I’m sitting in the pub listening to Mark’s inane chatter when they walk in.
She’s dressed in a tight fitting tube-top that leaves nothing to the imagination, but with a body that makes you crave a little less candor. He’s wearing a suit that you just know has an Italian name with a reputation dip-shits like him all obsess over.
The way they’re falling over each other suggests a number of factors, far more important than whatever it is Mark’s going on about.
For starters, they’ve already been drinking. That means that they’re coming in here to continue the night rather than start it. And this means that I won’t have to wait around all night pretending to drink.
It also says they’re both horny. They’re fawning over each other like a couple of fourteen year olds home alone on summer vacation. This could mean it’s the first time they’ve gotten this intimate with each other. Or maybe it means they’re truly in love. Really it doesn’t matter which, so long as they go home together.
“Hey man, are you even listening?”
Mark’s giving me an annoyed look that makes him look like a petulant child. Like he never got enough attention at home or school.
Which he didn’t.
It’s what I like about him.
“Yeah, sorry,” I say sounding sincere. “Hey, let me get you another drink.”
“You hardly touched yours,” he says as I rise.
“Stomach’s bugging me, might be nipping out here in a minute.”
I stand next to her at the bar. She glances over at me briefly, flashing a smile, then her lips are back on his neck. They smell like all animals do when they’re in heat:
Vulnerable.
“I think you ought to leave,” the bartender says as he comes over to take my order. I open my mouth to protest but realize he’s talking to them.
“What’s the matter?” The guy says in a faux-British accent.
“We’re a respectable establishment, you’ve been warned once already and we don’t do seconds.”
“Are you saying my money’s no good here?”
“I’m not judging your money, I’m judging your character. Are you looking to fall further in my books or will you leave like an adult?”
I’m handed my beer and I rush back over to Mark’s table.
“Here you go,” I say while looking over my shoulder. They’re grabbing their coats off the rack, evidentially choosing not to make a scene that would diminish their class.
“Thanks,” Mark says. Then he looks confused and adds, “You not joining me?”
It’s that same look of his, but this time it’s laced with that puppy dog sadness he does so pathetically well.
“Nah, I got an opportunity I want to cash in on,” I say.
“What? Just you?”
“Sorry, man. One-man job. But I was here all night, right?”
He nods.
Mark knows the score, he’s no snitch. As long as he thinks you’re his friend, he’ll swear up and down to the police that you were passed out drunk on his couch while he played PS2 all-night. Never left his sight for a minute.
It’s another thing I like about him.
I toss $40 on the table and head out into the night.
I catch sight of them getting into a taxi as the door swings shut behind me. I rush around the side of the building and get into my Neon. There’s no sight of them once I swing back out on the road. I’m cursing my luck and Mark’s neediness when I pull to a four-way stop. I don’t know which way they’re heading, but I make an educated guess. I turn towards the luxury condos on the edge of town.
And sure enough, I come upon the taxi.
I’m excited for the chance to play in one of the condos. It’ll be a first. But the taxi drives right past them and on to the furthermost McMansion. I clocked the couple for money but I didn’t expect them to be touting those kind of dollars. I’m disappointed about the condo, but it’s hard to stay upset with the prospect of the night to come.
Then I realize I have to park. In an area like this, my Neon is going to stand out like shit on a Rembrandt. I don’t feel like driving back into town and walking out this way. And a taxi isn’t even a question. I consider calling the night a bust, going home, jerking off in the shower, and trying again tomorrow.
Then I get an idea.
I drive past and cut my lights once the taxi is out of sight. I swing a U-turn and come back down slowly. Then I veer off the road and cut across their lawn. I know my tire tracks will be obvious come morning, but I doubt anybody will spot them at night. I park behind the property. Then I open the glove compartment and remove my tools.
I’m anxious as I approach the building. If they’ve heard me then it could all be over. As far as I can tell, nobody’s paying any attention this way.
Then I realize there’s a new complication.
There are no windows that can be reached from the ground. I’m stunned. I consider trying the back door but I don’t trust doors. Windows are better because you can see what’s on the other side. If I open the back door and they’re standing right there, I’m fucked.
There are windows on what looks like the second floor, but they are a good ten or fifteen feet beyond my reach. My stomach feels like a thousand pounds, the disappointment forming into a solid brick. But then I notice one of the trees along the side hangs over a small patio on the second floor. I was never the best at climbing trees but I did my fair share as a kid and I’m happy to learn the skill hasn’t departed me yet. From there all it takes is to shimmy a window.
It’s as nice as I would have expected. Everything is clean with sharp angles and vibrant colors. I’m in some kind of sitting room, but not for long. I can hear them now that I’m inside. They’re downstairs, laughing and giggling with an erotic gaiety. I hardly notice as I step out into a hallway then down a flight of stairs, great works of art passing me by. I am indifferent to them because those sounds are drawing me in like a moth to the flame.
I find them cavorting in some kind of quasi-bedroom. There’s a large canopy bed in the middle of a room otherwise empty of furniture. Along the walls are rack after rack of dangling sex toys. Whips and dildos, anal hooks and enema equipment, there is something no matter what your fetish is. I have a momentary feeling of solidarity, as if these two are one of my kind, but it doesn’t last.
