Killing Katie (An Affair With Murder) (Volume 1) (18 page)

We stepped away from the bar, my hand in his. My fingers looked like a child’s in his meaty grip, and there came a moment when fear slowed my step. I could still run away. But I didn’t. Instead, I followed, treading softly behind him, colors skipping into my eyes and washing over his shoulders, turning his shirt into a hypnotic mural.

He could kill me with little effort,
I thought even as I pushed the concern out of my head.
I have him,
I told myself again.

There was a room beneath the stairs—a small room—hidden in the dark and nearly invisible from the rest of the tavern. I followed him inside as I took a peek around one last time.

I never heard the door shut. Todd spun me around and shoved me into the wall, pinning my head against the plaster. He palmed my breast, squeezing hard, grunting with enjoyment. I winced but managed to slip out a moan to mask the pain. He groped with both hands then and began to grind against me. I freed myself enough to look around the small room. Shards of silvery light leaked through the back side of the staircase—I saw a shiver of dust afloat like muted fireflies. And I found a ray streaking inside from beneath the door. Shadows approached, paused, and shuffled back and forth before disappearing again.

His body swallowed me whole, covering me like a blanket. I couldn’t move, and the feeling of being suffocated suddenly became real.

Was this what happened? Did
he bring her into this room?

I heard the sound of his pants coming undone, and I began to squirm, trying desperately to turn around. Then his hand was gone from my breast and he spun me back around to face him. The smell of liquor came to me on his hot breath. “Choke it!” he said in a gruff voice and shoved my hand onto his cock. “You got me so fucking hot. Finish it!”

At once, my hand warmed as if holding a tall coffee. The touch of him in my palm put me in control. I had my chance. I moved around to his side. I squeezed until he grunted, distracting him. I kept one hand in the front, stroking in response to his groans, but put my other hand behind him. He pumped his hips, encouraging me to grip him harder. There was no romance, no pleasantry shared caressingly with another—he was brutish, primal, and all about reaching climax.

“Feel good?” I asked, rolling my eyes in the stark darkness while I fished out the syringe with my free hand.

“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Needed this. Harder. Choke it harder.” My gentle pumping wasn’t enough, and he clutched at my hand, shoving it harshly.

“I got it,” I said with the end of the syringe in my teeth. I gripped the needle’s cover between them, yanking the safety cap off. His hand went to my shoulder and pushed down, telling me to finish with my mouth. I wrapped my fingers around him as tight as I could and rocked my hand faster. He grunted, pleased by the change in rhythm.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how hot and bothered this made me. My breathing had become heavy. My lips twitched and a fervent sweat covered my back and neck, bringing a flush to my face. My legs went wobbly and the inside of my thighs ached too. The urge to wrap them around my husband and finish left me eager and hungry for more peanut butter and chocolate.

A moment later I could feel the first pulse, almost in time with the lights pumping to the music. I stabbed the fleshy part of his ass, or at least I hoped I had.

Mental note: driving sharp objects into people in the dark is not recommended
.

“Oh yeah!” He grunted as he thrust his hips. “Fucking yeah!”

I squeezed the plunger, pushing the strychnine into his body as he spilled onto my arm. I shuddered, disgusted, and quickly pointed him away from me. I collapsed the plunger until all the poison went into his body. He shook as a chill came over him, gooseflesh rising. The act was done. I had finished nearly the same time he did.

“How was that?” I asked, quickly removing the syringe as he pulsed and jerked a few more times.

“Fuck yeah!” he panted, sounding winded and on the verge of passing out. “Felt that one in my ass!” His arms went up, and he hammered his fists against the underside of the staircase, cheering.

“Glad to oblige,” I said flatly. There was nothing else to be said. That was my cue to leave. I listened to him work his pants up while I hid in the darker corner, recapping the syringe before carefully tucking it back into my pocket. I put my hand on the doorknob, wrapping the metal with a bar napkin from the floor nearby. I hesitated. My feet should have been moving, but I couldn’t help waiting. My eyes adjusted to the dim light. I wanted to see what was going happen to my first real mark. He came into a fuzzy view as he tucked himself away. I needed to know if the strychnine did the job. But more than that, I wanted to make sure the little brown bottle from Russia hadn’t been filled with plain water instead of hope.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Appreciate the tug, but don’t expect anything in return. I’m not one to reciprocate.” I didn’t expect him to say anything else. But then I saw his hand come up and cradle the back of his neck, cocking his head to the side as if a sudden stiffness had settled deep. He drove a truck all day, delivering White Bear Whiskey. A little stiffness wasn’t going to tell me much of anything, but I held onto the hope.

