Nothing but Darkness (Darkness Series Book 1) Page 6

  “Fuck, did you piss the bed?” I know she was drunk, but I’ve never had anyone do this. How disgusting.

  But it doesn’t smell like piss. It smells of something entirely different, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  I roll over, flipping on the lights, preparing to examine exactly what’s gone wrong. Rolling back to survey the damage, I freeze.

  The smell is iron, it’s rusty and metallic, salty and red. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

  I can’t scream.

  I can’t breathe.

  I can’t move.

  I can’t think.

  What the fuck did I do? Jagged breath escapes my dry lips, and I can’t believe it’s coming from me.

  I stare at the pool of blood underneath a lifeless blonde woman next to me. In my bed.

  Dead.

  Dead woman.

  Dead woman in my bed.

  Dead woman, next to me, in my bed.

  I thought I’d been dreaming. Could I seriously have been doing what I thought was playing out in the depths of my dreams? No. This can’t actually be happening. I must still be dreaming.

  That wasn’t me. It’s as if I hear my thoughts in a hiss.

  I couldn’t have done this.

  But I can feel my blood pumping, my blood pressure rising, and my adrenaline kicking in. I’m absolutely awake, I’m not dreaming. This is happening right now.

  My fight or flight response is kicking in. But I have no one to fight, and I can’t run away either without expecting severe fucking consequences.

  The first thing that breaks through the haze is determination.

  I will not get caught. I will get away with this. Mistake or fate, there’s no way I’m throwing my life away for Blondie.

  No. I need to stop; I need to think. I need to figure out what the fuck to do.

  What the fuck? What the fuck.

  My breath is still ragged and my mind can’t stop racing. I’ve killed someone.

  I fucking killed someone.

  ****

  I take a second to realize I’m not entirely remorseful. I don’t feel ecstatic about what I’ve done, though, either. I’m torn. There’s a red line traced down the center of my body in her blood; it runs from scalp to scrotum, and the two sides can’t agree. Each pulls the other in a vicious tug of war. I don’t feel all of anything, but instead I feel a little of everything.

  That can’t be good.

  I’m not sure how I came to this point, this crossroad. I’ve become a killer, and didn’t expect it to happen, never saw it coming. How can something like that just surprise anyone? After this is all cleaned up, I need to think. I’ll need to process. But for now I need to get this bitch out of here and away from any trace of me. This analyzing shit can wait until I’ve taken care of this mess.

  Right now, all I want to do is hide what I’ve done since there’s no way to undo it.

  I’m overwhelmed with no idea where to start. This isn’t a problem I can discuss. There’s no one to brainstorm with. Not even Blondie here can share in the delightful conversation. I look around my room, trying to call the answers to me. But nothing happens. I’m at a loss.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  I finally jump out of bed, running to the shower. First I need to shower. I need to be clean in order to think straight. That’ll help. I can’t process through the coat of already-crusting blood; it’s preventing plans from forming.

  I blank my mind as the water begins to rush out of the head, heating the bathroom on this chilly night. I need a fresh start, a blank slate, in order to come up with the best plan. I need to let go of every feeling I’m struggling with, let go of every thought.

  I wait until the entire bathroom is full of warm, steamy fog, and then I hop into the scalding water. The parts of my skin that are touched by the stream turn red. It hurts, but I relish the feeling, soaking in the pain. I close my eyes, push my palms into the contrastingly cool tile, leaning my forehead between my hands. The two different temperatures help to finish clearing my mind. Under the pounding water and surrounded by hot cloudy mist, coherent thoughts finally start to form, stringing together.

  I let myself think back to the bedroom, back to what happened.

  Envisioning it moment by moment, this time fully knowing it wasn’t a dream, I try to look at what I did through the lens of reality instead of fantasy. This woman had done nothing wrong. She had satisfied me, several times, and I hadn’t even known her name. I didn’t seek revenge, as I would’ve with someone like Eva. She didn’t provoke me. She was simply there when I was ready.

