Serial: Volume Two (2 page)

“Shit, you know what I like,” he said and stepped back. He slapped her thigh and added, “Now let’s get this slab of meat back behind the counter.” He laughed at his own joke and moved around the car.

Something came over her and she bolted. She ran along the river, between a couple industrial buildings and crouched behind a dumpster.

“Patty,” he bellowed after her, “come back! I need you girl, don’t be like this!”

He called for her a few more times, then swore and got back in the car. It barely started and she heard the engine’s irregular rumble as he moved back and forth down the streets looking for her.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but her legs cramped and her back itched from the sweat running down her spine.

When she hadn’t heard him for a while, she stood up and stretched. She pulled out her phone, two hours since she’d found them at Chico’s taco place.

Her stomach grumbled and her head hurt.

She found her location on Google maps on her phone and breathed out. She was miles from anything, and it would take her hours to get home. She decided to start walking.

Sarah would probably be waking up for a feeding around now. She ached to hold her, tip the bottle up and watch her little perfect lips latch on.

She decided things could have been worse, her luck could have been really bad, and she was unscathed considering everything.

Tomorrow was a new day, a new start for her and her baby. She whistled a little tune as she walked, a lullaby she realized, as she headed home to her little girl.

Chapter Two

Jude

“Seriously,” Luka said, “you have to tell us about this chick. All you’ve done is fucking brood, check your phone constantly and barely check out the tits and ass.”

It was Marcus’ bachelor party, and, as promised, it was epic. Off the charts. Monumental. Fuck, all those ridiculous adjectives people use to describe their shitty lives on social media.

It was, as every other time I left the house and spent time with the guys, mediocre at best.

Some moments in life…in fact most moments in life were magical in the retelling. The actually happening was nothing to write home about.

Which fucking sucks, because as amazing as it is to slay a beautiful young woman, I miss out on the retelling. It’s like a Saturday Night Live episode that’s piss your pants funny, but you aren’t allowed to talk about it.

“Nothing’s up,” I replied and tucked my phone away. He was right; I was checking it too often. “Just letting the little lady know I’m not balls deep in some stripper pussy at the moment.”

The guys laughed and raised their glasses, one of Marcus’s partners from his financial investment firm yelled, “The night’s still young,” and they all hooted like primates.

I joined in and downed my tequila shot. It burned on the way down but turned to liquid fire in my belly. I could feel the warmth spread out and loosen the back of my brain.

Maybe I should at least settle for a blowjob in the champagne room. We’ll see.

I could always go back to the warehouse. She’s there, waiting for me. Preparing herself for our final meeting, her immortality.

I’ve been checking the phone because I was watching her. I had found a dank little storage room in my warehouse’s sub-basement. It was perfect, down a long hall to nowhere, hidden at the very end behind a utility closet. Most likely something left over from prohibition, but I’d felt like I’d struck gold when I’d discovered it.

I’d installed a night vision camera and had a live feed to my phone. She was fascinating, defiant and grasping for any way out. Every once in a while she would stand up and move her hands along the wall, looking for a door or a window. Her fingers appeared boneless, the way she ran them along the concrete blocks. It gave her an underwater appearance.

I ignored the phone in my pocket, ignored the hot sensation of her image burning up the screen, and concentrated on Marcus and his coworkers going over some mortgage scheme which had made them millions but ended up in hundreds of foreclosures.

Fucking parasitic scumbags I tell you. All of my friends are.

That’s the only terrible thing about being a serial killer, the friends you find yourself surrounded by. You lay down with dogs, you’ll get fleas and all that shit.

“Anybody hear about that CK guy?” a fat ginger from the office asked in his falsetto voice. If he weren’t filthy rich, he’d never have a wife. Let’s face it, you can get away with a lot of shit if you have unlimited funds. It’s not that women are shallow; it’s just that their libido is often directly connected to something pragmatic. I admire them for that.

“He’s a fucking freak,” Tony said and winced as he downed another shot. This one multi layered with some creamy drink. He’s going to feel that in the morning.

