Homeless (18 page)

“Hey, you dropped this outta ya' pock—” the bum said, as his eyes locked in on the piece of plastic beside Lonnie's feet. The last word hadn't gotten out of the bum's mouth before he started a whole new sentence. “What in the fuck are you doing with my granddaughter's school ID, li'l nigga?”

Already on edge, the bum's words fucked Lonnie up even more than he already was. Lonnie didn't speak. He couldn't think of a lie good enough to say. In all of the chances, coincidences, and women in the world, he couldn't believe he'd killed the granddaughter of the bum. Not knowing what other threat the bum could pose to him but to call the cops, Lonnie still felt the urge to attack. He wasn't about to fall victim by the hands of a homeless, drinking bum.

Gripping the handle of his trusty box cutter, he whipped it out of his pocket and viciously sliced the bum across the face. From the lower left side of the bum's chin to his right temple, blood dripped from his face as he screamed out in agonizing pain. In what seemed like a mere blink of an eye, that heinous moment in time was history. Stunned, the bloody bearded bum had failed to see Lonnie even produce the jagged-edged blade as he struggled to speak. Grabbing at his face, he leaned his head back facing the sky with his mouth wide open to scream “why.” Before he got a chance to send another menacing scream out into the air, however, Lonnie sliced his neck from the left side to the right side like an experienced meat cutter. The serial killer was now an expert with his winning weapon.

The bum's body fell to the ground. Lonnie didn't bother standing over him as he squirmed and bled to death, cut his tongue out, or go through his pockets because he knew he had nothing. Instead, Lonnie picked the girl's cell phone up off the ground, along with the small bag of coke and the identification card.

Feeling a rush and not thinking about the consequences of his actions, young, dumb, and stressed Lonnie ripped the bag of coke open, poured some out into a line, and then sniffed it up like he'd seen Kevin's friends do. The instant rush of the drug entering Lonnie's bloodstream made his eyes pop open when it hit his brain. He then licked his finger, swirled it around in the bag, then rubbed the coke on his gums and the tip of his tongue like he'd seen Kevin's friends do. The bitter taste was a turnoff, but the euphoric high the blow gave Lonnie was the best he'd ever felt. It felt ten times better than being on Adderall. Wiping the residue from underneath his nose, he stuffed the bag and ID in his pocket, then took off running in the opposite direction.

Sprinting like he was a lion running through the jungle, Lonnie felt untouchable and free as the air smacked against his face. Instead of the breeze waking him up, it only excited him more. Reaching a low he never thought he'd stoop to, Lonnie was now addicted to heavy-hitting drugs and experiencing a side effect of cocaine described as the feeling of supremacy.

A fresh fish on cocaine, Lonnie's heartbeat was pounding. He couldn't calm down and felt anxious, like he was going to pass out when it was hard catching his breath. Thinking it was because he'd run for so long and was tired, a misguided Lonnie was wrong. The abnormal heartbeat he was experiencing was because of his intake of coke, nothing more. Luck was on his side, but Lonnie didn't know it. He was outsmarting death . . . for now.

Having two new murders on his résumé, Lonnie was ready to get out of the world and back within the confines of his apartment. Once inside, he sat at the card table and poured out some of the coke onto it. Burying his face into the pile, he snorted up each piece of white dust until his nose ached and his teeth throbbed. In a matter of seconds after that, his nose went numb as well as the back of his throat. He almost panicked at the feeling of not being able to swallow. Closing his eyes, Lonnie rode out the different waves of odd sensations and reactions. He'd become angry at himself for not trying the drug sooner. Unlike all the other times he'd popped pills and only felt a little better about himself or certain situations, on coke, Lonnie felt like nothing in the world mattered. It was an indescribable feeling that he never wanted to go away.

Putting his headphones on, he turned some rap music up as loud as the volume would go and was dancing like he was at a college party. He even started rapping some of the verses loudly. Lonnie had tons of energy and felt good about himself. Not used to the foreign feeling, he couldn't calm himself down. All the fear of the cops coming melted the higher Lonnie got on coke. He literally felt on top of the world.

