I Can Barely Breathe (9 page)

The detective thought for a moment about his
agenda for the day. The night before he had stayed in the office
until 10:00 p.m., catching up on paperwork; it was a schedule he
didn’t want to make a habit of. He turned to toss an empty
disposable cup in his trash, when a pale blonde girl, standing in
his doorway, startled him so much that he tossed it in the air.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she
said in a monotone. She lacked any expression on her face, and her
arms hung loosely at her sides.

“My God,” he said with his hand over his
heart. “What can I do for you?” Tom noticed a pink scar on her
neck. Her eyes looked tired and a bit sunken in. “Are you all
right?”

“I am now. I had to walk from Thirty-Second
Street.” It almost seemed to the detective that, when she talked,
she struggled to get out each word. “My feet are a little
tired.”

“Well, come in. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Tom asked, as he stared at her bare feet. They were dirty and had
dried blood on them.

She walked to the chair and sat down; her
dirty yellow dress clung to her body. Tom found her very
attractive, and, despite already having had two orgasms this
morning, he felt aroused. It wasn’t every day a pretty girl found
her way to his office.

“I need to report a murder,” she said,
cocking her head to one side.

“Oh my. Whose murder?” he asked. His eyes
went from her breasts to her lips, then down to her thighs.

“My murder. I was killed by the serial
killer. He raped me and slit my throat in his house.” She was very
matter-of-fact, and her fingers caressed the scar on her neck.

Tom leaned back in his chair and considered
her words. The chaotic events seemed to be happening more
frequently, and a small part of him didn’t doubt the girl; she
looked like she’d been through Hell. “How are you here now?”

“I’m not sure. I awoke in a shallow grave in
his barn.”

“A barn on Thirty-Second Street?

“Yes, do you know it?”

“I do.” Tom had known that house since he
was a kid, when Carver’s parents had owned it. He knew every square
inch of that property. “The man who lives there, did you run into
him while you were there?” Tom flipped a photo around on his desk.
Someone had snapped it during an investigation where a little girl
had gone missing. In the picture, Tom, Kattic and Carver were
leaning on a police cruiser.

“That man is not who you think he is,” she
said, pointing to Carver. “He’s the devil. He raped and killed me,
and he did it with a smile on his face.” Her tone was elevated, and
her words were carefully pronounced.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.
I’ve known this man since we were kids. He works here at the
station.”

A large bloodstain suddenly covered the
girl’s dress. Her hands turned red, and her legs shook.

Tom felt a shutter run through his body. The
girl’s stare was the coldest stare he’d ever seen, and he was no
longer interested in admiring her beauty. In that moment, he felt a
slight bit of fear.

“Where the hell did that stain come from?”
Tom asked.

She looked down at her breasts and slowly
examined the stain. Her head tilted up, and her eyes were quick to
follow, as they locked with Tom’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she
whispered.

The wound on the young girl’s neck ripped
open, and blood once again gushed out of her, down her breasts,
over her stomach and onto the chair. Her hands tried to stop the
flow, and she struggled to breathe. The young beauty died once more
in a matter of seconds. Tom, with clammy, shaky hands and an
extremely high pulse rate, got up and dialed a number on his office
phone, while simultaneously closing his office door.

“This is Kattic.”

“It’s Tom,” he said, his voice jittery. “I
have a dead girl in my office. Can you help?”

“I’m upstairs. I’ll be there in two.”

“Oh, and, Kattic”—he paused, almost not
wanting to break the news—“she told me that Carver is the serial
killer.”

“We all have our roles to play, Tom. I’ll
meet you at his house, after I deal with the body. Go now.”

The call ended.

Carver and Julia sat at his kitchen table,
sharing a pitcher of orange juice. She had arrived around eight
with breakfast from the bagel shop down the street, and they had
spent the morning talking. Her blue dress, curly hair and beautiful
smile had Carver agitated and semihard. However, it was nothing
new. He had gotten used to hiding his desires for her body.

