BECAUSE IT FEELS GOOD
by
R.J. Hamilton
Copyright © 2011 by R.J. Hamilton
ISBN: 978-1-4660-1308-7
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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LOOK FOR THESE OTHER BOOKS
BY R.J. HAMILTON:
Self Convictions
Self Consciousness
Self Conclusions
Self Consequences
And the Hand of God
&
Dark Solo
(A short story & poem collection
Written with Michael Rohr)
* * * * *
Typically you feel safe,
Frequently comfortable when you’re alone,
Occasionally there’s someone lurking.
Watching,
Waiting,
Ready.
I’m that guy.
I don’t mean to be,
But it feels so good.
~ Paul ~
*1*
Brown, orange, and yellow leaves cascade down in front of my face. They crunch beneath my feet as I walk through the woods. The soles of my black boots crush the dead foliage angrily. I pull her lifeless body along with one gloved hand by the collar of her light jacket. Her body paves a trail through the leaves on the ground. Her baby blue eyes are open and empty. They stare off into nowhere beyond her limp, side-cocked head. Her blonde hair hangs down toward the ground. There are bits of dried blood, leaves, and dirt tangled within the stands. Her skin is a pale blue. A thin bruise runs along the base of her neck.
I recall the scenario in my mind as I traipse along the wooded area. I’ve walked this route a thousand times before and know it like the back of my hand. I picked her up at a local bar a couple days ago. I’d stopped for a drink after work. I didn’t feel like going home right away. My partner would be there and I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with him after the day I’d had. Being a realtor has been rough over the last few months. The economy’s not what it used to be. It seemed like every sale I’d gotten recently was falling through at the last minute. My fiancé wasn’t making things any better. He continuously hounded me about my sales technique and ability. I’d abstained from activities like this over the last few weeks. I’d suppressed the emotions, the urges, as best I could. Stress had taken its toll and I couldn’t ignore the voices any longer. She sat on the other side of the bar. I noticed the cleanliness and sheen of the bar top before seeing her. I searched for ringlets on the lacquer surface as my eyes scanned in her direction. My thick fingers wrapped calmly around the icy, cold exterior of my glass. The droplets found their way beneath the creases in my digits. They floated along the outside wall to the bottom of the glass. Two ice cubes danced in the scotch like a couple making out beneath the water at a public swimming pool. Their lips touch ever so slightly. I noticed her staring at me from across the room. Her blue eyes pierced through the air. I had to take a look to my left, right, and rear before knowing for certain that it was me she was flirting with. I gazed back at her. The thought of potentially fulfilling my darkest desire sent a surge of heat through my torso. My mind immediately began rifling through the files in my head. My files contained different methods in killing people. They were my sick, demented thrills locked away until they were ready for unveiling. I shot her a smirk of a smile and then got up to go to the restroom.
I approached the urinal and unzipped my trousers. It took a moment before the stream began. The relief was immediate and satisfying. It’s not long before I’m finished. The trough flushed automatically so I didn’t have to touch the germs awaiting my flesh. I walked over to the sink, also automatic. I waved my thick hands beneath the spigot. I allowed my hands a lukewarm refreshing as I stared at myself in the mirror. I checked my wavy, perfectly combed black hair. That morning, like every other, I added just enough gel to keep it tame through the day. There is not a speck of gray on my 40-year-old head. My eyebrows are waxed and trimmed, also faultless, save a tiny thread of a scar above my right eye. I’d fallen as a child and gashed my head open against a cement corner. Blood poured down my face and into my mouth before I finally made it home. I walked in the door in a hazy confusion. My mother freaked out at the sight and called an ambulance. The metallic taste the blood left on my tongue was unforgettable. My eyes stared at themselves in the bathroom mirror. They were such a deep brown that they were nearly black. My eyelashes were long and had almost a feminine quality of curl. I stared at myself for a moment. Why are you doing this? I asked myself from inside my head. Because it feels good, Paul, I answered my own question. I straightened my suit by pulling the bottom taunt and flattened it to my broad chest with my hands running down its entirety. I dried my hands and left the restroom.
I sat on an open bar stool next to my prey.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” I asked her coyly. It was time for me to lay on the thick charm without overdoing it. She jumped a bit when she hadn’t noticed me beside her. Her hand went to her chest with a ladylike start. It was a mock heart attack. She took a deep breath and replied.
“Not at all, I’d thought you’d left,” her voice was quiet but alto in tone. It seemed a little hoarse like she’d been yelling all day or had been getting over a cold. The thought of a potentially germy victim sent chills of worry down my spine.
“Are you ok?” She looked at me with wonder. “Your voice seems a little…”
“Oh, yeah, I went to a basketball game last night.” She giggled a little. “I do love my basketball.” Relief flowed through me. My plan could continue accordingly. I smiled at her in agreement even though I didn’t agree. I hated sports, especially basketball. I looked beyond her frame to see that darkness was beginning to loom within the city. She looked up at me and I looked back.
“So, did you want to hang out here all night or maybe go back to my place?” I asked her abruptly. There’d be no point in beating around the bush if I wanted to accomplish my goal. I’d found in the past that people who were eager to leave a bar with a stranger within minutes of meeting them were not missed as much. It was almost as though their loved ones had been expecting something bad to happen to them anyway. It didn’t matter to me. As long as the person was good looking and interested, I’d have them. She didn’t seem put-off at all by my straightforwardness.
