Hair of the Bitch - A Twisted Suspense Thriller (11 page)

Nothing.

The room was the antithesis of everything else in the house—at least everything I had seen up until now. It looked like one of those white rooms they stuck crazies in. No furniture, no rugs, not even a window. Just white and more white.

“Put her down anywhere,” Angela said. “She should be out for at least another hour.”

I set Stephanie down in the middle of the room. Angela turned to leave.

“We’re just gonna leave her here?” I asked.

“It’s fine. Come on, I need to get you fitted.”

“Fitted?”

“You want me to wear one of those ridiculous outfits,” I said. “Like the freak who came at me with the bat.”

“I take it you didn’t approve of his fashion sense?”

I said nothing.

“Fine—you can play it conservative, but I
will
cover your face. I also suggest you change your clothes. You don’t want to get them messy.”

Messy.

She tossed me a pair of denim overalls like the kind farmers wear.

“Will those be okay, Mr. Versace?” she said.

I fanned the overalls out and held them up against my body. I flashed on the film
Motel Hell
with a chainsaw-wielding Rory Calhoun running around in overalls while wearing a severed pig’s head.

Oh please don’t make me wear a severed pig’s head.

“Come over here and pick out a mask,” she said.

I marveled at how blasé she was about the whole process, as if she was an employee showing me items in a department store.

(
And you’re just letting it happen…watching that movie.
)

I approached the dresser drawer she had opened and looked inside. There were five masks all in a row. Two were all black with stitches and zippers all over the place, similar to the one the freak wore; one was a black hood similar to the executioner’s hood I saw in one of her videos; one was a white ski mask that looked to be made out of leather; and the last one was, I shit you not, a plastic Elmer Fudd mask. I picked Elmer up.

“Anyone ever choose this one?” I asked.

She snatched it from me and placed it back in the drawer.

“Well what’s it there for then?” I said.

“Are you going to choose or am I?”

I picked up the white leather ski mask.

“Perfect—that’ll provide good contrast with her blood,” she said, still as blasé as they come.

Her blood.

(
Just
watching that movie—popcorn and all.
)

Angela opened another drawer on the dresser. She removed something and handed it to me. It was a box-cutter.

“A box-cutter? What am I opening?”

“Stephanie. I won’t let you out until she’s dead.”

Her words were an ice blast. Or maybe it was the cavalier way she spoke them; the way she’d
been
speaking. Either way, it fucking sucked. Either way, I was fucked. Either way, it fucking sucked that I was fucked.

“Angela,” I said, holding the box-cutter in front of her, “it’ll take forever if I use this.” I fingered the small thin blade. “This thing can’t be more than two inches.”

“That’s the idea. The client doesn’t want it to be quick.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Am I
really going through with this?

(
Disassociation.
)

What?

(
Like watching a movie about yourself. You might question character judgment throughout, and you might yell at the screen whenever that character does something stupid—very apt here—but in the end all you can really do is sit back and watch. Sorry, CHOOSE to watch.
)

So what do I do?

(
Well, wouldn’t “living in the now”—as you so longingly aspire—be something you should finally man up and do? Give the film an alternate ending?
)

Okay yeah, yeah. How though?

(
I don’t know. Maybe you need to get in the game for a little bit first. Get sacked a few times. This isn’t a zero to sixty thing after all.
)

You telling me to go through with this!?

(
Weren’t you going to anyway?
)

No!

(
Sure as hell seems like it so far. And you know what’s saddest of all?
)

What?

(
Part of you is doing it for her.
)

Well no shit.

(You know what I mean.)

Then I won’t do it.

(
Yes you will. It’ll all be over before you even realize. Someone else has the remote.
)

No.

(
Why not? Drinking, street-fighting, romanticizing about how dark and enigmatic you are? It hasn’t done shit your whole pathetic life. Why not get in the game and take a few REAL hits, hot shot? Maybe it’ll finally man you the fuck up, allow you to make alternate endings for future films. Present you with a big red button to press so you can nuke Fantasy World into fucking orbit.
)

Stop talking in metaphors!

“Still with me?” Angela asked.

I blinked and nodded. “You’re going to film this I assume?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t see any cameras. There were no cameras in the room.”

“There are cameras. Here.” She handed me her ring of keys along with a small tube of something. “Those are the keys and smelling salts. Get in there, wake her up, and then go to work. Don’t fuck this up, Calvin; I’ve been good to you thus far.”

“If you wanted to be good to me, you’d destroy the tape.”

“If I destroyed that tape, I would never hear from you again. You might even end up growing a conscience and try to turn me in.”

“I wouldn’t turn you in.”

“Be that as it
may…
” She took me by the shoulders, spun me around, and marched me out of the closet. “I’ll be watching from in here,” she said.

“Where?” I said, my head going all over the room, looking for I don’t know what.

“The cameras feed into my TV. Stop stalling, Calvin.”

“Tell me something,” I said. “If I’m supposed to kill this girl, what’s stopping me from just killing you?” I held up the box-cutter.

She smiled. “Nothing. You could do that I suppose. But the tape would still be out there wouldn’t it? You’d have no way of knowing where it was, or how many copies I’d made. Jesus, Calvin, you act as though I’m an idiot.

“The bottom line is that you have two choices: you can do what I tell you to do, or you can take your chances with the tape.”

I dropped my head and stared at the floor.

“Besides,” she said, pressing her body against mine. “I don’t think you want to leave. Who else is going to fuck you the way I do?”

“I’ve had plenty just as good as you,” I said.

