Serial (6 page)

I decided to follow her, see where she was going. To see where this was going.

She hopped on the bus that would take her to northeast Portland, one of the poorest areas in our fine city, and a place generally avoided by the likes of myself. I hoped she didn’t live there, but I suspected she did.

She transferred a few minutes later and chose a bus that would take her farther into the heart of the worst neighborhood. I usually wouldn’t come down this way unless I was looking for a victim.

It looked terrible, houses sagging and needing paint badly, no sidewalks, lawns dried and yellowed, garbage strewn along the curb. I never could understand how people lived like this, like animals.

She got off and walked up a side street. I was suddenly aware how much my Range Rover would stand out, and then realized people would assume I was a drug dealer.

The good thing about this area is that people are used to keeping to themselves. If something bad happens, they know that the best thing to do is to keep inside and shut the blinds. People down here are also notoriously suspicious of police, which bodes well for me in case they come asking questions.

She walked to a dilapidated shack and let herself inside. I was heartbroken thinking of my pet, my angel, living in such a shit pile.

I pulled up and parked a few yards past her place and waited. For what, I wasn’t sure. For all my education and business sense, I had learned long ago to let fate take the wheel at times.

Within half an hour or so, a lean, muscular lowlife came strolling up the block. His head was shaved and he was covered in tattoos, and something in my gut told me this was her man.

I was right, he went into the house and I clenched and unclenched my grip on the steering wheel and waited to see if he would leave. Twenty minutes went by with nobody coming or going.

Fuck it. It was now or never, I had to act or I’d lose her forever.

I grabbed my kill kit and walked to the side kitchen door. To anyone else, it would look like a well-dressed man with a large silver briefcase, probably a salesman. Not that anyone would talk, and not that anyone in this neighborhood would have cameras.

A car passed on the street, it didn’t even slow down, and the driver stared straight ahead as if in a daze.

I knocked on the front door, very softly.

From inside I heard a muffled cry, the sounds of bodies in motion, and became enraged at the thought of that fucking piece of shit covering my pet with his greasy body.

I turned the knob slowly and pushed the door open. It squeaked and I paused, listening for any reaction.

I heard a litany of abusive language streaming from the mouth of the fucking caveman on my pet and I reacted. I shut the door carefully and moved through the tiny house.

In the living room I saw red. Just a wash of bloody fog covering my vision. I lost my shit for the first time in my life, and for the first time I killed without thinking.

He was on her, fucking her from behind and choking her with a belt. She was covered in bruises and appeared to be broken and bloodied beyond repair.

I snapped the case open, took my longest blade and moved behind him.

He turned at the last minute, his animal instincts kicking in, and tried to take a swing at me.

He dropped the belt and she fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. She had to be alive; all this would be for nothing if she weren’t alive.

I killed him to defend her, when I normally kill to preserve their beauty, my own strange ritualistic dance with a willing victim.

This man was not willing to die, but I was not willing to let him live after seeing what he’d done to my pet.

His cock hung loose as he tried to sidestep my punch. I connected with his jaw and heard it snap. I probably had about fifty pounds and a few inches on him. I looked down at his dick and thought more than a few, apparently.

I grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him across the floor to the sofa. I didn’t want arterial blood splatter to make the kill site so obvious, so I pushed him face down into the cushion and held him there as he struggled. Finally, desperate to get back to her, I drew my blade across his throat and bled him out like a fucking pig.

He jerked back, his hot red blood spattered from the wound, but he was too far-gone to move too much farther. He collapsed, face down on the couch.

It all took seconds to accomplish, but it felt like time had slowed down to me. I could chart each movement in my head and replay the scene as if it were a movie.

His cursing, threats, queries…they had all fallen on deaf ears. I hadn’t said a word as I’d finished him off.

She was still unconscious when I went to her. She stirred and moaned, her soft skin hot with the strain of her defense, and her thick, beautiful hair limp and wet. Her inner thighs were bruised and I could see bite marks all over her perfect body.

