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So, I’ll see you at Anthony’s tonight at seven?
Wouldn’t miss it.He disconnects, returning the phone to his pocket, feeling somewhat shaken. It’s not like him to get his stories mixed up. He’ll have to be more careful. The last thing he wants is to mess up now.
It’s just that he’s been so preoccupied with Wildflower.
The one who almost got away.
Almost.
“Almost only counts in horseshoes,”he recalls his mother saying, yet another one of her more idiotic expressions. What does it mean, anyway?
He temporarily bristles when he recalls Wildflower’s initial indifference, her casual disregard, the dismissive way she turned from him in the bar without so much as a backward glance. She thinks she’s so good, so smart.
And sheissmart. Smarter than he’s used to, at any rate. A strategic planner. Which gives them something in common. What is he, after all, if not a strategic planner?
“And I have big plans for you, my little Wildflower.” Tonight would be a dress rehearsal of sorts, a chance to try out some new moves, test Audrey’s reactions before springing them on Wildflower.
He gives the marinating steaks a final poke, then takes the juicy, ripe half-watermelon out of the fridge and starts cutting it into bite-sized squares. He’ll use the same knife on Audrey later, he thinks with a smile. He arranges the pieces of watermelon on top of some lettuce, already artfully laid out on small plates, and then slices up some tomatoes to fill out the tableau, followed by a generous sprinkling of feta. The oil-and-vinegar dressing will be applied at the last minute. Balsamic vinegar of course. Extra-virgin olive oil.
He laughs. What the hell is an extra virgin, anyway?
The potatoes are already wrapped in foil, and he stabs at them with his fork, making a series of holes to allow the heat to penetrate. The oven is already preheating. He’s learned from experience that it’s best to have the potatoes prebaked. Big ones like these take at least an hour to heat through. Nothing worse than potatoes that are hard and undercooked. He’ll pop them into the microwave at the last minute, letting them warm up while the steaks are being grilled. That way he doesn’t have to waste another hour making excruciating small talk. He’ll have already put in his time at the bar. Having to listen to a woman natter on about her pathetic little life was interesting only when she knew she was on the verge of death.
He checks his watch. After five already. Just two more hours till Operation Audrey.
He’s humming as he walks into the bedroom, although it takes him a minute to recognize the tune and put words to it. Something about Saturday night being the loneliest night of the week. Not for him, he thinks with a smile, recalling that his mother used to love that song. She’d sing it off and on for hours in her surprisingly pretty voice until his father would yell for her to “shut up already.” And if she didn’t shut up fast enough, well, a punch to the jaw would usually shut her up pretty damn quick.
He reaches into the top drawer of the nightstand beside his bed and retrieves the set of metal handcuffs that have served him so well during his stay in Boston. He’ll get rid of them before he leaves town, as he prefers to start fresh with a new pair in each city he visits. A kind of good luck charm. He checks to make sure they lock properly, tosses the key to the nightstand, and throws the cuffs on the bed. They land beside the rope already laid out. He runs his hand along the rope’s harsh fibers, expertly and effortlessly tying it into a noose, his erection stirring as he imagines twisting it around Audrey’s throat.
He puts so much effort into this planning stage that it’s almost anticlimactic how fast he knows it will all play out, how easy it will be to secure those clumsy handcuffs on Audrey’s delicate wrists, to slip the deadly noose around her unsuspecting neck and tighten it until she is totally within his control.“Have a seat,”he’ll whisper seductively in her ear, his lips grazing the side of her hair, as he pulls out her chair. Then, once she is comfortably seated,“Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you.”
By the time she opens them, it will be too late.
He checks his watch again, amazed to discover that twenty minutes have passed since he last looked. He hurries back into the kitchen and pops the potatoes into the oven, so that they will be done by the time he’s ready to leave. Then he walks back into the bedroom and selects the black silk shirt and pants he’s decided on for his date with Audrey—he always wears black, not wanting to stand out more than he can help—along with some fresh underwear and socks, laying them on the bed beside the rope and handcuffs.
He’s humming as he strips naked and heads for the shower. Of course, he’ll have to shower again later, when he’s covered in Audrey’s blood. But as his mother was so fond of saying,“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
He laughs. Tonight he’ll not only be clean. He’ll be God himself.