Ducking and hiding in a corner, Lonnie's eyes got wide as saucers when he suddenly heard someone pounding at the door. The song had ended and was changing to the next one; that was the only reason he'd heard and turned the old phone's music player off. A paranoid Lonnie covered his mouth, like he was trapped in both his words and his breath.

“Lonnie! I know you're in there because I heard you rapping a few seconds ago—so open up,” he heard a girl's voice, one quite familiar to him. He smiled. It was Trina.

Not thinking about his current condition or checking through the peephole to make sure it was indeed her and she was alone, he bounced across the room and opened the door. Trina grinned at him, then rushed in before he had a chance to send her away. She'd mustered up too much courage to pop up at Lonnie's apartment to not at least run down the speech she'd been going over for two days.

Her dad was still undergoing tests, but they'd diagnosed him with an autoimmune disease called lupus. In a nutshell, that means that his body is fighting itself on the inside. The doctors told her dad to expect excruciating pain, unexplained nausea, skin rashes, and exhaustion that comes from out of nowhere. They also briefed him on at least five medications he'd have to start to help combat the illness. Trina didn't think it was fair, but she was happy that it wasn't cancer. Not breaking any hospital rules because she promised the staff that she wouldn't, Trina stayed with her dad around the clock learning how to help him, about his diagnosis, and praying over him for a speedy recovery. Now that he was out of the woods, Trina wanted to check the shit out of Lonnie for how he'd treated her.

Lonnie read Trina's expression, although he didn't have to in order to know what she was thinking. He already knew he was dead-ass wrong for making it seem like it was fuck her, her dad, and her feelings. Feeling supreme, untouchable, and disconnected from every problem he had in the world, Lonnie didn't address the elephant in the room, but reacted per the coke in his system. He felt like if he wanted his way, he could have his way.

Not missing a beat, Lonnie moved toward Trina and pulled her in like he'd done days before. She moaned, feeling tension melt from off her shoulders. The heaviness had shifted into her panties. Her private part was thumping for Lonnie's attention again. Trina was mad as hell at him, yet still lusting. In between talking to nurses, doctors, and social workers about her father's condition and their circumstances of being homeless, Trina found happiness getting caught up in thoughts about the way he tickled her coochie into cumming, then how hard her body shook and quaked.

“You came over here for this dick? Huh?” Whipping it out, he rubbed it against her stomach, then asked her if she wanted to feel it. The voices in his head kept telling him he was great and she'd be privileged to feel his strokes.

She nodded like a nervous schoolgirl but was soaking wet between her legs. Grabbing Lonnie by his manhood, she gently tugged at it, letting him know she wanted him to follow, then sat down on the couch when her heels hit the front of it. Doing what he didn't get to do with Megan, Lonnie stuffed his monster deep into Trina's throat and viciously fucked it until he felt himself about to lose it.

An experienced Trina could tell Lonnie was about to shoot off down her throat, so she moved with the quickness to pull it out of her mouth. She wasn't ready for him to cum so she controlled his orgasm by holding out. From the example of the few other men she'd slept with for a mere sandwich, a few bucks, and even the police officer she'd sucked clean to prevent a petty theft charge, Trina knew the power of her mouth. She also knew that making Lonnie hold out longer would make his attraction and need for her greater. All Trina wanted to do was feel secure.

What Trina didn't know, because she prided herself on staying drug free, was that Lonnie wasn't only crushing on her, but cocaine as well. Finding the small bag of white powder had him horny, thinking recklessly, he grabbed Trina by the neck, forcing her up against the wall. The intense attraction each one of them had for the other quickly turned even more intense, but in a cold and demonic way.

“Ain't nobody tell you to stop.” Sticking his tongue down her throat, Lonnie kissed her deeply and passionately, just as he'd seen two porno actors do. It had been gross to him as those people are paid to have sex and do vile things to a ton of people for cash, yet completely understandable now that he was forcefully kissing Trina.

Trina hit him in the back with her fists, totally turned off by the kiss. His mouth tasted dirty, bitter, and like he'd been sucking on red onions all day. She was an experienced fucker, not kisser, which meant Trina didn't know how to play it off like it felt good or satisfying until the kiss was over. She wanted him off of her, not even sure she wanted to lie down at all.

