The Killing Kind (18 page)

March 24

“Are they just gonna sit there forever or what?”

Zeb didn’t answer. He sat behind the BMW’s steering wheel, his head cranked to his left as he watched the couple in the Tercel. They seemed permanently ensconced in the car. The girl, in particular, looked rooted to the spot, scrunched way down in her seat with her feet propped on the dash. She was pretty, but maybe just a little sleazy, with multiple visible tattoos.

“She looks like a Suicide Girl.”

Now Zeb looked at her, a genuinely puzzled expression on his face. “A what?”

“A Suicide Girl. Alternative pinup models. They usually look sort of punk, with tats, piercings, and shit.”

“Tats?”

“Tattoos.”

Julie glanced at the rearview mirror. “
I
sort of look like that now. I need a tat, Zeb.”

Zeb was staring at the couple in the Tercel again. “I want to kill these people.”

Julie was still admiring her reflection. She fluffed her hair and blew herself a kiss. “Broad daylight, Zeb. Not a good idea. Look, they’re obviously up to no good themselves. They’re not gonna connect us to the guy in the room. And
even if they did, they’re not going to the cops. I mean…look at them.”

Zeb nodded. His posture changed and the tensely coiled muscles in his back visibly relaxed. “Right. Enough of this bullshit. Let’s go.”

He opened the door and got out. Julie grabbed her new purse—a nice Gucci liberated from her third victim—and hurried after him. “Hey. Thought of something. What if they’re cops? What if they’re on a stakeout or something?”

“They’re not detectives. Too young.”

“Detectives? You mean like
Magnum, P.I.
? That old-ass TV shit? I’m talking about
cops,
man. Like
real
cops.”

Zeb glared at her. He did that a lot when she was talking. It was sort of funny to wind him up. “I’m talking about
police
detectives, girl. Investigators. I had some experience with them when I was younger. They’re the ones you’d see on a stakeout. These jackasses are not police detectives, I promise you.”

“You hope.”

“Shut up.”

Julie giggled.

Zeb opened the door to room 109. Julie went in first and flipped on the light. She saw Zeb shoot a look at the Tercel before shutting the door. “Shouldn’t have looked at them.”

Zeb grimaced. “I know.”

He rubbed his hands on his face, sighed, and sat on the edge of the king-size bed. He looked beat. Julie stared at him. Despite his size and imposing musculature, there were times when he just looked like a tired old man.

“Maybe you should take a nap.”

Zeb yawned. “Maybe.”

He scooted backward to the center of the bed, swung his body around, and stretched out, resting his head on the stacked-up pillows behind him. He closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest.

“Hey, Zeb.”

He opened one eye and looked at her.

“It okay if I play with this guy some?” She reached into her bag and pulled out the large hunting knife. “I’m bored.”

He shrugged. “You can cut on him some. But don’t kill him just yet.”

Julie grinned. “Cool.”

She turned away from Zeb and looked at the man tied to one of the room’s two metal-framed chairs. A layer of silver tape was wound around the bottom part of his face. This was to keep the gag in his mouth. His eyes went wide and his nostrils flared when he saw the big knife. Tears leaked from his eyes and he began to shake. She couldn’t blame him. She’d used the blade on him quite a bit during the night. He was nude from the waist up. His torso was a road map of red and pink lines. The red lines were the open, still-weeping wounds. The pink lines were places where she’d cut him and then applied a lighter flame.

She approached him and placed the tip of the blade to a fold of bruised and swollen flesh just beneath his left eye. “Hi, Ronald. I’ve missed you. Sorry we were gone so long.”

Ronald whimpered.

“You’ve got a choice. Should I cut you? Or should I beat you with the phone book some more?”

Ronald looked up at her through eyes overflowing with tears. He looked like he wanted to be put out of his misery.

Not yet, Ronnie. So sorry.

She set the knife and Gucci bag on the table by the window and picked up the phone book. She liked the weight of it in her hands. She got a good, two-handed grip on it and positioned herself in front of Ronald again.

His bloodshot eyes seemed to beg her.

Have mercy. Please, please, have mercy…

She lifted the book over her head and swung it with all the force she could muster, smashing it across the man’s face
and snapping his head brutally in the other direction. The backswing blow that followed was just as devastating. The man choked and sobbed behind his gag. Tears spilled from his eyes in fat droplets, splashing his big belly. His whole body trembled nonstop. Julie watched him for a minute, savoring his misery. Then she raised the book again and smashed him across the face four more times in rapid succession.