Her face might be broken, it was swollen and I couldn’t tell.

Her arm was bad, I suspected at least a fracture.

She was bleeding heavily and blood streamed down between her legs.

I wanted to weep, I wanted to tear at my hair and gouge my eyes to bring her back to her perfect state. I wanted to howl and scream and tear that fucking meat sack apart with my bare hands, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have time.

I carried her to the car and put her in the passenger seat. She moaned and almost slid to the floor, so I strapped her in with a couple cable ties to keep her from falling and to keep her from panicking and lashing out should she wake up when I was driving.

A few minutes from her shack, she started to cough and gag, like she was about to be sick. We were at a red light, so I reached over and touched her cheek. I was careful, she was so swollen, but still so beautiful my breath hitched when I told her to wake up.

She came too, woozy and disoriented. The light turned green so I started to drive again.

I finally asked her name, she said it was Ronnie, and I immediately disliked it. Makes her sound like a man-hating feminist dyke, and my Pet will not be a feminist. She said it was short for Veronica, but I decided Pet was more applicable anyways. Veronica sounds cheap, and my Pet isn’t cheap…not anymore.

Billy had been the name of the man who was now dead in their living room, sprawled on the sofa like a fucking pig. Billy, how appropriate, a stupid name for a shitbag.

He was a skin bag now, and she was mine.

I would have to be careful around her, it had been so long since I killed and I don’t want to harm her before I have a chance to show her how much I love her. I might have to hunt tonight, to relieve this build up of hunger before I could tend to her.

I knew I couldn’t leave her alone for long though, she was my drug and I needed to get my fix somehow.

I smiled as I drove through the city streets. It was almost dark and it had started raining. The lights took on an edgy brightness that almost hurt my eyes to look at them.

I realized something as I looked at her, passed out in the seat next to me.

My head wasn’t throbbing. This was the first time in weeks that it didn’t hurt. She really was my beautiful saviour, the bright flash of white in the darkness. She would save me and bring me in from the margins, keep me in the warm, safe center of things.

I couldn’t wait until she woke up and I could tell her.

Chapter Six

~Ronnie~

Arriving home from a shitastic day at the diner, I tossed my keys carelessly on the side table in the entrance ‘nook’ as I liked to call it.

There was no such thing as a ‘hall’ or ‘foyer’ in this crappy little one bedroom, 400 square foot, hovel where I lived. Billy had rented it before I could approve and I really had no say in the matter after he’d already finished signing the lease.

We were paying too much in rent and I dreamed of dumping this place and Billy, for that matter, and taking a new direction in life. Problem was that, in order to do so, I needed money, but couldn’t seem to find a hiding place to save it up where his alcohol deprived hands didn’t find it.

He was an asshole and I was the dumb woman who chose to stay with him.

Lucky me.

“Billy!” I called out, mostly hoping that there wouldn’t be a response. It wasn’t too early for him to be out drinking and probably fucking some stupid bitch, so there was hope that I had the house to myself.

He didn’t answer and an involuntary relaxation settled over my tired muscles. I wanted nothing more than a quiet bath to wash off the putrid stink of my day.

Slipping my body into the hot water, I thanked god that the only good thing about this place was the dual shower/bathtub arrangement. I’ve lived in other places that only had a small plastic standing shower before and I hated not having the ability to submerge myself when needed.

Just as I was admiring how my skin had pruned beneath the deliciousness of hot water, the walls in the apartment shook, signaling that Billy must have walked through the front door, slamming it as usual.

Groaning, I allowed my head to slide beneath the water hoping in vain that he’d pass out drunk on the couch and I could tiptoe into the bedroom for a decent night’s sleep. Sure, it was only five in the afternoon, but I didn’t feel like being groped and manhandled by an asshole that smelled like a blend of alcohol and the snatch of whatever bitch he’d been fucking around with that afternoon.