“I don’t know,” Luka piped up at last. He’s been quiet tonight, I’m not sure why. Sometimes I think he harbors a bit of resentment towards Marcus after some deal gone sour from last year. “I think he might be a friggin genius.”

“How could you say that?” chubby ginger asked, holding his hand to his chest in absolute horror.

“Think about it,” Luka said, pausing to take a drink of his vodka tonic. “He gets to fuck the hottest chicks, doesn’t pay, and doesn’t have to deal with their shit afterwards. Genius!”

“It’s horrible,” ginger chubs said, “I can’t believe you think this is funny. My sister’s friend from high school lost her cousin. They think she might have been taken by CK. This is no laughing matter, you know. The reality is that there’s a cold hearted killer out there somewhere.”

“Settle down,” Luka said, “I didn’t say I supported him doing it. Why would I want some guy making chicks nervous? It makes it harder to fuck them after the club closes, right?”

“Aren’t you married?” ginger asked with almost as much horror as when he reacted to the murders.

“I ain’t dead,” Luka shouted and raised his glass. Several of the guys at the table tapped their drinks to his and they all shouted their agreement that being married didn’t mean the end of fucking strippers after the club shut down.

“You’ve been awfully silent on all this,” Marcus said and set his glass down on the table. I ran my hand along the edge; it was sticky and probably hadn’t been wiped down in a while. It’s funny how critical you become of cleanliness after cleaning up a crime scene.

“How do you mean?” I asked and felt my hand twitch. I wanted to check in on the girl in the cell. I wanted to see her ghostly, watery form slide around in the dark. To catch the glowing whites of her eyes as she passed in front of the camera, her face a mask of confusion and terror.

“You’re the most serial killerish out of all of us here,” he said and laughed. The table went quiet and they all watched me. Did they all feel this way? Fuck, I’d better step up my game. Shit.

“Once again, how do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re single, a momma’s boy, and dress way too well to not be a murderer…or gay,” he replied. He laughed but there was no laughter in his eyes.

“You offering?” I said and made a motion to unzip my pants. The table erupted in laughter and he backed down immediately. Once things had died down a little, I added, “And I’m not single.”

“You say that,” Marcus said, “but we’ve never met her.”

“You will,” I replied and looked around at all of them, “but not before I know she won’t run the moment she realizes what fucktards my friends are, right?” They laugh, I order a round for the table and all is forgotten.

Some time later I got up and went to the bathroom. I took the time to slip into a stall and took out my phone.

The girl in the cell was curled on a stack of filthy cardboard in the corner. She appeared to be sleeping. I watched her for a few moments, watching her ribs expand and contract as she found freedom in her dreams.

I clicked the app and went to my second camera, Pet’s bedroom. She was sitting up in the center of her bed brushing her hair. She had a single lamp on next to the bed and she glowed with a soft, golden light.

I watched, mesmerized as she stroked her long, thick hair with the brush. I wondered briefly if collecting her hair might be a little too creepy, decided it was and let the thought pass.

I went to wash my hands and Marcus was pissing at the urinal. He looked at me, defiantly, with a little flicker of skepticism. I didn’t like how he was behaving lately, but realized any aggression from me would only serve to add fuel to his fire.

“You guys wanna go for sushi sometime soon?” I asked him as I shook the water off my hands.

He zipped, paused and turned to me. His smile was plastic and perfect when he said, “Sure thing bro, any time. You know I’m dying to meet her.”

Was that a hint of mockery in his tone? I smiled and passed him by, leaving him to wash up before coming back to the table.

It took him much too long to make it back. I wondered what he’s been doing in there to pass the time. He seemed nervous when he sat down a few seats over from me.

Or was I imagining it all? It didn’t matter at that point; I was in it too far and in way too deep to ever change. Besides, what could Marcus do about it? Nothing at all. He was as bound by the social constrictions of our class as I was, squealing on a fellow rich asshole was paramount to social suicide, no matter the reason.