“Do you live far away?” She asked.
“No, actually just a couple blocks,” I responded. I had an apartment rented in the downtown area that my partner was unaware of. It allowed for secret getaways and also had a private parking area with a desolate back hallway. The hall led into the lot where I’d parked my car and the discovery of my crimes seemed unlikely.
“What are we waiting for?” She inquired. She jumped from her stool. I set my foot onto the ground and held out an arm for her to grab onto. We left the bar and walked down the street to my apartment building. The building wasn’t too cumbersome. It fit just right amongst the others in the area. Most of the buildings that surrounded it were offices. The building was newer. They had decided to rip out one of the businesses due to bankruptcy and replaced it because of lacking interest to buy. The place was perfect for me. It was located in between home and work. They were both only a couple of miles away.
I put my key into the front security door and opened it for her. She walked in and I followed behind her, giving directions along the way. We stepped into the elevator as the doors opened and I pushed the button for my floor. I lived on the tenth floor. The moment the doors closed, she threw herself at me. Her face plowed into mine and she kissed me. I responded even though she disgusted me. My stomach churned. I almost became sick, but I fought it off. I tried not to think about her soft, sweet lips against mine. She wasn’t what I was into and I was appalled. I started to think about my plan for killing her. The kisses disappeared and I started to become hard with the thought of her death. Her hand brushed against my crotch. She was surprised and let out a throaty groan in approval. I ignored it. The doors to the elevator opened. I led her to my apartment and unlocked the door. As soon as I opened the door for her, she stepped inside, I closed the door behind me, my fist clenched, and I punched her in the back of the head. She hit the floor with a thud and then silence. I picked her up by her collar, dragging her into the bedroom. I threw her body onto the bed. I taped her mouth shut. I reached between the mattresses and pulled out four, perfectly cut pieces of nylon rope. I tied lavish knots I’d been taught in the Boy Scouts so many years ago. Once I had her secured, I tested the bindings. Satisfied, I left the room. I needed a drink of water.
I went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard above the sink. I didn’t keep much in the apartment. There was just enough to entertain someone if I needed to. I turned on the cold water and tested it with my fingertip. Once the temperature was where I liked it, I filled the glass. I gulped the liquid down like it was the last glass of water I’d ever indulge in. My mind tangoed between the unconscious woman on the bed and the soothing liquid flowing down my throat. It was time. I placed the glass into the sink and opened a nearby drawer. I reached inside and pulled out a telephone cable, the straight connection between the wall and the base. The cable was perfectly coiled in my fist. It looked like a lasso. I closed the drawer and walked to the bedroom. She lay on the bed still asleep. With the cord in-hand, I climbed onto the mattress and straddled her at the waist. I slapped her across the face, just enough to get her moving. Her eyes began to flutter. Moans started to escape her lungs, but the duct tape stopped them from leaving her vocal cords. Her limbs became tense as she pulled against the ropes. Her eyes darted at mine and her eyebrows rose up. She knew she was in trouble. Why? She seemed to ask with her eyes.
“Because it makes me feel good,” I answered aloud in a whisper. I uncoiled the cable as I sat on top of her body. She watched and struggled against her restraints. There was no room for her to get me off of her or to bend her knees. I extended the cabling slowly and held it out before her between both hands. I kept a solemn expression. Taking one end of the cord, I gently slid it beneath her flailing head. I retrieved the end on the other side of her neck and pulled it so it was perfectly set at the halfway mark. I then fed each end, one at a time, under her flesh once more. Her vocalizations were becoming more intense but not loud enough for anyone to hear. I looked into her eyes and seized down on each end of the wire. I pulled and pulled. The rush of life within me was orgasmic. I could feel the life coming from her body as it slipped out. I groaned and fell flat on top of her. I lay next to her lifeless body for a few minutes. The liquid in my shorts had become dry and abrasive against my skin. I left her for the night, still tied, still dead, all alone. I’d take care of her later.
I went to clean up below the waist with a fresh pair of underwear and a wet washcloth I’d kept in the bathroom closet. After that, I left the apartment, locked the door, and walked down the street to my car. I looked in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb. My hair was a bit frazzled. I straightened it up and drove to my house.
I pulled into the driveway. The streetlights illuminated brightly. Hedges lined the drive beautifully. They were trimmed weekly by the gardener. A lone rose bush grew in the middle of the lawn. Our house was stucco white with a clay tiled roof. It had a 2-car garage but I chose not to park inside. I turned off the car and walked to the front of the house. I checked my tie and entered. Delicious smells immediately hit my nostrils. Max, my boyfriend, was making dinner, as he sometimes did. Max is a wonderful cook along with being a superb attorney.
“Honey, I’m home,” I announced to him. Chelsea, our Cocker Spaniel, came bounding toward me from around the corner. I dropped to her level and stroked her ears for a moment. “Hey there, my baby, did you have a good day?” I spoke to her in a baby-talk voice and asked her questions like I’ll get an answer. I stood back up and walked toward the kitchen. I saw Max putting the finishing touches on our plates, steamed carrots and green beans. He didn’t look at me.
“You’re late again,” he scolded.