I’m about to charge in and have my fun when he suddenly dashes my way. I think for a moment that I’ve been spotted but I duck to the side of the doorway and he goes barreling past on his way up the stairs. I wait until he’s out of sight and then slip around the corner.
She’s on the bed, spread eagle with her arms and legs shackled to the banisters. She’s on her stomach, so she doesn’t notice me come up behind her. The lighting in the room is excellent, there’s not a shadow to be seen. I reach out a hand and trail my fingers over her ass.
“Oh you tease, I thought you’d left,” she purrs.
I lean into the small of her back where sweat has pooled and lick it up. I can taste the chemicals pumping through her system. MDMA, presumably, but rich cunts can afford shit you’ve never even heard of so it’s hard to be sure.
She moans.
Then I grab her by the hair and yank her head backwards until her spine can’t go any further. I look her in the eyes and see pain turn to confusion, confusion turn to fear, and she’s opening her mouth to scream for help but it’s too late for her because I’m sinking my knife into her back over and over again. The sound she makes is not so different from her moans of pleasure.
I step away to see her whole body, to watch it shake and convulse.
She’s bleeding so much, it doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to stop. It’s pooling out over the bed and soaking through the sheets into the mattress itself until it’s pouring off the sides and the bottom.
“Hey Laura,” I hear him call and realize he’s already on the stairs. “Did you buy a car without telling me?”
I take him as he steps into the room. I want him to see the bed, the blood of his lover, but I can’t tell if he registered it before my knife sinks between his ribs. He dies instantly.
This is another first for me.
My previous record was death in four entry wounds.
He sinks to the floor and the blood just gushes and gushes. I smile, excited to get two impressive bleeders, but it’s wiped off my face when I look back over to the missus.
The blood… it’s still leaking out of her, pooling around her in a puddle with real depth. It’s gone from being impressive to being excessive. How much blood could a person have in their body? It can’t be as much as I’m seeing. I must be hallucinating. I slap myself but it doesn’t go away.
I return my gaze to him and he’s just as much of a waterfall.
There’s no time for any more fun. I was planning to stay until dawn, have some more fun with them. But if I try to have fun with them there’s no way I’m keeping my clothes clean.
It’s got to be some kind of drug they took, something that thins the blood or something.
I don’t fucking know.
I have to leap over his body as it’s in the doorway. But as any real gambler knows, no streak lasts forever. I was lucky to find the perfect couple. Lucky to catch up with their taxi. Lucky to find my way up to a window. But my steak ends quick and fast as my foot lands in the ever growing puddle of blood and I’m thrown onto my back. The last thing I feel before everything goes black is the wind knocked out of my chest.
I can feel the warm Hawaiian water lapping against my face as I laze away by the shore. It’s so peaceful here. I’m angry at myself for never having visited before. I was made to come here to this beach. If only the sun would stay out a little longer.
It turns to dark so quickly here.
Then my eyes open and I’m still on my back in the McMansion.
Only now my face is being mushed into the ceiling.
I don’t understand what’s happened? Has the ceiling collapsed? I realize what’s happening and it can’t be.
The room isn’t just drenched in blood. It’s become an Olympic swimming pool of deep crimson. The ceiling didn’t collapse. It didn’t fall to me. I rose to it on an unfathomable glut of blood. And, now there was nowhere left to go, the rising tide submerged me fully.
This has to be some kind of mental episode, but it feels as real as anything ever has.
It takes great effort to swim through the blood. It really is thicker than water, they’re right about that one. But it’s not impossible. The doorway into the foyer, and thereby the second floor, is only a few feet away. There’ll be time to figure out what kind of head trip I’m having once I’m safely away from this nightmare.
Kicking with my legs and pulling with my arms, I feel myself moving.
It’s working.
Then I do it again and nothing happens. I’m kicking and pulling but I stay still.
I’m snagged on something. It’s anchoring me there by the pant-leg. It hurts to bend but it’s the only way to see what’s holding me.
But it’s not a what.
It’s a who.
Both him and her are beneath me in that crimson lake with outstretched arms pulling me down.
I know I shouldn’t.
I know it’s the end of me if I do.
But I can’t help it.
I scream.
Mark sipped at his beer. The first of the night. Maybe the last, though he hoped not. It was hard to ignore the looks the rest of the pub was giving him. Even the bartender seemed reluctant to accept his money. But in the end, money was money and Mark never caused any bother. It wasn’t his fault his best friend was a serial killer.
How could he have known?
But the looks he was getting told him he should have known. That it was his job to know. If he knew and kept it secret, then he was just as responsible for what happened as the man that held the knife. If he didn’t, then he was a useless fuck-up. Truth be told, not much different from people’s previous assessment of him.
Mark drank and prayed the news would die down. But how could anybody in town talk about anything else? Mate breaks into a rich couple’s house, brutally murders them, then dies there in the same room as his victims.
Drowned by a rusty old water main bursting.
No, it would be quite some time until Mark could drink in peace and maybe a lifetime before he ever had such a good friend again.
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