The Killing Kind Page 9

  He trotted out of the living room, disappearing down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Soon she heard the faint squeak of bedsprings again and her stomach fluttered. He was giving Karen’s corpse another bounce.

  What a sick fuck!

  Of course, she was the one who’d wanted to snap a picture of him performing this very act, so who was the sick one here?

  He returned some ten minutes later. This time he was no longer completely nude, wearing a clean pair of briefs probably swiped from John’s dresser. No way this piece of human garbage owned anything remotely clean. It was almost sort of funny. He was too much a prisoner of his twisted sexual appetites to think clearly. So he’d banged one out and put something on to take his dick out of the equation.

  “So why doesn’t Lulu want you to do anything to me?”

  “She says you’re…” His lips curled in his hesitation, making his distaste for the next word clear. “…special.”

  Julie stifled a laugh. This guy was insane. That was a given. Clearly this “Lulu” existed only in his head. But the asshole just as clearly believed she was real. Which was good. Because Lulu was on her side. God knows why. But maybe it was something she could exploit.

  Julie smiled. “She’s right. You should listen to her.”

  “I always listen to her. That’s why you’re not dead, bitch.”

  Julie’s expression sharpened. “Don’t call me that. You think Lulu would like that? She said I’m special. Well, treat me like I am.”

  The man frowned. “I…” His jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists. Deep lines formed on his brow. He looked frustrated. Probably wasn’t used to getting this kind of attitude from a girl. Women were supposed to tremble in his presence. Or cringe away in disgust if he happened to pass them on the street. He didn’t have the first clue what to do with her. Well, here was another thing she could exploit.

  “Hey, asshole. You forget how to talk? You look like you’re having a fucking seizure. And Christ, but you stink. You smell like you’ve been submerged in shit the last ten years. Please go take a fucking shower.” She smiled. “A nice, long one.”

  His whole body was shaking. “Don’t. Talk. To. Me. Like. That!”

  Julie’s smile never wavered. “Relax, baby. I’m just playing.” She giggled. “Did Lulu tell you why I’m special?”

  The man let out a long breath. His hands slowly unclenched. “She said you’re like me on the inside.”

  Julie’s smile drooped a little. She thought of her collection of crime-scene photos. Recalled with only a small echo of shame her first impulse upon spying this crazy fuck’s defilement of Karen’s body. Only a few very close friends knew about her secret obsessions and fantasies. And yet…no. She was reading too much into this. Lulu wasn’t real. And this guy wasn’t psychic. Psycho, yeah, no shit, but not psychic.

  Still…

  Play along.

  “She’s right. I’m just like you.”

  The man’s expression was somber. “Yes. And that’s why you’re coming with me when I leave.”

  Julie shook her head. “What? No…I…”

  The man began to smile. “Yes. Lulu says it’s your destiny.”

  Julie kept shaking her head. “No.”

  The man laughed.

  Then he went out of the room, disappearing down the hallway again. He came back a few minutes later with another item pilfered from the Lees’ belongings—a bottle of sleeping pills. He forced a few down her throat and slapped a strip of duct tape over her mouth. She cried and struggled against her bonds a while longer as he puttered about the house gathering things to take with him.

  The crash came fast. Her head felt thick. She stopped struggling and closed her eyes. When she woke up again, briefly, she was in the trunk of a car. The space was cramped, more than it should be. She moved around a little, enough to determine she had company in the tight space. The man she had killed was her companion in darkness. She couldn’t see him, but the god-awful stench was proof enough. She began to cry. Mercifully, the swish of tires on pavement soon lulled her mind back into that hazy, gray drugged space, and she fell asleep again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated September 10, the previous year

  Sometimes I think I really don’t feel human at all. I mean, I KNOW I’m a member of the fucking species. What I really mean is I feel disconnected from humanity. Like I don’t understand the inner workings of a healthy human being’s brain. I guess I’m mostly thinking about emotions. Most people seem to feel things really deeply. Like the love they supposedly feel for the people they care about. That’s something I just don’t get at all. Seriously, I don’t think I could ever love anybody for real, in a romantic way, like you see on TV and the movies. That fairy-tale shit. There’s this guy I just met, right? Really cute. Like cute verging on hot. So I talk to him. I see how he looks at me. He’s into me already. I bet I could make him love me. And it’d be cool ’cause I’d definitely like to fuck him. And maybe when he says he loves me, I’ll say it back, because he’ll want to hear it.