She dropped the book and picked up the knife. “Wow, that was fun. A total fucking rush. But you know what? My arms are getting tired.”

Ronald’s eyes locked on the knife again.

Julie smiled. “Say hi to Mr. Pointy.”

She poked the knife into the raw hole where his right ear had been. Ronald screamed behind his gag, but the gag and the tape effectively muffled the sound. Julie scraped the blade around the inside of the wound some more and laughed as he thrashed uselessly against his bonds.

This was too much fun.

“You need to stop. He’ll die.”

Julie took the knife out of the man’s ear and turned to address Zeb. “Yeah? So? I
want
to kill him now. I haven’t killed in two days.”

Zeb chuckled. “You sound like a doper jonesing for a fix.”

Julie laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I am definitely hooked on this shit.” She began to pace the room, reluctantly backing off for now. “Four people, Zeb. Not counting Clyde. Four innocent motherfuckers I’ve fucking
ended.
And you know what? It’s not nearly enough. I want more, more, more.” She stopped pacing and stared at Zeb. “How many people have you killed?”

“Couldn’t begin to guess, girl.”

“More than ten?”

He just smiled.

“Right. Epic underestimation. More than…fifty?”

He kept smiling.

“Holy shit, Zeb. More than…a hundred?”

He shrugged. “Lost count a long time ago. But…probably.”

She grinned. “That’s awesome. I want—”

The blast made her yelp and drop the knife. She sucked in a startled breath and spun about as Zeb sat up quick. She saw the hole in the door right away. Another blast blew the lock mechanism off the door. Then the couple from the Tercel came barreling into the room. The one who looked like a Suicide Girl came in first. She had the gun. The man came in right on her heels and kicked the door shut.

Zeb snarled and leaped off the bed at the girl. Julie figured he’d take the gun from her and stick it down her throat. He was that lethally quick. She had seen more than enough proof of it. But somehow the girl was even faster. She got the gun up and aimed faster than seemed humanly possible. She squeezed the trigger three quick times and each slug hit home in the approximate center of Zeb’s chest. He dropped hard, hitting the floor like a slab of granite, with a big, teeth-rattling boom.

Julie bent to pick up the knife.

The girl aimed the gun at her. “Don’t.”

Julie stood up straight. “Okay.”

Reappraisal time. Zeb was out of the picture. You don’t take three in the chest and get back up. Which sort of sucked. She wasn’t exactly fond of him. And he remained creepy as all get out, what with the corpse-fucking and all. But she had grown sort of…
attached
to him in their week together. He’d allowed her to break through a barrier that otherwise might have taken her years to breach, if ever. She enjoyed killing and never wanted to give it up. Would rather be dead herself than have to give it up. But if these fuckers were cops, she wasn’t going to have a choice. The man in the chair was still alive. He could testify against her, send her to prison for a very long time.

Hmm, prison…

The girl with the gun indicated the bound man with a jerk of her head. “You worried about him?”

Julie frowned. “Um…I…guess?”

The girl approached the bound man and pressed the barrel of the revolver against his forehead. She squeezed the trigger and a spray of blood and brain matter splashed the window blind behind him.

“Holy shit.”

Okay. Re-reappraisal time.

Not cops.
Definitely
not cops.

“Who are you guys?”

The woman shook her head. “No time for that. Cops will be here soon. Grab that knife if you want it and come with us.”

Julie didn’t have to be told twice.

She scooped up the knife and followed the woman and her man—who looked sort of shell-shocked—out of the room.

They were gone by the time Zeb was able to push himself up on all fours and crawl over to the bed. He sat down, put his back against the side of the bed, and looked down at his chest.

“Fuck.”

He heard a clucking sound. “You’re a goner.”

He looked up and saw Lulu standing over him. She was still the spitting image of Adrienne Barbeau, but she’d exchanged the bikini for a little black dress. Black for mourning, he supposed. Though it was far more revealing than any funeral dress he’d ever seen.

He coughed up blood. “Hurts. Hurts bad.”

“I imagine.”

“Can you help me?”

“Afraid not, Zeb. This is the end for you.”

The tears that spilled down his cheeks surprised Zeb. He couldn’t recall ever having cried as an adult. “Sucks. I don’t want to die.”