“I’m sorry. I had some closing paperwork to finish before I could leave,” I lied. He continued arranging, flipped a hand towel over his shoulder, and picked up the plates. He walked into the dining room and set the plates on the table. A tall, white candle flickered in the middle of it. My heart fluttered a little from the gesture.
“So, you sold one?” He asked.
“That’s what they’re telling me anyway,” I fib again, “but you know how these things have gone in the past.” He let out a disappointed push of air. I watched him for a moment as he placed the plates just right according to their food arrangement. The vegetables were always closest to the chair. Max believed in eating your vegetables. I noticed he was finished and approached him from behind. I wrapped my arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “Thank you for making dinner,” I whispered. He turned to me. His hazel eyes stared into mine with a slight head tilt. He is inches shorter than me, 6’0”. I ran my fingers threw his brown hair. I kissed him on his masculine lips. I felt the stubble against mine and it’s a welcome feeling.
“You’re welcome. Let’s hope this one goes through,” he looked at me longingly. “Now, go change quickly before it gets cold.” I gave him another quick peck on the cheek and dashed off to change.
Dinner was wonderful, but desert in the bedroom was even better. The visions of the evening’s events continually flashed before my eyes as I looked into his. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. We both went to work the following morning. Everything was normal as far as Max knew. I was a normal guy. I returned to the apartment after work to check on her. Everything was just as I’d left it. I relocked the door and went home. I’d be back the next day, Saturday. I’d tell Max I had a house to show, but assured him I’d only be gone for a few hours.
Her body causes the leaves to rustle and chatter as I drag it along. I’d changed my clothes at the apartment. I wasn’t about to dispose of a body in a suit. The marsh is just ahead. I can see the reeds poking up from the ground. Birch trees are starting to thicken within the growth. I am almost free. I’d driven ten miles and walked through two miles of woods to get rid of her. There is nothing in this area. The stench of decay suddenly hits my nostrils. There are a few others out here. She isn’t going to be alone. Most of the remains are bones. The animals generally take care of the dirty work. I can’t go any further. The smell is too bothersome. I toss her into the weeds and her body hits the ground with a combination of thump and splash. Satisfied, I make my trek back to my car, to my apartment to clean up and change, and back to home, to my Max.
*2*
“Were you having another one of your nightmares last night?” Max asks me between bites of scrambled eggs. I’ve always had nightmares, for as long as I can remember anyway. Most of the time, these dreams involve my mother and a belt stinging my skin over and over again. She whacks the backs of my thighs repeatedly. She screams about my being a filthy little faggot who stole her men from her.
“I don’t remember,” I reply. I don’t ever want Max knowing the dirty details of my past. It’s been so many years anyway, I don’t see the point in dwelling on it and she’s been dead for a long time.
“You always say you don’t remember,” he stops eating for a moment. His fork rests against his plate. His hazel eyes stare into mine. “I don’t understand how you can have all these bad dreams and not remember the slightest detail about them.”
“Max, can’t you just let it go?” I say to him quietly as I stare back at him. “Maybe they’re bad enough that I don’t want to recall them, how about that? Maybe it’s something I’d rather forget instead of bringing them with me into the day.” He continues to look at me, but a look of longing compassion overtakes his face.
“You’re right, I’m sorry, honey. It’s just that I love you and don’t want to see you hurting like this all the time. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist?”
“We’re not having this discussion again.” I get up from the table and gather my dishes. “I’ll be fine.” I walk into the kitchen and rinse my dinnerware off. Max comes into the room. His arm reaches around me as he sets his plate and fork into the sink beneath mine. His lips touch the back of my neck. Shivers roll down my spine and goose bumps form on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers softly into my ear. I set my plate down and spin to face him. We embrace.
“It’s okay,” I say softly into his shoulder. The truth of the matter is that I don’t want a psychiatrist digging around in my head. There are too many secrets in there and I don’t want anyone to know about them. We break apart and I look at him. “What should we do today?” We’ve been together for five years and have yet to miss a Sunday of we time.
“I don’t know.” He stops to think for a moment and the idea comes quickly. “How about going down to the lake? We could bring some cheese and crackers, maybe a nice wine? It’ll be a little picnic by the lake.” I like the idea and agree. We go to the shower to get ready for our day.
The warm water flows over our bodies. We tend to each other’s every nook and cranny as we lather up and rinse off. We don’t usually have time for shared showers during the week. We save it for our special day. I enjoy every moment as the water washes the suds from his firm body. I assist with one of my hands from his neck, to his shoulder, to his abdominal muscles, and continue down his torso to his waist. I tease him a bit and he does the same to me. We agree to stop with a deep kiss and I turn off the knob. We dry off and go into the bedroom to get dressed. Chelsea waits for us on the bed. Her head pops up when we enter the room. I baby talk to her a bit before slipping on my shorts and shirt. After I’m completely dressed, I give her a little attention. Max leaves the room and I follow shortly after, as does Chelsea. We sit in the living room and he turns on the television. It’s still too early to go to the lake. We’ll leave in an hour or two. Max flips the channels until he finds one that sparks some interest, the local news.
“Theresa Freemont was reported missing today,” my heart begins to flutter as the newscaster makes the announcement and a photograph of the woman I’d killed a couple of days ago flashes on the screen. “She is reported to have gone missing Thursday or Friday evening. Anyone with information regarding Freemont’s whereabouts can contact the Langley police department at…”
“What’s the matter, Paul?” I hear Max beside me. I look at him sharply. “Do you know that woman?”