  But it won’t be real.

  People like to think humans are some kind of elevated creature. Yeah, we’re capable of things beyond the abilities of any other species. We have the ability to reason and figure shit out. But humans also do a lot of ugly things. Read a fucking history book and you’ll see. Genocide. War. Slavery. And it goes deeper than the bigger things like that. Every day, somewhere out there, some crazy fuck is killing somebody else just for kicks. Rape. Murder. Abuse. A fucking pandemic of violence. It doesn’t ever stop and CAN’T ever stop. So when you get right down to it, we’re not really any better than dogs, cats, apes, llamas, lions, wolves, or fucking aardvarks. We’re savage animals, and all this shit about love and whatnot is just that—SHIT. It’s something we’re taught to believe in so the world doesn’t fall apart. Me? I think the world could use a good dose of anarchy. Some fucking chaos. YEAH. I want to run wild in the streets!

  I want to break something. Scream and shout. I want to get in my car and go run somebody down. Last night I had a dream I shot my mom in the face.

  I don’t love any of you.

  Later, bitches. Cold Case Files is on.

  4 comments

  lord_ruthven: You make me sad.

  Mixedupgirl: It’s pathetic how hard you want me.

  lord_ruthven: About as hard as I want a chainsaw enema.

  Mixedupgirl: That can be arranged. God, you’re boring. Stick your head in an oven or suck on a shotgun, okay?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  March 22

  Chuck was still gone when Zoe came out of the bathroom, and that was fine with her. She hoped he would be gone a while yet. With any luck she’d be asleep by the time he returned. It would be one less night of fending off awkward advances.

  Her hair was wet from the shower and she had a fresh white towel wrapped around her torso. The towel was there to hide the temptation of her body from Chuck. Because he just wouldn’t be able to help himself. He simply couldn’t keep his hands off her when she was sans clothes. But with Chuck still missing in action, the towel could go. She tugged it loose and let it fall to the floor.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Chuck.

  “Shit.”

  The idiot had probably forgotten the key card. She snatched the towel up from the floor and hurriedly wrapped it around her body again as she strode quickly to the door. She’d planned to knock herself out with some Ambien and be asleep by the time he returned. So much for that. Goddammit. She yanked the door open and an epithet froze at the tip of her tongue as she saw who was actually there.

  “Emily?”

  Her friend smirked. “You look pissed off.”

  Zoe sighed. “Sorry. I thought you were Chuck.”

  Emily laughed. “That explains the pissed-off part. Can I come in?”

  “I was just about to go to bed.”

  “Come on. Just for a few minutes
. I’m bored.”

  Zoe shrugged. “Okay. But just for a few minutes. I really want to get to sleep soon.”

  Emily walked into the room and sat at the edge of the bed. Zoe closed the door and tugged the towel a notch higher over her breasts before sitting in a chair next to the bed. She crossed her legs, clasping her hands over a knee. “You didn’t happen to see Mr. Wonderful out there, did you?”

  Emily made a face. “Yeah. I ran into him.”

  “Something wrong? He say something obnoxious again?”

  Emily shook her head. “No. Not really. Just talking to him is awkward for me. He knows I fucking hate him.”

  “Yeah. I guess he does. What was he doing?”

  “I think he was going to a bar across the street. At least that’s what he said. Sounded like he’s gonna be gone a while.”

  Zoe smiled. She wouldn’t need the Ambien to get to sleep now. Just knowing she wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of fending off Chuck relaxed her in ways no drug could. “Well…good. Maybe he’ll get drunk and hook up with somebody there.”