Lulu smiled. “Who does, Zeb?”

“Are you real?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Does it matter?”

Zeb’s eyes fluttered and the world turned white for a second before snapping back into focus. More blood trickled out of his mouth. “I think you’re real.”

Lulu just smiled.

“You’re real. I thought I was special and that was the reason I could hear you when nobody else could. But…I was wrong…”

Lulu shook her head. “It was always about the girl, Zeb. It was your job to get her here. To meet those people. That’s done now. And now it’s time for you to meet God.” She laughed. “You ready to talk to God, Zeb?”

Zeb felt a sudden chill.

He thought of all the people he’d killed and their desperate pleas for mercy. He wasn’t ready, not even close, but he had no say in the matter now. His breath hitched and he convulsed a little. When the convulsion passed, he heard the whine of approaching sirens.

Lulu lowered herself to the floor and straddled him. “Don’t worry about them. You’ll be gone before they get here. You’ve only got a few seconds, baby. Think about what you want to say to God. Be quick about it.”

Zeb tried to think of something. Anything.

But all he could hear now was the echoes of his victims’ screams.

Then he was gone.

Lulu watched him go.

She kissed him once on the mouth.

And then she was gone, too.

Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 25

Feels like I haven’t updated in eons. But I guess it’s only been about a week or whatever. I’m sure most of you will be surprised as shit to even see this. Thought I was a goner, right? Well, guess again. I am alive and well and having a great fucking time. Hardly really have time for this, but I wanted you bitches to know I’m all right. Not sure why. I don’t give a shit about any of you. LOL. Btw, I’m writing this on a new laptop that belonged to this guy who really won’t be needing it anymore. It’s nice. Bells and whistles out the fucking ass.

So I’ve made some new friends. This really hot chick and her boyfriend. Think I’m gonna be hanging with them for a while. The chick is fun. I’ve totally bonded with her. The boyfriend is okay. It’s fun to mess with him. The chick’s got this big thing planned and it is going to be a fucking BLAST. I can’t wait.

Oh, I wanted to address some shit I’ve been reading online today. First off, what happened to the Lees was really sad. But seriously, me taking off is totally unrelated. Whatever psycho did that didn’t abduct me. Yeah, I went to their house to collect my babysitting money, but nobody answered. End of story. Kind of creepy to think there were a bunch of dead people
on the other side of that door, though. Anyway. So what DID happen to me? Simple. I hooked up with a guy passing through town and decided to take off with him. Total coincidence it happened the same day.

Bottom line, I’m fine. Better than fine, really. I’m finally free. I felt like a prisoner living with my parents and I’m never going back, so tell them to knock off this searching bullshit, okay?

So that’s about it, I guess. I’ve wasted enough time talking to you losers.

OH! I got a tattoo yesterday. My first. Hurt a little, but totally worth it.

Laterz.

Note: Of the more than one hundred comments posted in response to the above entry, only the following received a reply from Julie Cosgrove.

lord_ruthven: I’m not sure what to believe, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m glad you seem to be okay.

Mixedupgirl: You know what? You’re the only person back home I don’t want to drop down a black fucking hole. No bullshit. Still not gonna fuck you, though.

lord_ruthven: Thanks…I guess. What about Alicia?

Mixedupgirl: Fuck her. Seems she told the cops about my bullshit “crush” on John. Next time I see her I’m gonna chop her fucking head off.

lord_ruthven: Hah. Now I really know you’re okay.

March 25

Three hours of lazing about on the beach and splashing in the ocean was more than enough for Chuck. He needed a break from the sun. He gathered up his towel and empty Corona bottles and told Zoe he was going back to the house to take a shower. Zoe smiled and told him she’d be up in a little bit. He leaned down for a kiss, felt her tongue slip into his mouth, and grinned.

“Sure you don’t want to take that shower with me?”

She smiled. “Maybe later?”

He chuckled. “Sure. A guy can never get too clean.”

He went up the beach toward the house, climbing first over a grassy dune and then traversing a short bridge to the fence that surrounded the swimming pool out back. He opened the gate and stepped inside, pausing long enough to blast sand from his feet with a hose. He entered the house through the bottom floor, padded on wet feet to the staircase, and began to climb toward the third floor. He stopped on the second-floor landing when he heard a feminine moan, very faint, emanating from one of the rooms down the short hallway. He turned and stared down the hallway. There were two rooms. Two doors. The one on the right was shut, the one on the left partly cracked. The sound came again.
Definitely
feminine. Chuck’s penis twitched in his swim trunks.