“No, I’m sorry, she looked a little familiar, but you know how many people I deal with at work.” I quickly gather a reputable story from the back of my mind. I tap my open hand calmly against his exposed thigh. He goes back to the television. The report about her is over and there has been a car accident somewhere around Langley. Every time I see a report regarding one of my victims, it kind of throws me for a loop. It doesn’t really scare me, but it puts things into a different light. Someone actually cared about her. Well, it doesn’t matter, she’s gone now.
We veg out in front of the television until it’s time to get the snacks ready for the picnic. Max grabs the necessities and I latch Chelsea’s leash around her collar. She gets excited. She knows when it’s time for a walk. Her stubby tail wags back and forth frantically. We walk out the garage door and hop into Max’s car. We drive with the windows down so the warm autumn breeze can blow in. The air is comfortable enough for shorts, but too warm for jeans. I zone out while Max drives us down the highway toward our destination. My mind goes back to the nightmares. My mother looms over me with a leather strap. Her blue eyes are ablaze and achieve more fire with every thwack. Her black hair is disheveled and flows everywhere with untamed curls. The snarl upon her lips is demonic and sinister. My twelve-year-old legs welt in red crisscrossed markings and the smacks deafen my ears.
“I’ll teach you to fuck my boyfriends you little faggot!” Her screams burn into my eardrums between hits. My legs became numb after the tenth or fifteenth lash.
“I didn’t do it,” I calmly try to explain to her as I protect my delicate face and head. I am desensitized, emotionally and physically. The fact that she hates me so much is the only thing that hurts. “I didn’t do anything.” Another hit across the backs of my thighs. I wince slightly.
“Don’t lie to me you little faggot bastard!” It doesn’t matter. Nothing I say changes her mind. I am a little faggot bastard boyfriend stealer.
“Paul,” Max interrupts my thoughts, “we’re here.” I look around. Sure enough, we are. I open the door with leash in-hand and Chelsea leads the way. I stop her for a moment so Max can retrieve the goodies from the trunk. I admire the scenery. A few scattered trees grow around the lake. Their leaves sprinkle sporadically to the ground with the breeze as it pulls their weak anchors free. The grass is still green beneath the light sprinklings of foliage. The lake’s rippling surface sparkles beneath the sun’s rays. A few boaters speed along the water creating waves, violent at first but quickly smoothed as they resettle. We continue walking toward the edge of the lake. Max lays out one of our blankets no longer used for anything else but this. He pulls the corners perfect and I assist with my free hand. He places the bag in the middle and we walk closer to the water’s edge. There is nobody else nearby, our picnic will be safe. I hold Chelsea’s leash in my right hand, Max takes my left.
“I’ll never get over how beautiful this is,” he says as he lays his cheek against my shoulder. I smile. We appreciate the same things.
“Me either,” I agree with him. The sun is high and feels good against my skin. It won’t be until mid-winter before the summer tan will fade, leaving my original Italian olive tones for a few cool months.
“We could jump in you know?” Max tells me with a suggestion. I quiver at the thought.
“You know I won’t swim in a lake. It grosses me out.” There’s always been something about lake water that I can’t bring myself to going in. It might be the germaphobe in me, but it’s something I refuse to do.
“I know, I understand. Would you rather sit and enjoy our cheese and wine? Not to mention, the great view?” I turn to him.
“You know I do,” I flirt lovingly. He turns slightly and smacks me on the butt with an openhanded swat. We go to the blanket, facing the water. I allow Chelsea to frolic close by with her leash still attached to the loop on her collar. Max and I admire the relaxing nature around us. After an enjoyment of wine, cheese, and crackers, we lie down on the blanket, stare up at the thin layer of clouds, and hold hands. We talk quietly and seldom as we enjoy the moment we’re having. It’s another perfect Sunday, our day.
*3*
Travis stands quietly in the wooded area. He looks upon the dead bodies as the rancid smell seeps into his nostrils. The smell is off-putting to his senses, but he ignores it as he stares at his obsession’s belongings. He steps through the thick, tall blades of grass into the graveyard. The odor becomes more looming as he approaches. Travis places a hand over his light blue eyes to shield from random rays of sun from above as they poke in through the thinning canopy of leaves. A thick tuft of blonde hair lies over the top of his hand. He looks around the patch. Small pools of water form around clumps of grass. A large pool of swamp water is only a few feet beyond the bodies. He looks down at the woman with the blonde hair and empty blue eyes, Paul’s most resent victim. Her skin is gray now, her eyes cloudy white. The vision sends chills of excitement up his spine. The thought of Paul taking the life from someone turned him on. He envisioned Paul’s huge hands wrapped around her throat as he sat on top of her small frame. Travis’ head became warm with his secret lust for Paul. Travis squats down near her and runs his fingers through her hair. It is dry and matted, dead. He stands back up. Jealousy flows through his veins along with anger. Knowing Paul had touched her instead of him is upsetting. He gives her lifeless torso a boot with his foot.
