She was the perfect victim. Lifeless but still alive, quiet, no ugly neck wounds to grapple with. Still, it didn’tfeelright. I hadn’t done it. She wasn’t looking at me. She’d never even seen me. I could see all of her, though.
I took a tentative step forward, my wet shoes making that sloshing sound against the carpet as I eyed her from tit to toe. From wide hips to bare pussy. She didn’t look like the type of girl to shave, but I could appreciate the view it gave me. I dropped to my knees. This time in front of the bed, instead of the wet bathroom floor, and set each one of her thighs on a shoulder.
It had been a while since I’d tasted a woman like this. Never really saw the point unless I was gettingsomething in return. And I didn’t mean fucking head. I meant information, a stash of pills, anextra badge and keycard.
But seeing as nothing about tonight was the norm, I leaned forward, took a deep breath, and swiped my tongue over her cunt. Enjoying the silence, the nothingness as I did it again. And again. Not stopping until the similar odor of old pennies replaced the scent of soap and pussy juice. Reminding me that the girl sprawled across the bed, the girl whose bodily fluids were smearing across my face, was also bleeding out.
CHAPTER FOUR
HIM
Ipushed to my feet and tugged Juliet higher up on the bed. Propping her shoulders on some of those million decorative pillows women seemed to hoard for no particular reason. Watching her arm slide off, only to be forced to grab a flatter frillier one to keep her wrists elevated and level with her heart.
Never understood the point of owning something you had no intention of ever using. Then again, guess I wasusingthese ones now to help reduce the bleeding. Nurse Keller had over a dozen in this bedroom. Me? I had precisely two pillows to my name, and that was because I’d clipped the second of 'em back when they thought it was smart for me to have a roommate.
That experiment didn’t last long. Poor fucker had hung himself from the only loose tile in the ceiling within a week. 'Least that was what the paperwork would tell ya.
Iwouldn’t tell ya shit. I wasn’t a snitch.
I yanked my shirt over my head and stripped out ofthe rest of my wet clothes. Walking around bare-assed in Juliet’s house wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing to do, but I’d been here to kill her. It wasn’t like manners were something that mattered in this situation. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin the only clean outfit I’d brought with me.
Might need it later. Once I figured out what the fuck I was doing here.
I snooped around various drawers and cabinets and found a shit-ton of nothing. Nurses were supposed to keep emergency kits on hand, weren’t they? Seemed like the medically sound thing to do. Though I was pretty sure the medically sound thing to do was not slit your fucking wrists in the first place.
I slammed the closet door shut and stomped to the backpack I dropped by the entrance on my way in, digging through the contents until I found the needle and fishing line I kept on me ever since the time my hand slipped on the blade and I nearly severed a fucking finger. Then, using the flame from the stove, I placed the sewing needle I’d swiped off one of the orderlies directly over the flame and waited for the metal to change color before trekking my way back up the steps.
Juliet hadn’t moved. You could barely make out the rise and fall of her chest, but my pillow princess was still breathing. What she really needed was some fluids, maybe a blood transfusion. Neither of which was happening here, and I wasn’t about to take her out there.
Raking a hand through the mop of hair that didn’t exist no more, I stomped forward and began the task of piecing Nurse Keller back together like some homemadestuffed doll. Lucky for her, the gashes weren’t as deep as they looked in the tub. But they sure as shit were deep enough to kill her if I left 'em wide open.
Shit wasn’t pretty, and it was hard to tie a decent knot with all the blood seeping out. But a few quick flicks of my wrist later and Juliet was good as new.
I craned my neck to eye the zigzag pattern I’d stitched across her wrists. Okay, maybe not as good as new. But at least she wasn’t bleeding out all over the goddamn sheets anymore.
CHAPTER FIVE
HIM
Christmas had always been my favorite holiday. We weren’t religious or nothing. It was just the only time it was acceptable for my mother to be as drunk as she was every other day of the year—Christmas and St. Patty’s Day too, I suppose. But no one was giving out four-leaf clovers or whatever green shit was on brand on St. Patty’s Day. No one cared if you went hungry on St. Patty’s Day. But Christmas was when the church folks would stop by with canned goods and regifted presents—as well as lots of stares, a shit-ton of judgment, and the occasional Bible.
Was I a little too old for the toddler toys and used coloring books? And were most of those cans expired and bullshit no one in their right mind actually ate? Like creamed corn and some sort of unrecognizable bean? Yup and yup and yup. But at least they were mine. And not much was mine in that trailer.
Something else my ma liked to remind me of whenever she got the chance. Everything I owned was becauseof her. Including the cock between my legs. Everything except for those toys and coloring books. She was usually too whacked out of her mind to remember me opening them on Christmas morning, when she even bothered coming home, so it was much easier for me to hide everything in the back of the closet without her finding it and trying to hock it as some pawn shop or cash for gold store.
Which was why boredom had me once again snooping around Nurse Keller’s townie. This time, for something more festive than the gray-on-gray décor she had sprinkled around the living room with pops of frilly pinks. I spent a good hour or two rummaging through the house before finding a box of old decorations in the attic. Brand-new, still in the packaging but boxed up anyway. I pulled them down, dropped them into the living room, and then began the task of spreading a little holiday cheer…
The interior was all so… darkandpastel, if that was a thing? What it really needed was some red and green, some cheesy-ass holiday music, and some baked goods. My stomach grumbled at the thought. I was a sucker for sweets. Probably because those were a rarity too.
So I made my way into the kitchen next, grabbed a half-empty packet of stale crackers from Jules’s pantry, and shoved a handful into my mouth as I headed back towards the living room. Where I threw some cheap garland up on the fireplace and a few of those decorative red and green balls into a dish on the coffee table before moving on to the dismantled tree. The box was sealed and there was plastic wrapped around each of thebranches. Like the stuff had gone straight from the register to the attic without ever making a pit stop in the house. But at least I had all the pieces to work with.
It took about twenty minutes or so for me to have the damn thing standing slightly crooked on its own, without bothering to read the instructions, its branches properly fluffed and a few string lights strung haphazardly around the middle. Wasn’t the best looking tree I’d ever seen but wasn’t the worst either.
Then I took my ass back upstairs to the bedroom where my little rag doll was still propped up on the bed. I shoved her to one side, plopped down beside her on the mattress, and flicked on the tv.
CHAPTER SIX
HIM