Was it working already?

I’d used every drop that I could fit into the syringe and shoved it into his body.

“That
was
a big needle,” I muttered to myself and then gasped silently. Nerd had mentioned lifting it from a veterinarian’s office—but what size
was
it? “Doesn’t matter.” After all, it seemed fitting to take down an animal with a veterinary syringe. And he was an animal. My mind went back to the girl he raped and maimed.

What life would she have now? What memories would haunt her?

When my mark fell to his knees, clutching at his neck, I knew it was time. I turned the handle and opened the door. Disco lights bled over me, beaming abstract neons from long tubes of black light. The ultraviolet revealed a coin-size stain on my arm. I stopped and tried to recognize what I was looking at.

How stupid,
I thought, remembering that he’d come on me.

It left a glowing, flat pearl: bright and impossible to miss. I wiped it away, cleaning my arm with the bar napkin. I felt a thump on the floor and saw that my mark had fallen over—his hand clutching the air, seeking my help. He crawled forward, scratching at a sliver of light creeping into his tiny love hut beneath the stairs. His face turned into a contorted mess—convulsions twisted and tortured and wrestled with the demons that made him who he was.

“World’s not going to miss you!” I yelled over the music as I kicked the door shut. My body was a giant electrified pulse, aware of everything, feeling everything. I felt impossibly indestructible, like I could take on anything. I found the exit sign and headed in that direction, floating across the floor, floating past the college students and the bar. A fresh-faced bartender gave me a quick glance before moving on to serve a pair of redheads. Glimpses of their hair touched the side of my view, and I dipped my head, careful to limit any eye contact.

“That was almost too easy,” I mumbled as I focused on reaching the door handle just in the front of the tavern.

That’s when I saw Jerry.

My body was suddenly drained of all electricity, as if it just shorted out. I gasped, but forced myself to continue toward the door. Katie’s husband sat in a corner, alone, and my first thought was that Katie had been right, that he
was
having an affair. The City Hall office where he worked for the mayor was only a few miles away. An easy walking distance or a stopover on the way home. He could have picked up a young college student for himself, promising her the world amid flirty kisses that she would mistake for love.

He didn’t see me. For Katie’s sake—and my own selfish interest—I found a safe, dark corner and stopped long enough to watch the booth and to see who he was with. I thought of Steve and the skank with the three hearts. I never wanted to know her name, never wanted to see her face. But I thought, for Katie, just knowing the truth might help set her free. Jerry’s arms were draped over the curve of the booth, a smug look of comfort on his round face. He’d even combed his hair differently, slicking it into a style I hadn’t seen before.

Is he trying to look younger too?

I glanced down at myself and wanted to laugh. We had taken the same measure for different motives. But he didn’t have the face of a man hiding an affair, taking cautions in where he was or who he’d been seen with. He gazed out onto the tavern without any fear, exuding a confidence I didn’t recognize.

“Jerry, what are you up to?” I mumbled to myself as I slipped closer to the door. Sam came out from behind the bar just then and made his way over to Jerry. He plopped down next to him, without a greeting. Straight to business. He produced a white envelope and handed it to Katie’s husband. Neither of them gave a second look at who was around them—not like they do in the movies. They didn’t care who was watching. Jerry stuffed the fat envelope into his jacket and nearly touched the bottom of his nose with a brandy snifter.

When I heard the first scream, it sounded faint. It could almost have been a part of the music. But then a second came, drawing Sam’s attention away from Jerry. When he stood, Jerry shuffled his things together. He was leaving. In my mind, I ran for the doors. In reality, I struggled to hold myself in check, to walk as fast as I could toward the exit sign and get out of there without drawing attention to myself. As I passed a small pocket of college students, another scream erupted over the music. Shoulders and faces turned like dominoes. Jerry stood. He saw me! I was tempted to acknowledge him, instincts taking over, but pushed through the doors. The smell of early winter filled my nose and mouth.