“Well, I’m glad we’re waiting,” she said
with a smile. “Our first time will be so much better if we
wait.”

Carver ignored his actual opinions on the
subject and lied instead. “It’s fine by me. If you want to wait,
we’ll wait.” He was getting tired of the runaround but shrugged it
off, like he had all the other times they’d talked about sex.

“More juice?” he asked.

She shook her head, just as Carver’s
communicator vibrated in his pocket.

“This is Carver.”

“Tom knows.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tom knows you’re the serial killer.”

A flash of heat shot through Carver’s entire
body. His mind went blank.

“He’s coming for you. Now.”

There was a silence so strong both men felt
its concussion. “Kattic, how long have you known about me?” Carver
asked. The shock he felt put a pressure on his entire face. His
hands trembled and if only he could do something to quiet the
constant pounding in his chest. He brought his hand to his heart
and took a breath. His focus wasn’t helping and he knew the second
he turned around, Julia would know something was wrong. She’d see
it in his face.

“It’s over Carver.” Kattic ended the
call.

Carver stood, holding his phone, staring at
the kitchen countertop. He had been so careful. But a part of him
had always known the day would come when he would have to answer
for his crimes. He knew his victims would come back to haunt him.
His knees were weak and a sick, clammy feeling washed over him.

Carver set the pitcher of juice on the
counter and screwed on the plastic top. He gathered himself quietly
for a few seconds. A smile formed. It was that familiar Cheshire
smile that always won the hearts of these women, mere seconds
before he’d snatch them up. He walked to the table and grabbed his
empty glass, brought it to the sink and rinsed it with water. His
life was over. He would be taken from his home, thrown in a cell,
brought up against a judge and jury, and all of it would start by
his best friend, whom he’d known his entire life, taking him in
cuffs to the station where he worked. He’d never considered the
humiliation he would have to face. He knew it couldn’t end this
way; he wouldn’t allow it.

As a plan formulated in his mind, he knew he
needed to tie up his one last loose end, Julia. Her beauty had
dominated Carver’s mind since the day he met her and he’d be damned
if he was going to go down without one last taste.

Murder. It was the one thing that always
lifted him up higher than any drug ever could. He was consumed by
it. It was his reason for living.

Instinct took over, and he knew it was time
to take what he wanted. He reached up in the cupboard next to the
sink and grabbed a mason jar; there was a small puncture in the
lid. He unscrewed it and pulled a cloth from it.

“Julia?” he said, turning to her.

“Yes?”

“It’s time I show you who I really am.” He
smiled wide.

Carver stepped to her and quickly placed the
rag over her mouth and nose. She squealed and Carver felt her body
fight him right before she passed out, going limp in her chair.
Carver stepped back and had a look at her. She was so beautiful, by
far his finest piece of work. Bending down to her, he reached up
her dress and pulled down her cotton panties. Then with both hands,
he spread her legs and buried his face in her pussy. She tasted
like peaches and strawberry sauce. His tongue licked every bit of
her mound, even sliding inside at one point. Carver squeezed her
thighs, as he licked and sucked her lower set of lips.

He knew he didn’t have much time but hated
to rush. For all he knew, Tom could be pulling in his driveway this
very moment. He pulled her sleeping body to the floor and unzipped
his pants. His lips kissed her cleavage, and he hastily removed the
spaghetti straps from her shoulders. As he ripped her dress open,
exposing her breasts, he almost wept. The sight of Julia topless,
finally getting to gaze upon her naked chest, was breathtaking. He
brought his face close and sucked, taking as much of her bosom into
his mouth as possible. His dick pushed against her, poking at her
vagina until he found her hole. Even though she wasn’t wet, he slid
in easily; she wasn’t as tight as he had thought she would be, but
the realization didn’t slow him down any. As he started to fuck
her, she stirred and regained consciousness.

The chloroformed rag in the jar had been
sitting in the cupboard for a few years; it must have become stale
and weak with age. When he first began his crime spree, it was a
tool he thought he’d get more use out of. But as he developed a
rhythm for taking girls off the streets, he realized his hands and
good looks were all the tools he would need.

