."
* * *
Travis lay naked on his back, hands on Veronica's fantastic breasts. She wasn't kidding about the noise level. She was riding him like she was trying to crush him into the mattress. He had several bite marks on his chest and shoulders, and he didn't think they'd fade right away.
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. This was like something out of a porno flick. Travis masturbated a lot on any given day—though never at work, of course—and this would have a place of honor when it was time to conjure up memories.
He'd been doing a remarkable job, endurance-wise. Once the clothes started coming off he'd been a little nervous about that, because she was horny and aggressive and he kind of got the sense that if he came before she was satisfied, she might cut his dick off. But keeping himself away from the brink hadn't been an issue, and unless she was faking it, she'd already come several times.
She leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. "I'm getting a cramp in my leg," she informed him.
"Want me to finish?"
"Yes, please."
That was all the invitation he needed. A few seconds later he climaxed with a loud moan. Veronica climbed off him and got off the bed. "Gonna walk it off," she said. "I'll get us some drinks. You can clean up for round two."
* * *
Vivian did not feel guilty about having sex with Travis. She had enjoyed every second of it. He was bigger than Ken, his penis wasn't crooked, and he was more attentive, although that last part could be attributed to this being the first time he'd seen her naked. On the "deceiving one's spouse" scorecard, Ken was still far ahead.
She walked into the kitchen. A steak knife was fine for wedging underneath fingernails, but for this she wanted to go with the classic psychotic stabbing utensil: a butcher knife. She'd brought her own.
That's what she'd used on her three previous men, so long ago, before she decided to give it up. Had their bodies ever been found, she might have considered using a different weapon, but since they hadn't, why not use what felt good in her hand?
She heard water running in the bathroom. Vivian quickly went into the bedroom and hid the knife under her pillow. Then she returned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, unsure if she'd find anything in there. A six-pack of beer with four cans left, and a couple of bottles of water. She took one of the bottles and returned to the bedroom.
* * *
Veronica was sprawled out on the bed when Travis returned, looking as if she were already set for another round. He hoped she didn't think it was going to happen this soon.
She sat up and tossed him a bottle of water. "You look dehydrated."
"Not that extreme, but I'm definitely thirsty." He unscrewed the cap and downed half of the contents of the bottle, then set it on the nightstand.
She patted the bed next to her. "C'mon. You're duty-bound to snuggle me."
"I can do that." He climbed onto the bed as Veronica rolled onto her side.
"I want to spoon you," she said.
"I should be the big spoon."
"It's my divorce celebration, so I'll decide who gets to be
the big spoon and who gets to be the little one. C'mon. I want to run my fingers over those six-pack abs."
"Yeah, they're under that layer of fat somewhere."
Travis rolled onto his side and Veronica pressed herself against him. She gently ran her fingers down his chest, past his navel, and down to his penis.
"You're gonna have to give me some recovery time."
"I wasn't asking you to use it again," she said, stroking him. "Just enjoying how it feels."
"As long as you're managing expectations."
"I assure you, I'm not expecting a cyborg."
They lay there for a couple of minutes. This was nice. He liked the feel of her breasts against his back, and her lips gently kissing his shoulder. He could almost fall asleep.
Veronica shifted, adjusting her pillow.
"Roll on your stomach," she told him.
"Why?"
"So I can give you a backrub."
"No funny business back there."
"Not on our first date."
Travis laughed and obliged.
She ran her hands over his back. He flinched.
"What's wrong?"
"Tickles."
"Oh, sorry."
She ran her hands over him some more. Then she switched to one hand for a while.
It felt great, but Travis was slightly worried about what she was planning to do with that other hand. He supposed she'd give him some warning.
"Would you still be attracted to me if I did something bad?" Veronica asked.
"Like what?" asked Travis, clenching a bit.
"Stabbed you in the back with a butcher knife."
"Excuse me?"
"Is that a no?"
Travis turned his head to look at her. "I know you're kidding, but that's still pretty—"
She shoved the pillow against his face, then slammed the knife deep into his back.
* * *
Vivian plunged the knife into his flesh, over and over. Blood sprayed everywhere. She couldn't let him scream too loudly since it was only the basement that was soundproofed, so she stabbed him in the back of the neck a few times. After that, he was still struggling a bit, but only making a gurgling sound.
She rolled him onto his back and slashed his throat.
Let out an involuntary giggle.
Stabbed him a few more times.
She rubbed some of his blood on her breasts. Later it would be sticky and uncomfortable, but now it was warm and smooth, like chocolate syrup.
Travis wasn't moving anymore. That didn't mean she needed to quit stabbing him.
She stabbed him until her arm was sore. Then she gulped down the rest of his bottle of water and lay there for a while, catching her breath. She ran her fingers through his wet hair. He seemed like a nice guy and he was certainly a good lay, but, hey, tough shit.
She rolled him over, a task made more difficult because her hands kept slipping, and then she stabbed him some more.
This was going to take a while to clean up. She should've been more cautious. Screwed him and then lured him down into the basement.
But that wasn't her style.
Anyway, at this point the mess couldn't get much worse, so she continued to stab him until her arm just wouldn't move anymore. Her left arm wasn't tired, but stabbing with that hand was awkward and unsatisfying.
She left the butcher knife imbedded in his back and slid off the bed.
She walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror.
Vivian liked what she saw. She looked good drenched in gore.
She smiled at her reflection. Batted her bloody eyelids.