Did he recognize me?

I raced to my car, scrambling to start it and drive away.

The raw excitement vanished—it had been replaced by the terror of Katie’s husband seeing me. Red and blue colors spiraled into the night sky, painting the trees and pavement while the sound of sirens warbled and echoed in the distance, ringing with a Doppler effect as my car sped away from the bar. I couldn’t control my breathing. The street in front of me was doused in foggy blackness, and starry lights crept into my view.

“Don’t you pass out,” I screamed. “He didn’t see you!”

But my words rang hollow, even to me. I had no idea if Jerry had actually recognized me. A realization came to me then. Satisfying. Golden. Katie’s husband worked for the mayor. What was he doing at the White Bear, accepting a stuffed envelope from Sam the bartender? Katie’s concerns about an affair were misplaced. There was corruption in the mayor’s office, and Jerry’s hands were dirty. Even if he had recognized me, he’d never come forward. For the sake of Katie and their boys, he’d never risk going to jail. I could count on him for that. No balls.

I stopped the car at the top of the bridge again and opened the door. Neshaminy Creek greeted me with the familiar trickle of rushing water. I needed the air. I needed to calm down. I needed to ditch the syringe and the brown bottle with the Russian label. I blindly aimed for the larger rocks at the center of the creek, hoping to shatter the glass so that the water could carry the pieces away. The syringe went in with one gulp, but I heard the bottle explode on top of a rock, the remains clinking off a stony surface before plopping into the creek.

My first job was done.

I
T WAS NEARLY
one thirty in the morning by the time I set foot in our bedroom. My shoes were off and I stretched my toes, digging into the carpet, rooting to let the evening fall out of me. My feet ached from the tight shoes, but wearing them had been worth the pain. Steve rolled over onto his back, breathing heavily. A rattle from inside him erupted into a shallow cough. I was glad my first job was over, that my first mark was dead. I was glad to be home. But I was still flying high, filled with an energy that I couldn’t turn off. And if I’m honest—at least with myself—I didn’t want to turn it off. I felt alive in a way I’d never experienced before.

I eased the bathroom door closed, flipping on the light, and stared at the woman in the mirror. Disheveled, straying hairs that were stiff with spray and jutting out awkwardly greeted me. My lipstick had smeared and given me the appearance of having a fat lip. I quickly brushed the excess away. A bruise rose from the scrape on my forehead, pale red with veins of purple and a touch of shine in the light.

“Where did you come from?” I asked. And then I recalled how Todd had pushed me into the wall. “I was buzzed, but didn’t black out. Or did I?” I shrugged off the question. With the bump just above my brow, a bruise might spill around my eye and turn it black and blue. A shiner? Concern ticked inside me. I’d cover it with a dab of concealer tomorrow. Steve was definitely going to notice. It was only a matter of time. I could hide it for a short while, but this wasn’t like a new hairstyle. He’d notice. Maybe nobody else would, though. But in a day, maybe two, I was bound to get a coy stare from the woman at the market or while volunteering at my daughter’s school. The markings would be ripe enough for speculation and gossip—plenty for a gathering of housewives to chew on over tea and cucumber sandwiches. I hated cucumber sandwiches.

I did look hot, though. Minus the wear and tear that came with murdering someone. My tits looked firm and bouncy—I’d used some tape underneath for lift, a push-up trick I’d seen in
Cosmo
—and the old pair of jeans gave my legs a shapelier tone. A snore came from our bed, and the remains of an ache stirred in me. I wished Steve were still awake. Maybe it would break some of the earlier tension. A saunter, a swing, maybe a sway of my goods, teasing him until he had to have me. I had my peanut butter and wanted the chocolate.

When I saw a rough outline of drip marks on my shirt, I froze. Todd had hit more than just my arm. Four, maybe five spots had dried and become stiff, leaving behind a scabby stain that couldn’t be wiped away.