Jameson Hotel - the Dark Suite Series: Parts One, Two & Three (31 page)

He cries and
struggles to catch his breath.

“Help!” he bawls.
“Don’t kill me!”

I hold the knife
steady and clutch his chin, pulling his mouth open.

“
Nooo
!”
he mumbles, trying to kick free.

The garage door
makes a loud jolting noise and closes, disrupting the moment. Jules is standing
at the bottom of the stairwell, lowering her hand from the remote... wet from
the pool, in flip-flops, a sweatshirt, and her bikini bottoms, hair slicked
back... such a beautiful sight in such an ugly scene.

She doesn’t move or
tell me to stop. Her head doesn’t shake ‘no.’ She doesn’t try to grab the knife
or ask me what the hell I’m doing. There’re no feelings expressed. The only
communication comes from her eyes and it’s all curiosity and total fascination.

She’s aware I’m
about to kill... and she wants in.

“You ready for
this?” I ask her.

“No,” he gasps.
“No.”

She steps closer,
staring at the knife and his bloody gut, nodding with composure.

“Help me!” he shouts
at Jules. “Sarah, please!”

I place a knee on
each of his shoulders, pinning him down while restraining his lower jaw.

“I didn’t know you
guys were married.” His words are garbled in my hand. “I would’ve picked
someone else.”

I turn to her with
the struggling rat underneath me. “You can walk away. It won’t change the way I
feel about you.”

“Fuck, please,
please,” he begs.

“First thing you
need to do,” I say to her, “is establish silence in the room. Even if you’re
going to keep someone around for days before you kill him, tape the mouth, gag
‘
em
, or...”

My hand tightens,
his mouth is open, and I cut out his tongue.

“
Mmmph
!
Mmm
,
mmumma
,
mmumma
!”

“You can plan on the
guy mumbling for his mother after his tongue is removed. I don’t do this very
often, but it’s part of his punishment for speaking to you in such a way. His
tongue needed to be removed.”

“He’s pissing
himself,” Jules whispers.

“That happens too.
It’s very painful. Right, buddy?”

Tears stream down
his face as he sobs and closes his eyes.

“Closing eyes
signifies the guy knows death is coming. He’s giving notice that he wants it to
end.”

He spits the blood
from his mouth and babbles nonsense.

“Sometimes they
puke... you can always expect a lot of bodily fluids to escape. Blood, piss,
shit, vomit. Solids and liquids will expel from every orifice of the body. But
mostly it’s blood. They can also become delirious from fear.”

“What’s he trying to
say?” she asks.

“Kill me. Don’t
torture me. They always say that. When you’ve been doing this for as long as I
have, it’s easy to figure out the mumbling... the same way a parent can
understand what their two-year-old is saying when no one else can.” I toss his
tongue, shift lower over his body and stab his chest. A loud cry fills my
garage. “You see where I knifed him? It’s below his heart. It won’t kill him
yet, but he’ll suffer. That’s what I want. I’ve known men like this... I’m
doing this for his past victims. He’s scum.”

“
Nooo
,”
he moans.

“Blood will spurt if
you hit an artery, like the femoral artery in the groin. And it pulses when you
cut the jugular in the neck. You’ll experience a gush if you knife someone in
the heart and twist the blade; otherwise it tends to leak slowly.” I wipe the
sweat from my forehead. “Some people get off from a spray or a surge of blood,
some don’t. My father always enjoyed watching it, he’d actually cheer and light
a cigar in celebration if some showered my face. But I learned quickly the best
places to drive a blade into a guy so it wouldn’t happen. And down here,” I point
to his abdomen, “if you thrust in dead center you might hit the aorta or lower
vena cava. That’s a quick death. Only a minute or two, and a
man’s
gone.”

She listens
carefully.

“I want to share
this moment with you. Come closer,” I say tenderly.

She kneels so our
eyes are at the same level.

“Tell me what you
smell.”

“Chlorine,” she
whispers, inhaling deeply. “Blood... urine... sweat.” She inhales again.
“Rubber and oil, your cologne... but mainly, I smell his blood.”

I look at his teary,
bloodstained face, his freckles, his lips trembling and his face turning pale.

“What do you hear?”
I ask.

She closes her eyes
and touches my arm, listening to the sounds in the room.

“The buzz from your
fluorescent lights.” She pauses. “I hear his shallow breathing, his moans, and
my heart beating.” She listens. “The sounds from him... we’re the last people
to ever hear these noises, his words... no one else, just us.”

I smile. It’s
gratifying that she can sit quietly and process what’s happening in the room
without being terrified of the situation, or of me. We’re both calm, her finger
moving in the shape of a heart on my arm...
she’s
in
control.... she still loves me.

“What do you see?” I
whisper.

She opens her eyes,
raising her head toward me. I’m ready for her to be blunt, for her to tell me
she sees a deranged man. I know she’ll say I need fixing - ‘I love you, but you
need help, Mark.’ She’ll be upfront. Do it. Say it.

“I see a man,” she
keeps a steady voice, “who will protect me until the day that I die.”

With a speedy jab my
blade slides into the drunk’s eye and disappears deep inside his head. I wait a
minute then exhale.

“A stab through the
eye kills almost instantly. It’s quick and easy. Always remember that.”

“He’s dead?” she
asks.

“Dead,” I say.

“So now what?”

“Clean up.” I stand
and help her to her feet. “I need to pull his vehicle into my garage and
dispose of the body then take care of the evidence.”

“What are you going
to do with his car?”

“Call a runner in
Vegas.”

“What?”

