Serial (14 page)

I’d spent yesterday clearing the garbage from the huge space and hauling my supplies over from storage. I would have more room to work and no nosey neighbors. I needed to prepare for the long haul, to slake my thirst so I could woo my Pet.

Her beautiful face, soft voice and willing compliance were all too much for me, too exhilarating for me to contain myself. I knew on some gut level that I would have greater needs as I moved towards intimacy with Pet. Better a stranger than my Pet, that was my reasoning.

The other part of it, if I were listening to the throbbing red heat that resided in the back of my head, was that I enjoyed it. I really fucking liked it. I liked killing so much that I wanted to indulge my habits a little more, give into the redness more often and drink in their sweet fear as much as I could.

Just a little bit, just to alleviate the tension and keep Pet safe.

I loaded the last of my things into the pickup truck and exited the storage place for the last time. The wire from the disabled camera still hung loose and I wondered how long before they noticed. I’d pay for the next year or so, keep my locker just in case, but most likely won’t need it again.

I finally had space, glorious space. And privacy, even more glorious privacy. Inside the warehouse was a warren of old assembly line equipment and office cubicles. I chose the main office in the centre as my kill room. I covered all the windows with butcher’s paper; the irony was not lost on me as I glued them down. I lined the entire thing in painter’s drop cloths, layers and layers of them for easy clean up. There was a sink next door in the break room, so I could wash up afterwards.

I needed to bring fresh clothing, it was going to become obvious if I left at night and returned to shower before I saw Pet. She’d think I was having an affair, and I don’t want her to fret about anything. I want her to eventually understand that she’s the only one for me.

I could’ve always used painter’s coveralls. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that previously. Obviously anything useful for preventing paint spatter from damaging clothes will be effective for blood.

As long as they had an opening to jerk my cock over the dying girl, I’d be just fine.

Pet, what a conundrum she was. Initially I was drawn to her because of what she represented, normalcy and the life that was laid out for me from my first breath.

But now, I wasn’t entirely certain that was it. It might have been my brain planning for me again, bringing her home so I’ll be forced to keep my girls longer, play with them some more, really get to know them before I take their lives.

I set up an old conference table in the centre of the room and stood back and looked over my work. I was pleased, not bad considering I had no general laborer experience. It had been quite an effort to get everything here while maintaining my day job and tending to Pet. It had been an even bigger effort to refrain from hurting her, but I managed it all.

I mentally high fived myself and crossed my arms. The only thing this room needed was a girl.

If it weren’t for the blood, her cut finger, I could’ve gone another week or two even. I usually liked to space kills out as to avoid suspicion, and I generally liked to hunt from the Washington British Columbia border all the way down to California, but there was no time. Keeping Pet was interfering in my regular routine.

This didn’t bother me, it meant I was switching it up and making myself less predictable, less predictable meant less chance of being caught.

My phone buzzed, startling me out of my musings. It was Tony.

“Duuuuuuuuude,” he said when I picked up, “where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you all week.”

“I know,” I replied, “work, you know, the usual.”

“We have to plan Marcus’ bachelor party. It’s going to be epic!”

“Totally,” I said and ran my finger along the edge of the table wondering if I could affix straps there.

“When can we meet? Tomorrow at two?”

“Not gonna happen. I’m in a meeting all day, then dinner all evening, then…”

“Then what? What is it? Don’t hold out on me, dude.”

“Just somebody I met,” I replied, laying the foundation for coming out with Pet on my arm. I knew Tony would tell the guys, they’d tell their girls and word will eventually get back to my mother.

“Get the fuck out, tell me about her.”

“Another time, I gotta go. She’s waiting and looks kinda pissed.”

“Ha! You always swore you wouldn’t end up pussy whipped, but I can hear her cracking it right now.”

I said goodbye and hung up. I could hear the doubt in his voice and considered the possibility that my friends might be smarter than I ever gave them credit for. Maybe some part of him picked up on my differences.

I left, got in the old Datsun and cruised the streets. It was raining, it was usually raining in Portland, but it makes the air feel crisp and fresh. My sense of smell, already much better than the average person, was going out of control. I rolled down the windows on the old beater and inhaled diesel exhaust, motor oil, fast food smells and the desperation of urban foliage choking on the city’s fumes.

I subconsciously stroked my straggling beard with one hand; I was on a fairly regular cycle of growing and shaving it. Currently, I was growing it in because the last time I’d taken girls, I’d been clean-shaven.

It helped with misidentification. Confused those who might be looking for me. People in my life thought of me as fun loving and eccentric, crazy for changing my hair from time to time, or having facial hair. Sometimes I’d even wear fake glasses when out looking, it was all in the little details.

I stretched, gripped the wheel, accelerated and decided the warehouse room was ready. I was prepared to hunt again, to find a girl and see how long I could keep her, to keep my urges at bay and love Pet the best I can.

***

“You working alone tonight?” I asked the waitress at the waffle place. I didn’t know why I kept coming back here; it was an unhealthy compulsion. Maybe I wanted to run into that cop again, it had given me such a thrill to be close to him, to have him study me.

Whenever serial killers were caught, people said shit like, “He wanted to be caught, he wanted it to end.”

Utter bullshit. There was this self-destruct button all us psychos had, this weird urge to keep pushing and pushing until either the world burned or we were stopped. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know why we have it. Might be nature’s way of stopping us before we get our wish to destroy the world

“Yeah,” she said and chewed her gum loudly. Her hair was dry and dyed the green of an old vinyl chair. It seemed a funky experiment in color gone terribly wrong. “You ready to order?”

“Why are you alone? Isn’t that unsafe?”

