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I’d be damned if I let this man get the upper hand. I skirted around the island, making a move before he could. The knife met flesh, soft and tender. There was a satisfying squish as the tip of the blade sank into his side.
A pained scream tore from his mouth. I turned the handle, forcing it deeper, splitting his skin on either side. Staring right into his surprised beady eyes, I gave one last twist, shoving the blade until it refused to go any further, watching the shiny metal disappear completely.
My hands started to slip, I reaffirmed my hold, pulling the knife back out with little effort. Gabe grabbed his side as if to close the wound with his fingers’, an agonized sound coming from between his lips.
“You bitch,” he choked out, falling from the stool. He tried to right himself, vomiting clear liquid all over my floor in the process.
I stepped back, still holding onto the knife, hands sticky with his blood. I moved in again and pressed the blade to his throat, fisting the hair that had been lying so irritatingly perfect atop his head.
“Tell me the truth. Who are you?”
Something garbled came in response. I felt his body growing heavier, and relinquished my hold, watching him slump to the floor. I hadn’t really been expecting an answer. I was merely curious if he would tell me anything.
I rescued the envelope before it could become saturated with blood, and rested my back against the island.
On the floor, Gabe’s body began to twitch. He reached for me, a plea for mercy on his lips. Had the tables been turned, I knew he wouldn’t have shown me an ounce of compassion. I knocked his hand away and moved further out of reach.
Minutes dragged by until he took one last ragged breath, going utterly still. Silence returned to my home, bringing an odd sense of comfort with it. I glanced around the kitchen, breathing in the metallic tinge of fresh blood and the nauseating stench of lemon-y vomit.
I placed the knife on the island, and then squatted down to do a quick search of Gabe’s body. I didn’t bother removing the gun. It wasn’t like he’d be using it, and I wasn’t looking to horde stolen Glocks. Feeling something square and solid in his right pocket, I reached in to grab it.
“Bingo,” I muttered, pulling out a brown leather wallet. Once glance at the ID confirmed his name was certainly not Gabe.
He was Tony Roland. My second kill. Thirty-four-years-old, married, and from Daytona. That was a few thousand miles away from my little town.
For the first time since this all began, I started to wonder just how far-reaching this all went. I still didn’t fully understand what Dad had been involved in.
I searched through the rest of the wallet but didn’t find anything else of importance. There were a few credit cards, a receipt for a Big Mac meal, and a picture of Tony with his arm wrapped around a curly haired woman. Two young boys stood at their side. His family I assumed. He wouldn’t be returning to them. But whose fault was that?
I knew firsthand how it felt to lose a parent, two at that. I didn’t feel sorry for them, or for what I’d just done. Later, maybe that was when the guilt would set in. Unlike the first time, I might be remorseful for taking a life, feel sick for enjoying the way the knife pierced his flesh.
Right now, all I cared about was someone discovering my heinous crime. The first kill was not but a few weeks old.
Could I cope with two? What happened if I got to three? It made me think of something my mother used to say. “We’re all a few genetics away from being insane.”
The problem with that? I didn’t think of myself as crazy, and she definitely was. I still held firm to the belief I was nothing like her. I didn’t want to be. I’d have given anything to be the girl I spent so long pretending I was—shy and sweet. Not this recluse who used liquor to soothe her soul and hid her darkness in swirls on a canvas.
A killer.
A liar.
Hedonistic.
I blinked, bringing myself back to the moment. What was I doing? I didn’t have time for this. I needed to get this man’s body out of here before Emery came back, or worse, Rhett showed up.
I took another look at Gabe’s ID to memorize his zip code, and then pocketed one of his credit cards at random.
Once the wallet was snugly back in his pocket, I took in the blood all over my floor and island, contemplating what I should do with him. Dragging him out the back door wasn’t an option. My garage would have been perfect if not for the lack of hiding place
s. And, of course, there was the issue of him eventually beginning to smell.
That only left one other spot to stash his body. I went to the kitchen sink to gather what I would need. A few heavy-duty trash bags to start with.
I’d need the entire box judging by the size of him. I tore one free and bagged his lower half, repeating the process twice more before moving onto his upper body. When both ends were wrapped, I used another few bags to roll him up burrito style.
By the time I was finished my arms felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. I used my shoulder to swipe a few droplets of sweat off my face, dreading having to move this man all the way to the basement. For once I was glad that Emery worked a good hour and fifteen minutes away. She would just be arriving if traffic flowed smoothly.
I knew from experience her co-workers and boss would keep her talking for a bit. This all worked in my favor since it would take me nearly twenty minutes to get Tony downstairs.