Another body lies close by. Leaves have most of the corpse covered. He remembers this victim. Travis thinks back to when Paul took the man. It was another victim from a bar. The man started flirting with Paul as Travis watched secretly from nearby. He recalls the anger flowing within his mind, but he knew what Paul would do to the man. He knew Paul would kill him. He deserved to be killed after coming onto Travis’ man. Travis didn’t have the guts to approach Paul. He knew what Paul did to people and, as much as Travis wanted Paul’s affection and touch, he didn’t want to die. Travis watched as the two men walked out the front door of the bar. There wasn’t much for conversation prior to their departure. He walked stealthily behind the men as they walked toward Paul’s secret apartment complex downtown. Travis observed from across the street as Paul opened the door and they went inside. He hid in the shadows and waited. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Paul would emerge from the building, it never was. He was right. After about an hour waiting, Paul came out, alone. Travis waited for him to drive away before making his way inside. He slipped his copy of a key he had made into the lock and opened the door. He quietly went upstairs and let himself into Paul’s apartment. He was always careful to leave things undisturbed. He sleeked around the corner toward the bedroom. He could see the man’s body on the bed. Light from the streetlamps poured inside. His flesh was still a normal color, but his eyes were wide open as they starred at the ceiling above. Travis stood near him for a moment, looking down at him on the bed. He was fully clothed and gorgeous, but nothing compared to Paul’s beauty. Travis sat next to the dead body and then lay down. He pressed his body against the lifeless, still warm cadaver. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch any remaining scent of Paul. Travis closed his eyes for a moment as he pretended Paul was next to him.
A leaf lands atop Travis’ head, bringing him back from his fantasy. He looks down at his shoes. The mud is starting to consume his soles. Travis backs away from the gravesite and turns, retreating through the tall grass. Thoughts of his lover float in and out of his mind as he makes his way back to his car.
*4*
“Detective Brownlee, have you come up with any leads regarding the Theresa Freemont case?” Jake Brownlee’s concentration is interrupted by the Captain as he stares at his computer screen and the case file open on his desk.
“No, Sir,” he pivots his chair to face the tall man dressed in a spotless, black suit and tie, “I’ve got nothing so far but a few random phone calls leading to nowhere.” It’s been almost a week since the young woman was first reported missing and Jake is frustrated.
“Well, let’s get things going. I’m running out of things to tell her family,” the Captain leaves with discouraging words. Jake turns back to his computer screen, the faint coloring of his auburn hair and green eyes stare back at him blankly beyond the screen display. He doesn’t know where to go. The only people who know anything about Theresa are her parents and they don’t seem to have a clue about who she hung out with or what she did in her spare time. Her coworkers consider her an outcast. She was described as being an “antisocial bitch with nothing but attitude” for most of them. Some said she was a “boyfriend stealing whore” as well. Jake was at a loss. Missing persons cases in Langley used to be far and few between, but lately they’ve been piling up. The problem is no connection between the victims. Without any leads, where do I go, he asks himself over and over again. She didn’t own a car, using mass transportation wherever she went or borrowing her parents’ vehicle here and there. Brownlee flips through the thin file for what seems to be the thousandth time. A missing persons report, some investigation notes, and a couple of photographs are all it contains. He continues to stares at Theresa’s photograph. Where are you, he thinks as her blue eyes gaze blankly back at him.
*5*
Paul awakens silently in a cold sweat. His mother has been haunting his dreams as she usually is. The backs of his legs tingle from the residual beating he’d just endured. He slips out from beneath the covers. Chelsea’s head pops up beside Max. She is in her usual spot between them. Paul pats her on the head softly in an attempt to assure her that everything’s alright. Sweat glistens on his chest and back as the near-dawn moonlight spills in through the blinds. He tiptoes out of the bedroom and into the hallway toward the bathroom. He eases the door closed behind him, carefully keeping the latch from making a sound. He slowly turns and releases the handle when there is no resistance in the knob against his hand. He goes to the white porcelain sink and turns on the gold knob, cold only. Paul braces himself against the countertop for a moment and looks into the mirror. The hollow shell of a boyfriend stealing faggot bastard stares back at him. Hatred for the man in the reflection sends a surge of anger through his body.
“You’re a worthless son-of-a-bitch,” he whispers to himself as if the reflection is a completely different person. Paul’s anger begins to build even more. His hands go to his head and he grabs handfuls of his own hair. He grips the locks tightly. A tingly pain surges into his scalp. He gasps quickly, as if the reality suddenly hits him. It’s his own hair he’s pulling. He releases his fists and lowers them back to the sink. The anger subsides within. As if nothing happened, he cups his hands beneath the cool water and lowers his face to the bowl. A gentle splash of liquid rinses his face. He repeats the measure three more times and turns off the spigot. He reaches for a hand towel nearby and dries his face. “Ah, much better,” he says quietly to the man in the mirror. He rehangs the towel and leaves the room.
Paul silently retrieves the socks, t-shirt, and shorts from the dresser. He’d placed them there the night prior in anticipation of an early morning run. He turns to ensure he hasn’t disturbed Max, he hasn’t. He slips into the living room and puts on his clothes. He grabs his running shoes and slides them on. After tying each of the laces tightly and with care, he gently exits the house.