Lonnie, however, wasn't coming up for air. The harder she fought against him, the harder he fought to keep her close to him. He had snorted up too much coke in such a short amount of time. Whereas the drug already gives a person a heightened sensitivity to touch, snorting up so much of it had Lonnie tingling all over. He couldn't stop—didn't want to stop. Matter of fact, the voices he'd gotten comfortable and acquainted with all started talking at once. Lonnie tried shaking his head to shake them quiet, but that only made their voices louder and in unison.

“Kill.”

“Kill.”

“Kill.”

Lonnie tightened his grip around Trina's neck. Her fight was his thrill. With one hand she was held against the wall, and with the other, he slipped it inside her panties again.

“Shhh, I'ma make you feel good. I know how you like it,” he said, referring to when he'd pleasured her to cumming, Lonnie was ready to make both of them feel good. He felt his dick bulging and jerking, ready to explode.

“Let me go! I can't brea—” Trina tried telling Lonnie, but felt her air passageway constricting. The harder he flicked her clit, the tighter he squeezed her neck.

“Shhh, just settle down and cum. I feel it swelling up on my fingertip.” Completely possessed, Lonnie rammed two of his fingers up in her wetness at the same time. “Let 'er rip!”

Trina never recognized Lonnie as the pillhead he was. She never connected the dots of his erratic behavior. She hadn't asked enough questions, just those that were important to her coming up. So caught up with the health drama concerning her dad, Trina hadn't seen her fate coming. Now erupting all over Lonnie's hand once again, she wished she could take everything back. She wished she would've run like the speed of lightning out of the alleyway when she'd heard someone coming out of the shelter. Trina regretted taking the food box the first day, calling him later that night, and most importantly, she regretted coming to his house after she'd already made it out and away. Taking a deep breath at the end of her orgasm, she didn't know it was gonna be her absolute last.

In a coke-induced craziness, Lonnie had choked the life out of her body. It wasn't until he'd felt the fight she'd been putting up slip from her body did Lonnie know he had killed his friend. The only friend he had left in the world. Not feeling remorse, Lonnie finally let her neck go and dropped her to the floor. The voices . . . They were loud, clear, and controlling him.

With Trina's body sprawled across his floor, Lonnie left her there and went to sit down at his card table. He want another lick of coke. Doing a bump, he then rose, feeling on top of the world again. Pulling his still bloody box cutter from out of his pocket, he marched over to Trina's body and sliced her the same way he'd done his other victims. He cut her tongue from her mouth, then sliced her upper and bottom lip until they spit open. Had Trina not been dead, she would've drowned on all the blood spewing from her. When he was satisfied with the kill, Lonnie left Trina again; but this time, to take a shower.

* * *

An hour had passed, and Lonnie still felt like he was a king. Every time he felt the feeling fading, he'd do another line or wipe some of the powder on his gums. He'd already made up in mind that he wasn't going back to pills. Lonnie had officially graduated to being a full-blown addict. In less than two hours, he'd consumed more cocaine than the richest walking-alive junkie. Being that his body was trained to withstand all the drugs he was pumping into it, he'd yet to overdose. Lonnie wasn't worried about the future and didn't plan on it until the bag of blow was emptied.

He was high as hell sitting in front of the television with his hands in his pants. With his eyes roaming back and forth from Trina's body to the TV, he thought about putting a porn on and having sex with the corpse. Right when he was getting ready to change the channel to pick up the DVD player's reception—his eyes widened like saucers, and he threw up all over himself.

In addition to seeing the mugshot picture of him from when he was arrested for the DUI on the screen, the newscaster's report sent Lonnie into a frenzy. Not only had they discovered some of the women he'd killed, they had identified him as the serial killer. It never crossed his drug-fried brain that the cops already had his prints, address, and how to find him on file since he was in the system. When killing the people, the voices never told him he was leaving his prints everywhere.

Knowing he wasn't going to be able to outsmart the cops for long, Lonnie hurried throughout his apartment getting all the things he wanted and saying good-bye to all the things he'd never see again. He also gave Trina a good-bye kiss. With his book bag on his back full of the few things he'd salvaged from when the caretaker's girlfriend started his love-to-hate-women affair, his intention was to do one last thing while free. Snorting up another line of coke, Lonnie felt the powder give him the adrenaline boost he desperately needed; then he rushed out of his apartment door for good.