God, I’m horny.

All that time spent baking in the sun and staring at the wide array of bare female flesh in the vicinity had him worked up. He suddenly wished he’d tried harder to lure Zoe back to the house. He wanted to have some of the same kind of fun someone in one of these rooms was having. He was pretty sure the sound was coming from the partially cracked door. A need to know who it was seized him. He was surprised. He wasn’t normally given to voyeurism, but there was no denying the intensity of the desire. He glanced up the next set of stairs leading to the third floor. Empty. He then checked the stairs leading back to the first floor. Also clear. He took a deep breath and began to move as quietly as possible down the hallway.

This is crazy. What if somebody catches me peeking?

It was a good question. He had no business doing this. It was risky as hell. Yet the impulse was just too powerful to resist. He reached the partly open door and peered through the crack.

He stifled a gasp.

Annalisa and Emily were making out on the bed. They were prone on the mattress, with Annalisa on top. Chuck’s erection pushed painfully against the fabric of his trunks as he watched the two women writhe and kiss. Annalisa didn’t have a top on, just shorts, and Emily was in that tiny white bikini. There was nothing tender about what he was seeing. They were kissing with such hunger, almost as if they were trying to consume each other. Chuck couldn’t believe it. The two were Zoe’s best friends, but he had been pretty sure they loathed each other. But you could never underestimate Emily. He was sure she was the instigator here. Yet he couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d seduced Annalisa.

Annalisa broke off the kiss and sat up, straddling Emily. “I wanna sit on your face.”

She unbuttoned her shorts and twisted around to shimmy out of them. Chuck swallowed a lump in his throat and
fought an urge to reach into his trunks. Voyeurism was one thing, but he’d be damned if he’d risk someone catching him in the act of jerking off in the hallway. A thought occurred to him, something that made him frown. Why was the door open? Talk about risky. But it was obvious, wasn’t it? It had been done on purpose, probably by Emily. That’d be just like her. She
wanted
someone to see this.

He heard a voice from downstairs just as Annalisa began to position herself over Emily’s face.

Joe.

Chuck moved away from the door and hurried up the stairs to the third floor. Heart slamming, he headed to the bar. He needed a drink and he needed it now. The shower could wait. He stepped behind the bar and scanned the rows of liquor bottles, again silently thanking his father for thinking of everything. His dad had a very open mind on the subject of underage drinking. Which made sense, as he’d been quite the tippler since his own teenage days. Chuck had been sharing drinks with his father for years. Some would label the behavior child abuse. Dad just saw it as continuing a tradition.

Chuck dumped ice in a rocks glass and filled it to the rim with Johnnie Walker Black. He had half of it down by the time Joe came thumping up the stairs into the living room. He spotted Chuck at the bar and grinned. His trunks were wet and his feet were coated with sand.

Chuck nodded at his feet. “You’re tracking sand everywhere, asshole.”

Joe shrugged and came over to the bar. “Ain’t like we live here, man. Shit gets dirty, so what? The housekeepers can deal with it. Give me some of what you’re having.”

Chuck prepared another drink and passed it to Joe. “There. I should throw it in your fucking face, though.”

Joe’s grin faltered. “I do something, man? I didn’t do it, whatever it is, I swear.”

“So you and Emily didn’t screw around with Zoe the night I got the shit beat out of me at that bar?”

“A
t
the bar? I thought it happened outside.”

“Never mind that. Answer the question.”

“What do you mean, ‘screw around’?”

“You know what I mean, motherfucker.”

“Chuck…come on. We’re friends. Don’t be like this.”

Chuck squeezed the rocks glass. Hard. Another ounce or so of pressure and it would shatter in his hand. He ached to release it and use his fist as a battering ram against Joe’s face. The need to lash out was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t new. A potential for violence had been simmering just below the surface ever since that night at the bar. He wanted revenge against the people who’d beaten him, but he couldn’t have that. He was too afraid of them. They were genuine sociopaths. Hardened criminals. Just the thought of ever confronting them again paralyzed him with fear.

But Joe was another story. He wasn’t afraid of him at all.