I felt the walls of the bathroom shake again, opening my eyes beneath the water to see it ripple above me from the vibration. A shadow hovered above me. A hand reached down, disturbing the surface of the water. My held breath came out in a rush of bubbles and I was lifted from the warm blanket of liquid, brought out to meet the harsh chill of the air.

Even the bite of cold against my skin couldn’t distract me from the intoxicated insanity I saw in Billy’s eyes.

The sound of my hair tearing from my head was only a momentary diversion from the burning pain that followed.

“Where the fuck is your money, Ronnie?”

My feet slipped on the plastic tub, the weight of my body slipping down as more pain rushed along my spine. I’d gone limp, knowing that fighting would only anger him more. But knowledge is funny like that. No matter how much your cognizant mind screams at you to submit, there is something else inside every person that yells louder telling you to fight.

I would not be made his victim.

“I don’t have any fucking money! You drank it all away, asshole!” Reaching up, I attempted to break his grasp on my hair.

His grip was too strong; years spent working in construction strengthening him before he quit to pursue a life of alcohol-fueled stupidity.

“You’re lying, Ronnie. I know you’re fucking lying. You went to work today, so I know there’s some fucking tip money you’re hiding from me.” Bloodshot eyes stared down at me as the stink of his breath rolled across my face. I dry heaved from the smell, the pain in my stomach now competing with the pain of being held up by my hair.

Billy’s eyes looked away from me to scout the bathroom floor and finally spotting my work uniform, he dropped me back into the bathtub. The crack of the plastic ledge against my skull blurred my sight in searing red pain as I sunk beneath the water’s surface.

My mouth opened in a silent scream, scant amounts of air tearing from my empty lungs. I pushed up on wobbly arms, my face breaking the surface so that I could drag in the oxygen I desperately needed. No sooner did I catch my breath before I heard Billy’s angry disappointment shouted through the steam filled room.

“Sixty fucking dollars? You work all fucking day and that’s all you can bring home?” His fist met one side of my head at the same time the other side of my head met the wall. Sandwiched between the crunch of his fist and the crack of the wall, I reached out, my fingernails ripping off as I held onto the slippery plastic ledge, refusing to pass out to fall beneath the water.

Didn’t matter.

Even if I had drowned, it couldn’t have been worse than what came next.

Ripped from the tub, I fought against him, failing miserably because of the water drenching my skin. My feet slid uselessly over the tile floor and my hands were busy struggling to remove his fingers from my hair. Dropped again, a sharp burst of pain shot along my hip and down my leg.

Turning my head, I spotted the fifty lying on the floor that the gorgeous man at the diner had left me. The tip alone was bigger than what he owed for his food and I wondered if he’d actually intended to leave it or if it had been a mistake. I should have run after him to let him know, but I was too desperate for cash.

Cash that would only end up in Billy’s stomach, traveling though his kidneys and liver, causing damage before it was pissed into the toilet the following morning.

He leaned down, towering over me, his rank breath once again stealing my air. “What the fuck are you good for, bitch? You’re lucky I take care of you,  lucky I don’t throw you the fuck out on the streets.” His steel-toed boot collided heavily with my stomach and my body was punted across the floor, slamming into the wall.

I shouldn’t have said a fucking word, but logic doesn’t always override the refusal to be abused inside me.

“Fuck you, Billy. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have a fucking dime to live on. Take the fucking money and leave.”

He laughed. The asshole laughed as blood trickled down my chin. There had to be internal damage, but my pain was numbed by my anger. I watched crimson drops drip from my chin to the floor, thinking how pretty the color of my own death had become.

I knew he could kill me. And as drunk and stupid as he currently was, he probably would.

It’s not like I had anything to live for anyway. All I knew was I wouldn’t go down without taking a piece of him with me. When he reached for me again, I scraped the broken and jagged edges of my fingernails across his face, cutting into his flesh so that the crimson red of his own blood met mine.

No, asshole. You won’t walk away from this without my mark branded on your ugly mug. And the evidence beneath my nails would put you away if I didn’t walk away from this with my life.