“I’ll explain it
another time. Are you okay?”

She glances at the
floor and nods. “I think so.”

“I meant with
Mera
.”

“Let’s take care of
this one first.”

“No. If she’s
sleeping in her truck I need to deal with her before daybreak. She’s not
gonna
drive off and get away with her shit.”

“Mark,” she takes my
hand, “do you trust me?”

“Yeah.”

She smiles. “You
didn’t even hesitate.”

“I trust you. We’re
so far in at this point that we can’t have a relationship without trust. And?”

“Deal with him
first.” She points to the body. “
Mera’s
not going
anywhere in the morning. We have time.”

“I hope you didn’t
promise her my breakfast buffet.”

She shakes her head,
nudging the bloody tongue with her flip-flop. “How can I help?” she asks.

“You’re changing the
subject.”

“The subject right
now is the dead man laid out on your floor.”

“Fine.” I take a
flashlight from my workbench and place it on his chest then raise the garage
door. “I need to take him into the woods, the farther away from my hotel the
better, at least a mile. But it’s dark, so I want you to stay here.”

“Mark,” she
complains.

“
Shh
,
listen to me. I don’t want you to fall and get hurt. I promise we can do this
together another time, but not tonight. This was a spur-of-the-moment kill and
I have a lot of stuff to...”

“Are you a serial
killer?”

“What? No.” My head
shakes. “Of course not. No. I punish people who deserve to be punished.”

“How did it start?”

“What are you doing?
We’re not having this conversation right now.” I stand defensively with my arms
folded and my feet apart.

“How. Did. It.
Start?” She puts her hand on her hip, her usual ‘I mean business’ stance,
knocking my authoritative presence out of the water.

“I wanted to impress
my father. Okay? Now let it go.”

“You were seeking
attention?”

“Maybe.”

“So you’ve got
Dayne
in the Lake, this guy here, and
Mera
as a possible third victim. Oh, and then there’s Roland. What the fuck? That’s
like four people in a matter of weeks. And it feels good, right? You get a
thrill out of it?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do
it if I didn’t.”

“Wait, I thought you
just said it was to punish people who deserved it.” She cocks her head and
crosses her arms, mirroring my position. “So now it’s more about you. See, this
is what I was asking about during our date.”

“What does it
matter, and why are you making me sound fucked in the head?”

She shrugs.

“And so what if I
enjoy sinking my blade into people. I might be a little fucked up, but I’m a
Jameson for Christ’s sake.”

“What does that even
mean?”

“Jules.” I look at
my ceiling and exhale. “Stop. Please. It’s the middle of the night and I’ve got
things to take care of and people to call about this fucking vehicle. I know
you get chatty, but now’s not the time. Don’t try to analyze me,” I wave my
hand at the body, “or any of this.”

“You said you were
isolated as a child. Are you also a voyeur?”

“Fuck. Stop!”

“These are all
traits of a serial killer.”

“How do you know
this shit?”

“I took abnormal
psychology in college. This is basic...”

“I’m not a serial
killer, I’m a vigilante,” I cut her off. “I take the law into my own hands
because the cops don’t, and won’t, do anything about these creeps. I know every
person who’s ever been hurt by these fucks would praise me for what I do. My
actions are justified.”

“A vigilante? Like
Robin Hood or some comic book character? And what, am I your faithful
sidekick?”

“That would be
great.”

She stares at me,
not amused by my response. “Is that why you bought me the knife? It’s not for
protection or for play or because you love me, it’s just to kill?”

“Oh, fuck that. Why
are you doing this to me? To us?”

“Answer me.”

“I bought it because
of the way I feel about you.”

“I know,” she says
straight-faced.

Her body language
has changed instantly. She’s now relaxed, arms down, lip twitching as if she’s
holding back a smile, and her eyes are playful and full of excitement. Shit,
she’s joking.

“Are you fucking
with me? You are. You’re fucking with me, right?”

A burst of laughter
echoes through the concrete garage as her face turns beet red.

“Goddammit, why do
you have so much power?”

She laughs even
harder.

“You just love
torturing me, don’t you?”

She smiles wildly as
I’m embraced. Holding her in my arms, I look over her shoulder at the bloody
scene and kiss the top of her head - her damp hair smelling of chlorine, her
skin warm. She’s precious.

My hand caresses her
back as I reveal something about myself that I’ve never been able to say to
anyone.

“I kill to protect the people that I love and to keep others from harm.
I watch over people because no one ever watched over me. It’s that simple,” I
whisper. “I’ve felt abandoned and alone my entire life.”

She’s breathing
steadily and holding me tighter.

“My parents never
loved me. Fuck, they never even liked me. They wanted a
different
son.”

“That’s sad.” Her
voice is muffled in my chest. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing you because I’m
confused.”

I lift her chin and
look into her eyes. “About what? Us?”

She shakes her head.
“No. It’s him.” She turns toward the guy on the floor. “And
Dayne’s
blood and the desire I have to harm
Mera
. I enjoy all
of this a little too much,” she admits bravely. “Fuck, I don’t know why I was
delighted in seeing you kill him and why I’m not calling the cops, and it
scares the crap out of me. Why is it so stimulating? Why does this fascinate
me? That’s why I asked you those questions. I was hoping you could give me an
answer.”

“You may never
know.” I try offering a comforting smile. “But you’re not crazy, if that’s
what’s going through your mind. My father was a psychopath, he was insane, not
you or me.”

“You sure?” she
laughs. “I could be. I mean, think about it. I just poked a tongue with my foot
and it didn’t even phase me.”