After a couple of minutes, she returned to the bedroom. She was dripping all over the carpet, but it wasn't as if she was going to wander around the entire house. As long as she remembered the path she took, she wouldn't miss any bloodstains on the floor.
God, she'd missed this.
Vivian climbed back onto the bed with Travis' body. She didn't go so far as to wrap her arm around him and cuddle, but she lay close to him, enjoying the squishy wetness of the sheets underneath her. She was in no hurry to leave. She'd have to start cleaning up soon—there was a lot of work to do if she wanted to finish before Ken got off work—but for now she simply wanted to bask in the afterglow.
She sat up, startled.
She hadn't fallen asleep, but she'd lost track of time. The blood was no longer warm.
Somebody had come in the front door. More than one person. A man and a woman. They were laughing, so it wasn't the cops. It had to be Ken's perverted buddy. Darrell?
Well, she couldn't exactly clean up this blood-splattered room before they saw it, or even get dressed. She'd have to make use of the fact that seeing a completely naked woman drenched in blood would be somewhat distracting.
She picked up the butcher knife and slid off the bed. "Help me," she said, loud enough to be heard but not shouting. She wanted them to think she'd been injured, that she was weak. She put the hand with the butcher knife behind her back and pushed out her bloody chest.
"What the hell?" the man, probably Darrell, said. She heard his footsteps as he hurriedly walked toward the bedroom.
He stepped into the doorway and gaped at the grisly sight.
Darrell was certainly no Christian Grey. He might have some extra cash but he was a grotesque male specimen, overweight and ruddy-faced. She couldn't imagine what kind of woman would willingly get his secretions on her.
The blood, the mutilated corpse, and her naked body seemed to put him into sensory overload. In a few seconds he might have wondered why her hand was behind her back, but she didn't give him a few seconds to think about it. She slammed the butcher knife into his throat, then wrenched it out to the left, opening up half of his neck. Vivian pushed past him before his body began to fall.
The horrified looking woman in the hallway was too young and pretty to be with a repulsive human being like Darrell unless there was a sugar daddy thing happening. Or maybe she was a hooker. So while she obviously didn't deserve to die, Vivian didn't feel too sorry for her.
Vivian didn't think she could get to her before she screamed once, but she could certainly keep her from screaming twice.
Surprisingly, the woman didn't scream. She gasped and spun around to run.
She didn't get far. Vivian stabbed her in the back, then shoved her to the floor. The woman landed hard, right on her face. If the floor weren't carpeted she might have shattered her jaw.
Vivian climbed on top of her then stabbed her in the back of the neck, over and over, until she stopped moving. That didn't take very long.
She returned to the bedroom to make sure Darrell was dead. He was.
Vivian sat on the bed and let out a happy, satisfied sigh. She definitely should not have done this. Now she had a lot of tracks to cover, and a lot of explaining to do to Ken. The regret would hit her—it always had in the distant past—but for now she was going to enjoy a few more minutes of bliss.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hi, Warren!
So upon some reflection, I've decided that it's silly to pass up this opportunity. I've had problems coping with what happened, but maybe that's exactly WHY I should tell my story. (Yes, it helps that Gertie texted me from the restaurant to let me know that you're legitimate!)
If you haven't moved on to another "hero," I'd love to get together to discuss this. Anytime today works great for me! Just let me know. Thanks!
Charlene
* * *
Ken checked to be sure nobody was walking near his cubicle, then read the e-mail on his burner phone. It was almost definitely a trap. No way in hell would he meet with her, but if he chose a public place and kept her waiting, he might be able to watch and figure out if she was working with the cops or if she was going it alone.
He didn't want the meeting to happen too soon. His no-show could confirm what she (and the cops?) probably already suspected. He'd stretch it out until tomorrow.
Hey, Charlene, great to
hear from you, and I'm glad you've changed your mind! Unfortunately, today's schedule is packed, but I can free up some time for you tomorrow morning. Breakfast?
* * *
"He wants to do breakfast," Charlene said.
After a fitful night of sleep, she'd decided that she wasn't being paranoid and gone to the cops. Gertie was over eighteen and hadn't been out of contact for more than twenty-four hours, but given the circumstances, the police were more than willing to call her a missing person.
They'd already done some preliminary questioning of all of the Shellfish Grotto employees who'd been there last night. Only two male servers had been working, and neither of them admitted to taking Gertie home. There was alibi-checking left to do, but any scenario involving Gertie being seduced by a server who just happened to be responsible for her missing cousin was a stretch.
The police were also questioning her other friends and family to find out if anybody had seen her since she left the restaurant. But the obvious suspect was Warren the friendly web series producer. Their server remembered Gertie and the guy she was with—glasses, great big beard, bandage on his neck—but hadn't noticed anything unusual about their interaction. She believed they left the restaurant at the same time but hadn't been paying that much attention. There were no security cameras in the parking lot.
Charlene hadn't asked Warren any questions about Gertie. They didn't want to tip him off that they suspected anything was wrong. There'd been some debate over whether to e-mail him or not, but they'd decided that the possibility of him showing up for a meeting was worth the risk of making him suspicious.
Bradley Lugens walked over to look at her laptop screen. Charlene wished she was in a room full of FBI agents working furiously to track down every lead, but it was just her and Detective Lugens, in a conference room at the police station.
"Should I push for something sooner?" Charlene asked.
"No," said Lugens. "You were pretty adamant that you weren't interested. If you go too far in the other direction, he'll know something's up. Just say yes. Let him suggest the time and the meeting spot."