  Emily laughed. “Maybe you should get drunk and hook up.”

  “Maybe. But I’m too tired for that tonight.”

  Emily stared at Zoe without speaking for a long moment, biting her lower lip as she looked her friend up and down. Zoe frowned and fought the impulse to squirm in her chair. She remembered Emily’s whispered proposition during their stop at the rest area earlier and began to feel uncomfortable again.

  Emily chuckled. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  Another chuckle. “You seem…uptight.”

  “I’m not.”

  Emily shrugged. “Whatever. Look. I know you said you’re tired, but I kind of want to party a little.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Another shrug. “I have a little coke. We could do a bump and go to my room.”

  “Um…” Zoe’s face reddened. “Emily…you know I love you. We’ve been friends forever. But…I don’t know.”

  Emily laughed. “What do you think I’m suggesting?”

  Zoe’s blush deepened. “Well…there’s that thing you talked about earlier. No offense, but I’m not really into the idea.”

  Emily cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And how do you know until you give it a whirl?”

  Zoe was starting to feel frustrated with the conversation. She just wanted Emily to stop talking about this weirdness and leave so she could go to bed. “I don’t know, okay? It’s just not my thing. I’m sorry.”

  Emily stood and brushed her hands over her thighs, smoothing the hem of her clingy dress. “That’s cool. I just wanted to put the idea out there. It’s an open-ended invitation, so if you ever change your mind…”

  “I won’t.”

  Emily shook her head and looked Zoe over one more time. “A shame. It would be the perfect night to play around a little. What with Chuck being gone and all. I’ve got Joe naked and tied to the bed next door.”

  Zoe’s blush returned. “Um…”

  Emily smiled. “Too much information?”

  “Yeah…you could say that.”

  Emily kept smiling. “Still, think of the fun we could have. He’s blindfolded, too. You could climb on top of him and pretend you’re me. Wouldn’t that be a trip?”

  Zoe thought about it.

  Like Chuck, Joe was a very well-built young man. She had no doubt Emily was telling the truth about his current situation. And admittedly it was kind of a hot image…

  No. Don’t even think it.

  “You’re thinking about it.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Are, too.”

  “Jesus, Emily.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and went to the door. She stood there with her hand on the knob and looked at Zoe one more time. “You keep on thinking about it. We’ll be up for a while yet.”

  Then she opened the door and was gone.

  Zoe sat in the chair and stared at the closed door for some time, too stunned to move. She hadn’t expected Emily to repeat the proposition again so soon, or to be so pushy about it. It stirred discomforting doubts about the true depth of their friendship. Would a real friend put her in this kind of position? It wasn’t something that could just be ignored or forgotten. It was out there now. There was no taking it back. Emily was smart. She knew what she had done. It made Zoe feel lonely. Here was this big issue to confront, and the person she discussed hard things with was the one person she couldn’t talk to about it.

  Unless…

  She gave her head a hard shake. “No. Absolutely not.”

  But she kept thinking about it, the images in her head growing more vivid the longer she sat there. She squirmed in the chair again, but this time it was not from discomfort. She closed her eyes. Pictured Joe tied to a bed. She drew in a sharp breath and her nipples stiffened. She uncrossed her legs and slipped a hand under the towel.

  Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this. Stop it!

  But she couldn’t stop. The fantasy had gone too far and she was too aroused. An impulse made her stand up and tug the towel off. She grabbed her duffel bag from the floor and set it on the bed. She sorted through the clothes, pulled out shorts and a T-shirt, and donned them.

  She left the room and stood for a moment on the balcony, searching the motel’s parking lot for any sign of Chuck. He didn’t seem to be around. She saw the bar Emily had mentioned on the other side of the street. Dimly audible music wafted from that direction. If he had really gone there, he wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Chuck wasn’t the type to quit after one drink.

  Good. Drink yourself into a coma for all I fucking care.