His grin felt ugly. Probably looked even worse. “When I came back that night, after nearly getting my ass fucking killed, I couldn’t find Zoe. I came over to your room, but I didn’t knock. I stood at your door and listened for a long time, Joe.”

Joe’s face began to turn pale. “Chuck—”

“Shut up. It was hard to tell what was going on in there at first. It was a lot of damn noise. A big fucking party, from the sound of it. I didn’t leave until I heard something I’d recognize anywhere. Wanna guess what that was,
friend
?”

Chuck waited a beat. Joe didn’t say anything.

“It was Zoe having an orgasm. She’s a loud one, isn’t she?”

Joe knocked back his drink and set the glass on the bar. “You know what, man? You can shove this high-and-mighty shit right up your fucking ass. Seriously, where do you get off? You think I don’t know you fucked Emily the same night?”

“What?”

Joe’s grin returned. “Yeah, she told me. Hell, she told me right after.”

Chuck seethed inwardly. What Joe was saying astounded him, yet he had no reason to doubt it. And if she’d told Joe, why wouldn’t she have told Zoe? Hell, maybe she had and Zoe had simply decided to let it go in light of the beating he’d taken.

“What the fuck is wrong with your girlfriend?”

Joe frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why would she tell you about that?”

Joe laughed. “Man, she
always
tells me. We have an open relationship. It’s a whole swinging-seventies thing.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah. Why not? It goes both ways, you know.” He grinned. “Sort of. She gets to fuck whoever she wants, and I get to fuck whoever she tells me to fuck. And she’s such a freak that I wind up fucking a lot of people, man.”

“Nice.”

Joe laughed again. “No shit.” He picked up his glass. “Now how’s about a refill?”

“Get it yourself, douche bag.”

Chuck left Joe standing alone at the bar as he walked through the living room and then down the hallway that led to the big master bedroom he shared with Zoe. He shut the door, stripped down, and went into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on, adjusting the temperature to a point just shy of scalding. The water felt good rushing over him. The steam felt good, too. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of all the things that were pissing him off, because there were just too many of them. As he began to relax, his mind drifted back to his brief glimpse of Annalisa squatting over Emily’s face. A predictable physical result ensued.

His eyes snapped open when he heard the stall door open.

Emily peeked inside. She looked him up and down, smirking at the sight of his hand clenched around his erection. “Joe told me about your little spat. Said you could probably use some consoling. But, ah…” She laughed. “Here, let me help you with that.”

She started to step into the shower stall.

Chuck stared at her.

She was naked.

And she looked as enticing as ever. More.

He knew he should tell her to go away. But desire overwhelmed his better judgment. He reached for her and pulled her into the stall. She laughed as his hands pawed at her. That mocking quality he recalled from the encounter in the van was there again. A wave of self-hatred assailed him. His erection began to wilt. He stopped kissing Emily and gripped her by the shoulders, prying her off of him.

Her expression was a mixture of confusion and anger. “What the fuck?”

“You’re getting out.”

He steered her back toward the open stall door, turned her around, and gave her a hard shove in the back. She cried out as she stumbled out of the stall and fell clumsily to the floor. Her knees smacked the plush bathroom rug and she cried out again. She got up and glared at Chuck. “You son of a bitch.”

“Get out, Emily. Now.”

She made no move to leave. “You could have hurt me. That was assault, Chuck. I could call the cops.”

“I don’t give a shit what you do. Just get out.”

“You’ll give a shit when I tell them you tried to rape me.”

Chuck smirked. “You do that. And maybe they won’t laugh in your face when they find out what a gigantic fucking slut you are.”

Her glare turned murderous. She retrieved her bikini
from the towel rack and began to put it on. “Nothing good ever comes of pissing me off, Chuck. I’ll put you in your place before long. You’ll see.”

She was gone before he could respond.

Chuck closed the stall door and stepped under the spray again, a smile stretching across his face as the hot water streamed down his body. He didn’t doubt the sincerity of her vow to get back at him. She would try to exact revenge, somehow, some way. But for the moment it didn’t matter. He felt like he’d won something. It was a little thing, really, but it felt important to him.

He’d made a stand.

And hadn’t given in to temptation.

He felt a small flicker of some initially unidentifiable emotion. He needed a few moments to recognize it as something resembling pride. He felt good about something he’d done.

He smiled again.

It’d been a long time.