The moon hangs low in the sky and the stars have stopped twinkling due to the suns looming presence. Early morning dew settles delicately on the front lawn. Sprinkler systems sputter throughout the neighborhood. Paul walks down the sidewalk in the front of the house to the driveway and makes his way to the street. He begins by picking his knees up high as he stands at the end of the driveway’s asphalt. He bends over and touches his toes a couple of times. He faces to the right of the drive and begins a slow jog. A random dog barks from their fenced-in confinements from the backs of houses. There are no lights on inside any of the homes.
His muscles are ready for a challenge. Paul allows his mind to wander as he increases his speed. His room was dark and he was only ten years old when it happened the first time. The bedroom door opened a crack. The light seeped in from the hallway. Paul was facing the wall, but the change in the room’s illumination and the creak of his door was enough to wake him. His eyes opened though covered in a hazed sleepiness. The lightening lined the wall like the white shoulder line on the highway. It slowly narrowed and vanished as quickly as it had come. Paul allowed his ten-year-old eyes to close again. They reopened with a start as his mattress sank in. A rough hand rested itself on his bare shoulder.
“Are you awake,” the gruff voice asked. Paul recognized the familiar tone immediately. It was his mother’s boyfriend. He was in his early thirties, a construction worker. The deeply worked hand was grooved with labor and weather for his age. Paul remained silent. The large hand began to move down his arm toward his small hand. Her boyfriend spoke again, “Paul, I know you’re awake. I want to show you something.” The little boy closed his eyes. He didn’t know what was coming and wasn’t sure he wanted to. The man took his hand around his narrow wrist and pulled it toward his crotch. The lump in his pants was unmistakable. This was something teachers taught in school. These were the “red touches” children were warned about. Paul pretended it wasn’t happening.
“Shit,” he says aloud as his ankle rolls over a small pebble along the road. Paul isn’t paying attention to the terrain and stumbles a bit. He quickly regains his footing and continues running. The quiet suburbia has disappeared and is replaced by a narrow road lined with trees. The smell of freshly laid tar still looms in the air. Road crews had covered the dirt with pavement a few weeks prior. He admires the road ahead. The sun begins to crest. An orange-colored hue dances in the air like a newly sparking fire. Paul leaves his memories to the walls in his mind. Figurative masons slap on the concrete in an attempt to repair the leaky hole. A cool, autumn breeze slides against his skin as he fights the slight inclination of the hill, his quadriceps burn in conjunction with his calves. He pushes hard to make it to the crest of the hill, to greet the morning sun. Only a few more steps, he widens his strides. The burn continues and worsens. He ignores the pain in his muscles as they close in on cramping. Then, as quickly as the pain arrives, it lessens. He stands atop the hill. The sun smiles at him. He grins to himself. He feels accomplished. Now I have to run back, he thinks. He waits for a couple of minutes before making the trek back to the house. At least it is downhill most of the way, Paul mutters silently as he runs.
The morning run is satisfying and helps him to clear his head. He sneakily enters the house, sweat dripping violently from his forehead and arms. His t-shirt is soaked all the way through. He slips off his soggy running shoes and places them outside on the step, strips off his t-shirt, and his shorts, first peeking in on Max and Chelsea. Max is sleeping soundly. The little Cocker Spaniel’s head pops up again, this time she’s assumed Paul’s position on the bed. He motions for her to come without a sound. She leaps from the bed and exits the room. Paul eases the bedroom door shut as to not disturb his sleeping prince. He lets the dog out into the backyard, gets a drink of water, allows Chelsea back inside, and goes to the shower.
Paul strips off his underwear before starting the water. Naked, he holds a hand beneath the spigot. He adjusts the temperature to a lukewarm level prior to jumping in. The water hits him with a sudden chill, but it’s a welcome feeling after the heat of the exercise. A bit of the saltiness from the sweat runs from his forehead to his lips. He accidentally gets a taste of it on his tongue. It disgusts him for a moment. Paul fills his mouth with water from the showerhead and gargles to get rid of the saltiness. He spits the water out and continues his bathing ritual. He scrubs methodically, almost to the point of skin irritation. He rinses systematically, turns off the water, and grabs his towel. After drying off, he creeps into the bedroom to the closet.
“Hey, why don’t you come back to bed?” Max’s voice from behind him makes Paul jump a bit as he shuffles through his hanging shirts. There is a sudden soft kiss on his neck. He hadn’t heard his partner get out of the bed and sneak up behind him. Max’s rough stubble after a day’s growth, brushes against the nape and over to the upper portion of Paul’s back. Chills flow down Paul’s naked body and bumps decorate his flesh. “I’ve still got about a half-an-hour before I have to get ready to go,” Max whispers against Paul’s bare back. The warmth of his breath sends more chills. Hands reach around Paul’s waist, removing the knot of the towel as it falls to the floor. He is spun around to face Max. Paul leads him backward to the bed.
*6*
I lock up the file cabinet before gathering my things and walking out the door of my office building. My realty company is a modest one. Most of the other realtors keep to themselves; there are only six besides me. I’ll have to admit that I’m not really one who enjoys socializing with the people I work with. There is a click of three who goes out for drinks oftentimes after work, not my thing. My most recent prospect has just fallen through and it’s only Tuesday. This is going to be one hell of a week. To make matters worse, Max is gone. He left yesterday morning, early. There is a big case on the other side of the state, so it’s just me and Chelsea. He’ll be back this weekend. With that thought, my cell starts to vibrate in my pocket. I look at the display to see that its Max calling.