She looked up at him with a disgusted
expression on her pretty face. It was no bother; it was better if
she was awake and her disapproval only worked to excite him more.
He placed his hand around her throat and squeezed, just hard enough
to let her know what his intentions were. She kicked and screamed,
while her hands beat at his back. He gave her his cock as hard as
he possibly could, slamming his shaft deep into her and pulling out
just as fast. Tears streamed down her face, as she pleaded.

“This is what happens, bitch, when you make
a man wait!” he yelled and slapped her face as hard as he could.
The sound echoed off the ceiling, and the look on her face was
priceless to him. It was everything he had ever wanted from
her.

Carver pulled out of her and quickly removed
his pants, underwear and shirt. His fingers reached down in his
loose pants pocket, and he found his favorite kill knife.
Completely naked, he turned her on her stomach, setting the knife
on the floor in front of her distressed stare. It was a rush for
Carver, knowing that, at any moment, she could reach up her unbound
hands and grab the knife. Maybe she’d even cut him, not too much,
but enough to send blood rushing down his body.

“If only you were more of a fighter, Julia,”
he whispered in her ear.

Large, strong hands reached around and
squeezed her bare breasts, as his dick found its way in between her
ass cheeks. He didn’t penetrate but pushed his penis hard against
her asshole, almost climaxing on contact.

Gripping the knife, Carver pulled her to her
feet, but her steps couldn’t match his; he dragged her to his
murder room, while she screamed. Bypassing the padlock by kicking
in the door, he shoved her into the dungeon. Daylight glowed from
behind the white curtains, giving the room a dreary appearance. Her
body hit the hard, cold, bloodstained tiles, and she soon realized
what she was sitting on. The black zip ties went easily over her
wrists, as they bound her hands together.

Pulling her to her knees, he pressed his
penis in between her breasts that heaved with every breath she
took. Then, confusing her further, he stood her up and backed her
arms over the supports of his stand. His hand swung through the air
and made contact with her face again. She cried a useless cry and
pleaded with him to stop. This part always made him feel so
alive.

“Spread your legs, Julia!” he said in a
terrifying voice.

She whimpered and did as she was told. “Are
you going to kill me?” she managed to stutter.

His erect penis penetrated her vagina once
again, and she let out a gasp.

“Yes,” he whispered, then brought the
serrated knife from behind his back, up to her throat and slashed
it.

Her body jolted and squirmed, as blood
spilled out and covered their bodies. Carver laughed. He watched as
her movements caused her to massage his dick, just as he’d planned.
Every thrust she made, every flail of her shoulders and jump of her
legs, caused her to give him the best ride of his life.

A little too in the moment, he brought the
knife up over his head, just as her gaze locked on his. He stabbed
her in the chest over and over, until her lifeless body dangled
from his arms. His grip on the knife could have crushed walnuts.
Stab after stab, he punished the young beauty, destroying her
perfect body. The power and pride he felt over the dominated girl
was godlike.

Carver pulled her from the stand and dropped
her body hard to the floor. Her blood dripped from his rock-hard
shaft. He got on top of her and slid inside again, his hands
gripping the red tiles. His penis pounded her body, making a
slapping noise every time his pelvis slammed into hers. Carver
stared down at her open eyes and, with one final thrust, pumped his
semen into her dead body.

Three loud knocks banged on the front
door.

Tom used his shoulder to break in the front
door, with his shotgun in hand. When he got inside, a sharp pain
cruised up and down his leg. His Buick sat outside with a flashing
light on top, the trunk and passenger door wide open. His gun swept
the living room.

He was hopeful in that moment that all of it
was a big misunderstanding. Carver would walk out of the back
bedroom and explain everything. He would make Tom understand why
the blonde had accused him, and everything would be fine. They
would continue to investigate together, and nothing would change.
Maybe Carver was set up. Maybe the blonde was lying or
confused.