She gave a little smile, closed her eyes and nodded; indulging what we both knew was a lie.

I turned and headed down the hallway. Time to kill Stephanie.

I did the locks quickly and without thought. Stuffed the ring of keys in my overalls.

The mask. I had to put it on before entering. There were cameras. I didn’t see any, but Angela said they were there.

I pulled the mask over my head slowly. It was a snug fit, molding tight to my face. I had holes for my eyes, nose, and mouth. Dare I say it was comfortable as far as masks for this kind of thing go?

I opened the door and quickly stepped inside. I spun and shut the door behind me, my back to Stephanie. I couldn’t look at her. Not yet. I just stared at the door, my breath erratic, heart thumping like a fist on my chest.

(
You gonna do it?
)

I patted the pocket of my overalls, felt the bulge of the box-cutter.

I can’t do it.

(
Angela will be upset.
)

I don’t care.

(
Don’t you?
)

How did I get here? How did it get to this?

I turned around.

Stephanie was there, on her feet, facing me.

How—?
was the only thought I managed before she kicked me in the nuts. I instantly doubled over in pain.

“
Fuck you!
” she screamed, and kicked me in the face with enough oomph behind it to drop me to a knee.

She backed up for another kick and I dove forward, catching her leg, driving her to the floor, me on top.

“
Fuck you fuck you fuck you!
” She wiggled and bucked with insane strength, arms flailing like studded whips, trying to hit, claw, and rake whatever they could. Catching and controlling those whips would be like snatching cobras. Fuck that.

I dug into my pocket and withdrew the box-cutter. Slid the blade out of its shaft, grabbed and pinned Stephanie by the throat with my left, raised the box-cutter overhead with my right.

She started to cry—the anger and rage turning to fear and defeat. She mumbled something, her sobbing making words incoherent. I held my frantic breath as best I could to listen. The only thing I got was “mom.”

She was asking for her mother.

I took my hand off her throat, lowered the blade, and maneuvered off her torso. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Jesus, I’m so, so sorry.”

Stephanie suddenly rolled and lunged, attaching herself to me, biting, gouging, screeching…
tearing at my mask.

Panic set in. I shook her off and snatched the box-cutter. I don’t remember much in the way of detail after that. All I
can
say is that the client ended up getting what they wanted: it took forever to kill her.

I drain my scotch, reach for the bottle and nearly knock it over. The bartender takes the Macallan and pours for me. I nod thanks and immediately sip.

“Yeah…I guess I did,” I say, eyes on the floor.

“You didn’t want to…”

I shake my head, eyes still on the floor.

“So why did you?”

I finally look up. I imagine my face is like an orphan’s out of Dickens. “I don’t know. It all happened so fucking fast. She was fighting like a wild animal, trying to rip off my mask—I couldn’t have
two
tapes out there with my face on them.”

“You said you do all that martial arts stuff. Why not just knock her out? Put her in some kind of hold and restrain her?”

Eyes back on the floor. “I don’t know…like I said, it’s kind of a blur. I didn’t want to kill her. She just kept fighting though…no matter how many times I cut her, she kept fighting.”

“Is that how you lost your ear? Is that why your face is all messed up? She do that to you when you were fighting?”

I shake my head. “No.” I wave a hand across my battered face. “All this happened later.”

“Do tell.”

I glance up at him with only my eyes. I can tell he still thinks I’m full of shit. Assuredly even more so after my recent account with Stephanie.

And I still think that’s just fine. Ironic though. When I first walked in here, the guy looked frightened, ready to call the police. Even when I threw hundred dollar bills in his face, assured him I would be a kitten on a stool, he still held that look.

He only started to relax when I began telling the truth.

I heard the locks begin to click and slide, the door opening.

“We’re done,” Angela said. “You can take your mask off now.”

I looked at her. “How do I know you’re not still filming?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m not wearing a mask—and I’m standing here in the room with you.”

I ripped the mask off and flung it into the corner.

“So?” she said. “How was it?”

“Weren’t you watching?”

“Yes,” she said. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Hear what?”

“How you feel.”

“I feel like I need a drink.”

“Come on…”

I got to my feet. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just tell me how you feel.”

“I don’t know.”

“Excited?”

I said nothing.

“Scared?”

I said nothing.

“
Aroused
?”

I glared at her.

“Come on, Calvin, say something.”

“I feel like I just killed someone.”

She shook her head as though disappointed in me. “No you don’t.”

“Whatever. Fuck you. I want a drink.”

She eyed up my gory overalls. “Don’t you think you should get cleaned up first?”

I splayed my arms, putting it all on display. “What for? This bother you?”

She rolled her eyes as if I had the audacity to match wits with her. “Bother me to look at? No. Bother me if you sit your bloody butt on my furniture? Yes.”

I snorted. “Such are the pitfalls of your fucked-up trade, Angela. Deal with it.”

She casually strolled towards Stephanie’s body. “Well then you should at least move her first.”

“Why? She’s not going anywhere.”

“We have to get rid of her, Calvin. Why not get it out of the way now so you can relax later?”

“So nice of you to take my feelings into consideration, but fuck that. Stephanie can wait.”

Angela squatted next to Stephanie’s body, examining the shredded meat that used to be her face. She seemed unfazed by my defiance, choosing a quiet indifference as her means to regain dominance. After a good minute or two—she continuing to inspect Stephanie’s remains in silence as though I wasn’t there; me standing behind her in bloody overalls, all but folding my arms and holding my breath like a kid—I eventually cracked.