“Hey, you,” I say before he gets a chance to speak.
“Hey,” his tone is soft.
“What’s the matter,” I ask as I walk out the front door and step onto the sidewalk. There is a moment of silence.
“It’s been a long day. The judge cut it short today because he wasn’t feeling well, but my colleague and I have some case notes to go over and some questioning details for tomorrow,” he ends the sentence with a sigh. “I think it’s going to be a long night. Are you going to be alright?” I step off the curb to cross the street and wait for the passing of a few cars. I’m parked across the street.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m probably going to curl up on the couch with Chelsea and watch some television,” I lie nonchalantly.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there with you right now.” There is a knock on the door in the background. “Hold on a second, Paul.” I can hear some talking in the phone, Max’s voice and another male. “Okay, sorry, Vince is here. We’re going to go down to the hotel restaurant, get something to eat and go over these case notes ok?” There is an awkward anger brewing in my gut. It stems from jealousy, not because my man is alone with another, I think it’s more due to the fact that he’s not here to protect me from myself.
“Alright, honey, I understand,” I hide my frustration, “you have a good night. Don’t worry about me. Get your work done ‘cause the sooner you are, the sooner you will be back.”
“I love you,” Max says it first.
“I love you too,” I return. I hang up the phone and unlock the door to my car. An uneasy feeling continues to stir around in my stomach. Scenarios begin to flit about in my head as I turn the key in the ignition. I wonder who is next. I try not to dwell on it. I pull away from the curb and head for the highway out of town. I’m going to go somewhere new this time. Though there hasn’t been any new news on the last person since the news report, I’m not taking any chances in Langley, not yet. I glance in my rearview mirror for a moment. Dark sinister eyes stare back at me. This time I’ve got an extra couple of days to play out one of my new ideas. I take the exit and turn on some music, thoughts flowing casually.
There was an anger that flowed through my veins when I was young. It was a rage that I didn’t know what to do with. My mother’s boyfriend’s touch in combination with her beatings had taken a toll on my mind. I didn’t know what to do with the feelings I’d had. I felt helpless and discouraged. I was young, not even a teenager when things got more serious. I couldn’t do anything to my mother. I couldn’t get her to believe I didn’t mean to hurt her, but she was my mother. I found different outlets. It started with small animals, a magnifying glass and some ants, a baby bird here and there. I’d torture things, helpless things. It made me feel good knowing I did have some sort of control in my life. I had the power to take life from other things. I did it because it felt good and it took the pain away for a moment. It was only about a year before ants and birds turned into stray cats and dogs. I’d do unspeakable things to them, things that I wouldn’t dream of now that I have Chelsea. Human beings chose their paths, animals don’t. I think that’s the difference.
When I was thirteen, everything changed. I kept to myself in school but that didn’t stop other kids from picking on me. I knew I was different; I didn’t need others to tell me. I was alone in every way. But something changed suddenly when I met him. I was sitting in history class when I first noticed him. He sat adjacent from me. He hadn’t been at the school for very long and nobody really knew him. I noticed him sneaking peeks at me. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes his looks would linger beyond my noticing. I’d look back at him quickly and his blue eyes wouldn’t shift from mine. It took a couple of weeks before either of us said a word to each other. He was the first to speak. As we walked into the hallway, he stayed next to me rather than taking his usual route in the opposite direction. Our heights were matched, as were our strides.
“Hey,” he started quietly as if he didn’t want others to notice he was speaking to me.
“Hey,” I responded with the same finesse. I carried my books in front of me. His hung lazily at his opposite side.
“I was just wondering,” he continued at a whisper.
“What,” I asked him after a moment of silence as if he was trying to find the words.
“Are you gay,” he asked bluntly. I stopped for a moment to process. He did also. The words hit me in a weird way. I’d never actually heard anyone say them out loud, not so politically correct. My mother uttered them in blasphemous expulsions like faggot, but gay was so smooth and nonviolent. I look down at my books.
“Are you seriously wondering or asking so you can screw with me about it and tell everyone else?” I wasn’t quite ready to answer without reassurance. Everything was so confusing then. I looked up at him. He was staring at me. It made the moment more awkward.
“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t serious, Paul.” There was a certain level of softness to his eyes, a compassion that I’d never seen before in any others. “If it’ll make you feel any better…I am.” It was weird hearing someone else say it aloud, quietly, but still aloud. I smiled at him. Something clicked for me at that moment.
“Yeah,” I answered him simply and continued walking down the hallway.
“Cool,” he said, “see you later.” He pivoted and took off in the other direction, the way he should’ve been traveling in the first place. A warm feeling flowed through me. It was comforting and scary at the same time. I didn’t want anyone else to know, so I was a little worried, but I was also happy to know there was someone else like me. I grinned to myself before walking into my next classroom, mathematics.
Things progressed rather quickly between us. We’d meet after school, hop on our bikes, and ride away as young boys do. There was a field not far from the school and just on the edge of town. The grass grew tall and thick there. Clouds rolled overhead calmly while the breezes brushed the grass tops, causing them to bow slightly to the stealth winds. We’d hide our bikes and backpacks in the steep ditch and walk through the field. We were careful to never use the same path as to not give away our position. We’d go hundreds of feet within. There was a clearing a ways from the road in which we’d lay. It was late fall and I was fifteen years old.