  Wrong place, wrong time for her, but both right for me.

  A switch was flipped inside, and I’m not sure if there’s any way it can be reversed. But again, that’s something to ponder after I take care of the dead body in the middle of my bed. Holy fucking shit. There is a dead body in my bedroom waiting for me to do something about it. Hide it.

  A disgusting grin begins to creep its way across my face, and I’m both mortified and intrigued to have such a reaction. My cheeks rise, creating lines by the corners of my eyes.

  Though, as quickly as the grin spread, it disappears. I smack my face hard, quick and biting, to wake myself. Fuck, I need to get a grip; there’s still action to be taken. It works, but the mood swings better stop. Blondie was a living, breathing woman hours ago, and I ended that. I still need to pick up the pieces before they drip onto the expensive flooring.

  The water swirls down the drain, each droplet representing a possibility for what to do next. I know I have options. I just need to pick one, and since emotion is getting me nowhere, I move to logic. I’m better with logic anyway.

  No one saw her leave with me, and there was no way anyone could’ve known she was doing anything but going home alone. In fact, she said she had been at the bar alone. I didn’t tell anyone I was going to Z tonight, and they have no cameras outside. Thank you, Jason, for providing this tip. He wasn’t the first mugged outside Z. Probably won’t be the last, either.

  No one saw me.

  I didn’t even add the miles on my car since I walked. She didn’t call anyone on her phone or mine since leaving the bar. I have no motive, and I have no connection to her other than her evening here, which no one else knows about.

  If I can clean up sufficiently and create a plan to get rid of the body, I may be free and clear.

  But how do I get rid of her? That’s the big question of the day.

  I turn off the water, since the heat is dwindling, and I need to get down to work. I dry off quickly, refraining from putting any clothing on. I’ll need to shower again after my work here is done. This is going to be a messy job.

  First I grab the knife, my weapon, bringing it to the bathroom sink. I’ve actually used a weapon. I’ve never used anything as a weapon before, well, nothing other than my fists when I punched my cousin in the stomach that time when we were in school. Now I’ve used an object as a legitimate weapon.

  Shit, that’s kind of cool.

  Returning to the bedroom, I carefully strip the bedding out from under Blondie’s body and throw them in the shower. She sure seemed lighter when she was still breathing. Logically, this seems odd since she should be lighter without all that blood she’s since forgone. It’s now marring my expensive sheets. Luckily, I have a protective plastic sheet covering my mattress. I have no idea how I would’ve disposed of a mattress if it too were soaked with Blondie’s fluids.

  Thank fuck for small miracles.

  Grabbing the bleach, I douse both the sheets and knife to remove every trace of blood I can. I send additional pours of the acrid liquid down the drain to clean what has started down the pipes, careful not to get any on my swinging dick because that’d fucking sting, and I need to stay focused.

  I doubt this clean-up job would pass any crime scene tests, but it’s the best I can do for now.

  Shit. I need to wrap up her body. I can’t drag her outside like this. It wouldn’t be too popular with the n
eighbors. And I don’t have a shower curtain since the entire shower stall is constructed of glass other than the walls. I thought it looked sleeker, but right now a tacky curtain would help me a lot. Then again, I never anticipated being buck-ass naked standing in my bathroom trying to come up with something to wrap and dispose a dead body in.

  Go figure.

  I decide to use the plastic mattress cover to wrap Blondie’s body in for the time being. That’ll have to do, and I’ll just have to buy another.

  Before I go any further, I sit down next to her on the plastic with a notebook in my lap, a pen poised above. I need to replace a few things after I get rid of her. I scribble several items that come to mind.

  Sheets/bedding

  Kitchen knives

  Mattress cover

  Leather gloves

  Rope

  Plastic bags

  Bleach

  Matches

  Laundry detergent

  Milk

  I add the milk because I don’t want to make myself seem too suspicious. What if someone found this list someday? I can’t be too careful here. I need to consider things as much as I can from a detached perspective, from every angle, and I’m proud this list isn’t too incriminating at first glance. Now it looks like any list I can take care of in one shopping trip.

