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As I pull him into the house and place him on the wooden chair in the center of the living room, I turn to him and smile.
“Your grave,” I chuckle. Recognition hits him when he looks at me, his eyes frantically look around the room, for what I’m not sure. Maybe an escape? Was he expecting Chase here too? Who knows.
“Not having a good day, are you, Bobby?” I say, towering above him while he remains seated in the chair. He goes to move, so I kick him in the stomach with my booted foot, resulting in him falling backwards along with the chair. The wooden pieces break under his heavy weight and he cries out in pain, holding his stomach.
“What's the matter, Bobby? Can’t stand up to a fag? Tsk tsk, I’m disappointed.” I move over him and pull on his hair to lift his head up and punch him hard across the face. The rings on my fingers act like knuckle dusters, causing more damage to his skin, splitting it apart, causing blood to trickle down his ugly face. He groans again in pain, and spits out the blood oozing from his mouth, along with a tooth. Nice.
“You’ll never get away with this,” he wheezes.
“Oh, I will. I’ve done this many times before. Nobody will miss you. I’m doing the community a service,” I say as I move to the corner of the room and grab the baseball bat that has been a trusted little friend of mine in the past. It's well used, parts of the wood chipped, dented and faded.
He moves into a sitting position and tries to wiggle himself away from me, thinking he can escape. He puts his hands up as a sign of surrender, but that's not happening. Let this be a warning, ladies and gentlemen, be careful who you spout your shit to. You never know until it's too late when you’ve messed with the wrong person.
“Please, let me go. I’m sorry for what I said. I’ll do better, I-I won’t say anything about this … just please let me go home.” Then he starts to cry and blubber, causing me to roll my eyes.
I pretend to mull over his request, then I get distracted thinking of Chase. Fuck. I can’t wait to get inside him again. The urgency to get back to him takes over. I need to wrap this shit up.
“Night, night Bobby.”
I smile and swing the bat like I’m batting for the Mariners. The crack of his skull sounds like wood that's been chopped with an axe.It's not enough. I continue beating his head until the hard shell becomes soft mush, swinging the bat over my shoulder like I’m a lumberjack, putting all my strength into the hit. The squelching sounds of blood and brain juices are so satisfying. It doesn’t take many hits for his face to no longer look like a face. The only clue that it ever was, is the eyeball that's hanging off the flesh. Blood splatters cover the walls and floor. Fortunately, the whole house is wood paneling from ceiling to floor, so cleaning up is easier than if it was carpet and painted walls.
My hands and body are drenched in the fountain of red that's been beaten out of his body. It's a hell of a workout, too. Sweat pours down my forehead and spine. Then relief and satisfaction shudders through me, calming the madness that flared when this fucker opened his mouth. I find it hard to describe what killing does for me. It’s like a bolt of lightning passes through my body, charging my blood with power and control. I like being the judge, jury and executioner. Witnessing a person with color in their cheeks and air in their lungs suddenly turn to a cold, expressionless corpse gives me a gratification that nothing else can.
I grab my phone from my back pocket, wanting to document this moment like I have many others. You see, I like little mementos, trophies of what I’ve done. I’m fascinated by death. How the human body so quickly takes on a form of beauty that others rarely see. Standing back to get Bobby in frame, I take a couple of pictures with my phone and store them to my photoalbum. I have named the album ‘Beauty of Art’, as thats what this is to me. A creative collection that makes my body thrum with power and gratification. That I was the sole person to end their life, to play god. It’s a fucking rush. Taking one last look at my handiwork, I place my phone back into my pocket.
Now the boring part. I have to clean this shit up. But it was worth it. Nobody speaks to my man like that. If I’d had more time, I would’ve drawn the whole event out, but I need to get back.
Removing my shirt and jacket, leaving my torso bare, I get to work. Because I’m always prepared, I have spare clothes and shoes here for such emergencies and a working shower. I just need to return his truck to where he had parked it and get home.
CHAPTER 26
CHASE
“Ugh, fuck off,” I mutter to myself, slamming my phone into my bag.
“That's not very nice,” Liam says from behind me, leaning against my office door.
It's the end of the day and I can’t wait to get home.
“Not you. Fucking Wade has started calling again.”
“I thought you were changing your number? If he’s harassing you, you need to report him. Just because he’s a lawyer, doesn’t make him above the law, Chase.”
“I know, I just thought after the last time he would’ve taken the hint,” I say, putting on my coat and hitching my bag over my shoulder. We walk out together, still no closer to a solution to deal with Wade. Or Noah.Noah. I wish I could talk to Liam about it, but I already know what he’ll say. And I don’t want to hear it.
“You wanna get a beer or something? Jane is working late tonight, so I don’t need to be home.”
“As tempting as that sounds, being your backup, I’m just going to head home. Another time?” I ask, and he nods. We get outside and say our goodbyes and I walk to my car. Ever sincefinding out about Noah's stalking antics, I always wonder if he is watching me…like, is he watching me right now? The idea of it makes my body tingle all over, which is just ridiculous.What has he done to me?The anger and disgust I felt when I found out is now directed at myself, because I like the idea of him watching me.
Getting home, I throw a frozen pizza into the oven and take a quick shower while it cooks. After I’ve dried off, and have gotten into my sweats and T-shirt, I settle down into my couch with my cardboard pizza and water, aimlessly channel surfing, trying to find something that holds my attention. I need the distraction, otherwise I’d be freaking out that Noah is coming over. And not because I’m afraid of him, which I should be. He just makes me nervous, he makes me want things that I know in real life won't work for us.
I clean up my plate and go back to sit and watch TV for another hour before I turn in for the night when the TV blacks out and the whole house goes into darkness. Everything, including the fridge has switched off. Shit. Using the flashlight on my phone, I walk to the bay window to see if it's just my house, but nope, the whole street is out. Great.
The previous owners had left a box of tapered candles and holders in the kitchen when I moved in, so I grab a few of those with some matches so I can at least have some light upstairs. Using my phone light, I go upstairs and arrange the candles around my room, so at least I won’t break my toes in the night. It actually feels kinda nice, having the room in such soft lighting, it's very relaxing.
Stripping down to my birthday suit, I snuggle up under the covers and let myself relax, pretending my life isn’t an epic car crash with a stalking psycho and a persistent ex in my life. Checking my phone, it's ten pm and no new message or calls from Wade have been received. Thank god.
I close my eyes, and after a few minutes have passed, my body begins to feel light. My mind is empty, and the drifting feeling of sleep washes over me. I’m just on the verge of going under when a creaking noise on the stairs makes my eyes fly open. I know it's him. Turning my head to the side, I watch the door. It slowly opens and my heart pumps so fast it's making me dizzy. He hasn’t even walked into the room and I’m on the edge of blowing my load.