Fuck, my hands were almost shaking as I thought about the reason for my heightened awareness at the moment, Pet and the girl in the cell. I resisted the urge to take another peek and forced myself to join in the conversation. They were discussing the merits of high reps versus low reps in weight training. Idiots, all they talked about were sports, pussy and working out.

I let my mind drift and put myself on autopilot, interjected at the right times, nodded at the right times, and said all the right things while my thoughts went back to Pet. The drunker I got, the more dangerous I felt.

I didn’t know if I should go home later.

I didn’t know if I would be safe.

****

“Honey, I’m home,” I yelled, took off my coat and dropped it as I moved down the hall.  I laughed at the absurdity of the situation, it was anything but a domestic scene.

“Sweetheart, you awake? I know you are, I just saw you on camera,” I yelled and rapped on the door.

The metal echoed and I heard a whimper from the other side. It was cold down there, I should have left my jacket on, but it felt cumbersome, restricting, and I’d need all my movement to do what I was about to do.

I shoved the key into the lock, fiddled around, cursed a couple times as it didn’t quite line up, and finally got the door open.

It swung inward with a great groan, and the light stabbed the darkness, finding the girl immediately.

She was huddled against the far wall, her eyes bright with fear, her hair matted and filthy, and her clothing covered in dirt and grime.

How many days had I left her down here? Surely it wasn’t more than one or two. Or maybe three or four. Pet consumed me so, it was difficult to leave her side at times.

The place smelled like shit, piss, and naked terror. I inhaled and drank in the scent. Disgusting, and yet poignantly authentic. This one was going to die, and she smelled like death.

I crossed the cell in two long strides, took a fistful of her shitty green hair and dragged her along behind me.

“Come on now, I hate it when we fight,” I told her as she tried to claw at me and scramble away. “If you’re a good girl, I might just let you go.”

We both knew it was a lie.

The adrenaline was kicking in and I was losing the buzz from the booze I’d been consuming all night.

“You missed a great party,” I said and pulled her up the stairs. She was jabbering away about letting her go, please don’t hurt her, she won’t tell a soul.

Of course she wouldn’t tell a soul, she’d be dead. Immortalized.

“Actually, I lied,” I said and turned towards her when we got to the main level. She looked panicked, a comical expression, as she thought I was going to do it right then and there. With what, my bare hands? I’m not a fucking savage.

“I lied about the party,” I went on, “it wasn’t great, it fucking sucked. I hated every god damned minute of it, it kept me from you, from this.”

She relaxed and looked around, noted the huge, hollow space and asked, “What are you going to do with me? If you let me go right now, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll even fuck you first, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Oh sweetheart,” I said, “you smell like a porta-potty. I wouldn’t grace you with my cock if you begged for it. I have much more exciting things in store for you.”

I dragged her behind me again, towards the room I’d set up in the middle of the bank of former warehouse offices. I opened the door and hauled her up onto the table in the center. As it turned out, straps were easily fixed to the table and they came in handy now. My first experiment, this felt very special to me.

She went almost limp as I strapped her hand down, pulled the leather tight and buckled her in.

I moved to her other hand and she lunged, scratching me down the cheek and going for my eye. She was trying to gouge me, the bitch.

I pushed her hand down, hard, I felt something snap and she screamed in pain. I don’t think I broke her wrist, but at this point I didn’t care. Her health wasn’t my top priority.

She went totally quiet after that, her breath was rapid and shallow, like a little rabbit, and her eyes glassed over.

It always concerned me, how quickly people, well, women gave up in this situation. It’s like they knew their lives were going to end so they stopped fighting.

It flattered me, they perhaps were in on my conviction that I was preserving them in their most perfect form, but it also disheartened me.

I know we all watch shows like The Walking Dead and imagine ourselves surviving and fighting hordes of undead or killing our enemies, one by one.

The truth is, most of us would fall under the first wave of whatever came to decimate us.

At the end of all things, most people just gave up.