  Plus, well, I need milk.

  I look over at Blondie, satisfied with what I’ve done so far, noticing for the first time her eyes are still open as well as her mouth, both in a shocked expression. Vulnerability and pleading read strong on her face. This was the last face she ever contorted, and I’ll be the only person to see it.

  I feel a tingle prickle on the top of my scalp, and a shiver courses down through my spine. I can feel my arousal kicking in quickly.

  I killed this bitch.

  I ended her life. I watched her last breath and felt the final pulses of heat emanate from her pussy.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, my cock’s in her open mouth. I can’t reign myself in. I feel her tongue loll inside of her head, and I watch the finality of death in her eyes as I satisfy myself once more with Blondie.

  When I finish a sinking feeling settles it.

  I’m a fucking depraved, sick son of a bitch.

  I really, probably, shouldn’t have done that.

  ****

  I know my DNA is all over her, and it was even before that last assaultive mistake. I need to dispose of her in a way that’ll get rid of my mark. After the sheets and knife have dried, I wrap them in the plastic with Blondie, racking my brain for what to do with her. Where can I leave her? How can I get rid of all links back to me?

  Water.

  With the wonderful world of television, I’ve learned water washes away a lot of evidence. Not all, I’m sure, but a lot. And how convenient that Maine has an ocean close enough to dispose of her in.

  But I don’t want any blood in my car. That’d be bad.

  And I can’t rent a car to bring her to a disposal spot with the chance of spilt blood either, since my name will be linked with a rental as well. How can I get her from here to the ocean without leaving a trail that’ll lead back to me?

  Then I’ve got it.

  Fuck me, it’s brilliant.

  I know how to do it without incriminating myself. But in the process I’ll definitely be putting poor, innocent, unassuming Jason at risk.

  Well that’s too fucking bad for him, I guess.

  Another pang hits me hard. I’ve become a selfish asshole. When I’m safe and have the time, I need to evaluate some things. I’m not entirely sure where I want to go from here on out.

  I’d nearly forgotten I still have the spare key to both the storage locker and Jason’s car. Even better, I’m not the only person with a set of spare keys. Amelia has a set, and I think his parents do too. He never asked for mine back. Plus I don’t think he’d question for a second if I lied and said I had.

  This is going to work. I know it will.

  After devising my plan, I put on dark warm clothing and a tight winter hat. I don’t want to freeze as I throw Blondie in the cold current that will wash her away forever. I add dark leather gloves to prevent fingerprints in the duct tape I use to seal her, her leakage, and the other incriminating items in the plastic sheet. It’d probably be good if my hairs stay out of the adhesive on the tape, too. I even add the rest of the tape roll in with her body to prevent two edges of tape being matched together with the roll still in my possession. No ties to me.

  Tape just can’t be my downfall. I can’t be that guy.

  Satisfied with my work, I grab the spare keys to walk to Jason’s storage locker.

  ****

  Jason’s car is a thing of beauty, and I feel kind of bad looking at Blondie inside of the trunk when I reach my destination spot. But I’m too distracted by Blondie’s dulling eyes, ghostlike expression, and naked body to care as much as I could for the muscle car’s interior. I need to get rid of her, and I need to do it fast.

  Blondie is much heavier than I remember as I lift her out of the trunk. Dead weight is so much heavier than live, heavier than expected. I slip a few times trying to get her out, and swipe away the perspiration that leaks beneath my hat.

  “Fuck.” I definitely drop her on the ground. This is not as graceful as books and movies make it out to be.

  I need to stick to skinny girls in the future.

  Oh fuck me that was a slip. There won’t necessarily be a future like this.