“You know, we can make them pay for what they’ve done to you,” he began the conversation abruptly after we lay down in our usual spot. I had my arm beneath his head and his arm rested on my chest. The words caught me a little off guard. I’d told him everything regarding my situation. I explained the graphic details of the molestation and the beatings. Tears filled my eyes as the words escaped my lips then. It was the first time I’d let anyone into my world, my nightmare. I’d even exposed the fact that I’d killed animals and my feelings about human life and how easily I’d felt I could extinguish one. He didn’t seem to be bothered by my vocalized thoughts. It made me feel more comfortable with him than I had with anyone in my life.
“What do you mean?” I asked him even though I was pretty sure I knew what he was saying.
“I mean, it wouldn’t be that hard to kill them without getting caught,” his words flowed so easily. The all-to-familiar warm feeling of excitement began coursing through my veins. It was the same feeling I’d gotten with any morbid thought of death by my hand. It didn’t take much to convince me. I was a teenager who’d lived a nightmare for long enough. I wanted to wake up and it was something that could finally happen. We continued to discuss the possibilities for a couple of hours.
A few weeks later our plan was set in motion. I went into the basement. The weather had been changing and the nights were beginning to become cold. The furnace was gas and I knew what had to be done. I knelt in front of the furnace and removed the thin metal cover. I carefully placed the covering next to the heating unit and looked inside. A blue flame flickered within. I looked toward the stairs to ensure it was clear, went back to the flame, took a deep breath, and blew as hard as I could. The flame danced and then disappeared. I replaced the cover in the front and snuck upstairs. I walked out the front door with clothing for a sleepover at his house. I didn’t say goodbye, she didn’t deserve one. The late afternoon sun smiled upon me as I pedaled my bicycle to his house. The morbidly comfortable feeling I always got never left me that night. I felt at peace and like a god, in control for the first time.
I said my goodbyes to him the next morning, threw my backpack on, and mounted my bike. The anticipation was killing me. I arrived at the house and tossed my bicycle to the ground. I went to the door, feeling still there, stronger than ever. I was shaking and hopeful. I tried the handle, locked. I placed my key in the lock and turned, it opened. The rancidity of rotten eggs hit my nostrils immediately. It was nauseating. I checked the living room first, ignoring the smell. The television flashed. I noticed the recliner kicked back entirely. Her boyfriend’s blue face stared back at me. I stood at the head of the chair for a moment. His eyes were empty and hollow. His mouth was wide open with a fat protruding tongue. A feeling of accomplishment flowed through my veins. He’d gotten what he’d deserved. I was ruined. I walked toward my mother’s bedroom and opened the door. The vision of her empty eyes stared back at me, the intruder, faggot, bastard, boyfriend stealer, and murderer. I wanted so desperately to go inside her room and grab the belt she’d used to so many times on me. I wanted to beat her corpse for gratification and closure. I refrained from the impulse. The odor began to choke me as I realized how strong it had become. The carbon monoxide seeped into the vents and had become intensified in her bedroom. I began to cough violently. I ran from the house. Once out on the lawn, I vomited. I heaved and heaved until nothing came out but bile. Tears filled my eyes. I ran to the neighbor’s house yelling about my dead family. My act was undeniably Oscar winning.
The police arrived with the coroners to gather me up and to bag the bodies. I never saw my friend after that.
My mind accompanies my eyes on the highway ahead. The city isn’t far. I’d only been to the place a few times. I see the exit and take it. The city isn’t nearly as large as Langley, but it’s big enough that there are options. I pull into town and drive toward Main Street. There are always convenient places near the town square area. Bars are the easiest hangouts and the optimal time is nearing. The sun is starting to become low and the streetlights will soon be flipping on. I watch out my car window, looking left and right for a sign. It isn’t long before I find one. I pull off the street and onto a side road nearby. I get out, take off my suit jacket, remove my tie, and place the items neatly in the backseat. The tie rests like a perfectly coiled snake laying on a rock as it basks in the sun. I lock the car and make my way down, across the street, and into the bar.
Though it’s still rather light outside, the bar is dark and dingy. I look around before finding a seat. A bar top lined with stools runs directly in front of the door. Tacky vinyl tops the barstools and the bar top is cushioned on the corner near the customer by the same type of material. Assorted bottles of alcohol line shelves behind the bar from waist to ceiling. They are organized within cubbyholes lighted individually with black lights. A middle-aged woman with deep-set leathery wrinkles stands behind the bar. Her hair is teased to puffy perfection. She puffs on her cigarette and gives me a nod in greeting. I respond by nodding back. Several tables are located in the middle and matching vinyl booths line the walls opposite the bar. A small dance floor sits empty near the farthest wall at the back. I slide into a booth by the wall facing the dance floor. A couple of older gentlemen sit at one of the tables. A pitcher of beer leaves water rings in the center of their table. They each sip from large, thin glasses. They wear matching construction outfits, neon greenish-yellow shirts with a company name printed on the back in black lettering. They converse quietly back and forth; I don’t care what they’re talking about. A young woman, probably in college, approaches from the other side of the establishment. Her hair is black and neatly tied back. She wears an apron, tight blue jeans, and a low-cut t-shirt. She smiles before getting halfway to my booth.