“We’re short staffed, and it’s safe. You see anyone else around? Unless you’re about to pull out a gun and rob me,” she replied and looked him up and down, a born skeptic. “Listen, what do you want?”

“Just coffee and–” I was about to repeat the same order as every other time I’d been here, but I decided to mix it up a little. Creatures of habit got caught, and I did not want to be caught. “Bring me a piece of pie, whatever you’ve got. Make sure it’s piled high with whipped cream. It’s real cream, right?”

She snorted and took my menu. “It’s fresh out of a can,” she replied and sauntered away.

I liked the way she moved, I liked her tight ass moving back and forth in her even tighter jeans.

I finished my coffee and pie; blueberry…most likely store-bought with aerosol whipped topping, and left a small tip. No need to stand out tonight.

***

My break came around four in the morning. I’d cruised the usual haunts, but had found nobody appealing. I’d ended up back where I’d started. I’d been waiting, watching and planning when she left the restaurant.

I knew this was risky and stupid; targeting two women from the same workplace, but there had been something in her defiant banter that had brought her into my focus.

I liked her spark, her fire, and I wanted to see how long it took me to extinguish it.

She was walking slowly with ear buds in. Her hips swayed to the beat of her music as she moved along the sidewalk with that same long stride that had captured my attention in the Waffle House.

I drove up beside her, it took a moment for her to catch on that somebody was there. She stopped when I got out, removed one of her ear buds and said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I believe you can,” was my reply when I moved swiftly around the truck. Her eyes widened when she recognized me and her mouth stretched into a scream as I wrapped my arms around her and pushed her into the cab. It took one swift movement and she was out, years of martial arts training had given me the know-how to subdue somebody in the flash of a hand.

I moved around and got back inside, looked at her slumped figure. The music was still blaring from her ear buds and the tinny sounds of Eminem filled the little space between us.

I put it in gear and hit the gas. One last glance in her direction and I allowed myself a smile. This was going to be utterly delicious, enjoyable beyond anything I’d experienced previously.

“I told you it wasn’t safe,” I said and sped up. I had to get back to Pet, before she woke, I didn’t want her to panic if I wasn’t there. I didn’t have time to slake my thirst on this one, but I could keep Pet safe just knowing I had her lined up in my cross hairs.

The sacrifice moaned on the seat next to me and I glanced at her, smiled again and thanked her for her willingness to keep my Pet alive. This would work; we could be together thanks to girls like this one.

It had to work. I didn’t know what I would do if it didn’t.

About the Authors

Lily White:

From Jaden: Lily White lives in a swamp shack in Florida’s deepest, darkest bayous. She tends her crocodile farm in between hammering out her twisted, fabulous novels. It’s said that if you leave a hundred dollar bill at the base of the biggest tree in the everglades on a moonless night in September, you can hear Lily’s cackle as she writes her next book.

Lily’s official bio: Lily White is a dark writer who likes to dabble on the taboo side of eroticism. Most of the time she can be found wandering around aimlessly while her mind is stuck in some twisted power play between two characters in her head. You may recognize her in public by the confused expression, random mumbling, and occasional giggle while thinking up a scene. Lily’s favorite things in life are reading, thinking about reading, buying books for reading….and writing. Her other secret pleasure is meeting with her plot editor in public to discuss her books and watching the shocked expressions of the people around her that don’t realize she’s talking about a book. When Lily is not reading, writing, wandering or freaking out innocent bystanders, she’s sleeping.

Find her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlilywhite

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Jaden Wilkes:

Jaden is the pen name of a girl living on the prettiest farm in BC. She shares her space with her husband, her children, and an Irish Wolfhound named Tiberius. She can now be found lurking in the dark corners of the internet looking for artful porn gifs, dirty poems and places to promo her work.

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Serial, Volume Two

Chapter One

Patricia Wilson

Patricia ‘Patty’ Wilson never had good luck. From the time she was born to an addict mother, to last night when she got the shit kicked out of her and was robbed by the last trick of the night. Shitty luck abounded.

She stood over the bassinet and cooed at the only thing she’d ever done right, baby Sarah. She claimed to not know who the father was, but she knew. In her heart of hearts she knew it was her boyfriend Jason.

He denied it of course, claimed he was sterile because he’d been hit in the nuts with a baseball or some shit. But she knew.

Sarah gurgled and kicked her little legs. Her tiny fists pumped with excitement and Patty felt a surge of love fill her body. This was unlike the frenetic urgency she had with Jason; this was something akin to a tsunami, something that rose slowly inside her from the first moment Sarah lay on her chest in the hospital. It took over her life and lightened every dark corner of her psyche.

Which was why she was going to tell him tonight, she didn’t want to work any more. She’d been in touch with her high school English teacher, a funny Scottish lady who cracked bad puns and had a strange habit of rubbing her hands together like a little squirrel. Mrs. Bradley had told her this morning she would be welcome back to the high school to finish twelfth grade, she could get her diploma and she would help Patty fill out forms for college.

She picked Sarah up, nuzzled her neck and inhaled the sweet smell of her little girl. “It’s going to be okay, baby girl,” she whispered, “I’m getting us out of here one way or another.”

She set Sarah down and gave her a bottle. She knew it wasn’t good to prop it up and let her drink on her own, but her mother would never remember to feed her, and she would drink until she fell asleep and the bottle dropped off.

She sang her a few lines from a song she’d heard once. “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.” She smiled at Sarah’s sleepy face and couldn’t wait to get home so she could cuddle up with her and plan their new lives together.

She hated leaving her, but she had to earn a last few dollars before breaking the news to Jason.

She stroked Sarah’s pudgy little cheek and found the strength to make this her last night. She straightened her back and went to find her mother.