  Thankfully the sky is still pitch black, and the streets are barren. I feel as if I’m alone in the world. This feels like a precious gift given to me despite what I’ve done. I have time to revel in the new reality I’ve created, not totally sure if it’s sewage or a magic elixir I’m standing in. I feel as if I’m in it up to my chest, though. I can either stew in this forever, or I can debate the possibilities ahead of me and walk deeper into it or back away slowly.

  There are two paths I can choose between, leading me to two different people I have the opportunity to become. I’m just not sure which road I’ll take yet.

  But quickly a hollow feeling creeps into my momentary self-absorption and moral dilemma. Uncertainty starts to burn at the edges of my mind, singeing deeper than I prefer. I can feel myself becoming more and more uncomfortable as I hold the lifeless body in my arms. She could either be my prize or the thing that unglues me. Even if I took the road of decided killer I can’t be proud of what I’ve done tonight. It was not planned. It was not intentional. Hell, I didn’t even know I was doing it until it was all over.

  I toss her in the ocean with a sense of revulsion. She moves away, finally sinking, but my nausea doesn’t subside. No matter what happens, she’ll never count as my first victim. If I choose to have more she won’t be included in my tally, and if I go back to a normal, moral life I’ll do my best to erase tonight from my memory. Walking back to the car, I wonder if there’s a pill for that.

  I’ve lost my watch, sleep chronically evades me, and I’m fully aware of how harried and unhygienic I look, yet I slough off the worry. I don’t give much of a shit about what other people think right now. I do know this unkempt style won’t fly for long, but for now no one’s said anything.

  Actually, I feel sharper than normal. I’ve been on my toes, ready for whatever’s thrown my way. It helps too that I don’t smell since I’ve showered, despite looking like I haven’t. I’ve just slept on wet hair, not caring to fix it before leaving the house in the morning. I’ve had too much on my mind.

  I’ve been struggling with the huge decision needing to be made. The one that’s been following me around like a lost puppy, or a stalker. The decision I still need to make before it eats me alive. For days I’ve gone back and forth with what I could do, with what I shouldn’t do, with what I want to do. It felt so good somewhere dark and deep within me to do what I did to Blondie. But at the same time, the little voice that is my version of a conscience reminds me how terrible it was, especially in the eyes of others a
nd the consequences it leads to. It’s not something most people do, or would approve of doing. Most people have more control over their emotions, their senses, their desires. I worry if I continue down the road less traveled I’ll like it too much and lose all control. I’ll get swept up in my excitement, then get caught.

  I should be worrying about the guilt and moral issues, but those aren’t the thoughts that have kept me up through the night. They’re there, they just play a smaller role.

  I’m treading both sides of the fence, which is making it hard to eat or sleep. I think about all the good and bad with each choice and end up getting nowhere. I can’t let go of either stance, feeling as if I have two totally different personalities battling it out inside me. I wonder if they’ll fight to the death, then to the victor goes the spoils of all future decision making.

  Normally, I’d just make a list and pick the side that makes the most sense on paper, but this shit can’t be put down as record. I’d be beheaded. I know which choice is the ethical one: to pretend like it never happened and move on never to do it again. Okay, it’s the somewhat ethical choice, the lesser of two evils. Because the real moral choice would be to turn myself in right now. And fuck that. Plus, every time I start to prepare myself for this side of the coin I start to panic. My heart races and I become drenched in sweat thinking of what I’d lose with that path. My reaction is much less severe when I debate taking the dark road littered with more victims. Though thinking of getting caught is terrifying as well. Paralyzing in its terror, actually.

  Thus my predicament.

  It seems there’s no perfect answer, which seriously pisses me off. I work with numbers, logic, facts. I don’t do as well with gut feelings. My intuition is shit, and I’ve never been one to talk about how I feel. I tend to find the correct answer based on an equation, and I just can’t do that here. Here I need to feel it out.

  I fucking hate that I’m having such trouble with this.

  ****

  “Hey, Idiot.”

  “Huh?” Jason is standing at my desk in my office. I missed him coming in here.