  She turned away from the parking lot and approached the door to Emily’s room. She raised a hand to knock, but hesitated a moment longer. She took a deep breath. Her heart was racing. She could hear it.

  This is crazy. It’s not too late to stop. Just go back to bed.

  She took another deep breath.

  Then she knocked.

  The door came open and Emily stood there smiling at her. “Changed your mind?”

  Zoe forced a smile. “Yeah.”

  Emily stepped aside and Zoe walked into the room. She felt a wild thrill of excitement when she saw Joe on the bed, just as Emily had described.

  Jesus Christ. Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Joe stirred on the bed. “Who’s there, baby?” He sounded groggy.

  “Don’t talk!” Emily snapped.

  Joe opened his mouth again—then closed it, saying nothing.

  Emily took Zoe by the hand and guided her over to a little table by the window. “Coke first, then fucking.”

  Zoe sat and accepted the clipped straw Emily handed her. She gaped at the chopped lines of powder arranged on a tray. “I thought you said a little coke.”

  Emily shrugged. “I lied. So what?”

  “Whatever.” Zoe inserted the straw in a nostril and bent her head to the table, snorting up most of a line in one go. “Oh. Wow. Fuck.”

  “Good, huh?”

  Zoe grinned. “Hell, yeah.”

  Emily stood and peeled the black dress off over her head. She went to the bed and climbed in next to Joe, curling one long, shapely leg over his groin. She flashed Zoe a naughty smile and reached over Joe to pat the other side of the bed. “Join us.”

  Zoe finished the line of coke with a final snort. Feeling deliciously, wickedly debauched, she stood up and undressed.

  Then she went to the bed and climbed in.

  She didn’t see Chuck until the next morning.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  March 22

  The first one went down easy, the next one even easier. Tonight that normally harsh tequila burn tasted sweet. He welcomed the sting. Savored it. Reveled in it. He wasn’t normally the sort to wallow in pain or misery, but tonight felt like a good night for it. A good time to open up hidden recesses in his psyche and see what dark things lurked there.

&nbs
p; Chuck rapped the empty shot glass on the bar and the bartender filled it again. He threw the shot back, screwing his eyes shut and wincing as the strong booze hit the back of his throat. It was cheap tequila. House brand. The place was too much of a dump to stock anything good.

  Who cares? It’ll do the job.

  The bottom of the glass hit the bar again and the burly barkeep—who hadn’t moved, and stood ready with the bottle—filled it to the rim again. The man had a bushy mustache, a receding hairline, and a ponytail. Faded jailhouse tattoos festooned his muscular forearms. A livid scar under one eye hinted at a violent past.

  Chuck picked up the glass. “What’s with the scar? You get that in jail?”

  “None of your business.”

  Chuck laughed. “Yeah. You’re right.” He raised the glass again, but didn’t throw the shot back right away this time. He swiveled side to side on the stool, swaying, his head already buzzing pleasantly from the booze. “It always this fucking dead in here?”

  The barkeep shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. Gets busy on the weekends.”

  “Huh. Lots of weekend-warrior rednecks, right?”

  “Yeah. You got something against rednecks?”

  “No, man, not really. You know, other than just how fucking dumb they are. You know what I’m saying, right? Most of them don’t have more than two working brain cells to rub together.” He knocked the tequila back in one go again, whooped, and slammed the glass down. “Hit me again, Pedro.”

  The big barkeep squinted at him. “My name’s not Pedro.”

  No shit. Guy didn’t look even vaguely Hispanic. Where the hell had that come from? “Sorry about that, Hoss.”

  “Name ain’t Hoss, either. It’s Joe Bob.”

  It started as a snort. A helpless, reflexive expression of mirth. Then he thought about it again. Joe Bob! Another snort, followed by an almost girlish giggle. Fucking Joe Bob! It perfectly fit any number of country stereotypes, the kind of name that just screamed “lobotomized sack of backwoods monkey spunk.”