Page 9 of Vicious Hearts
I had intended to bury Dead Roxanne deep and far from home, hoping she’d just fade into the earth, leaving her friends to wonder. It’s pleasant to imagine an alternative to reality. Maybe she went to Italy like she said she would someday. Perhaps she just wanted a new start. But no need to find out for sure that she’s nowhere and nothing.
But now Living Roxanne has run away, stealing Dead Roxanne’s tranquil fate. What a fucking bitch.
Too little chloroform, maybe. Certainly not firm enough bindings. I didn’t adjust my methods to account for Roxanne being an adult. Smashing someone’s head was a new experience for me. So much blood. It was kinda interesting, watching it bubble from her skull like a geyser. I thought she’d have bled out by the time we got here.
She must have woken up when I stopped. This is what happens when I try to busk it. One call of nature, I failed to check the trunk before setting off, and that’s all it took to make my situation so much worse than it was.
I speak to Momma and tell her what I’ve done. She tells me not to panic and to go home.
The morning will come, and with it, Living Roxy or Dead Roxy. It can’t bring both.
The Dollmaker is in prison. No one will believe her.
As for me—what do we do when we don’t succeed?
We try again.
3
Three days later…
Ben
Idump my bag on the floor and look around.
My plants are dead, the leaves hanging limply. I should have asked someone to water them.
Who was I gonna ask? I went to the roof of the fuckingEarthto get away from people. One person in particular.
Six months it's been. I went straight from Hawaii to Mexico to climb Pico de Orizaba and get my head out of the game. Then I didn't feel like going home, so I didn't. I kept getting on planes and kept climbing. I'm only here now because I'm low on funds, but part of me thinks I should have kept going until I eventually fucked up and froze to death on some treacherous slope.
The red light flashes on my answering machine. It's crazy that I still have a landline, but I like to give the impression that I'll get back to people eventually, and I refuse to enable voicemail on my cell phone. I press the playback button.
"You have ninety-nine messages," the machine trills.
That's the maximum.How many times did it record over itself?
I never told anyone where I was going, but besides Leo, there's no one I care to hear from. I have yet to speak to him since his wedding. It was awkward as fuck, and I don't know how to address it. I suspect it was Ali's doing that Roxy and I ended up alone together in Hawaii, but what good would it do to throw accusations around now?
What happened was all on me. I let Roxy in, tossed out all my reservations, and gave myself permission to indulge my selfish whims. It was only when she said she was a virgin that I came to my senses.
She told me she wanted to go to Italy for a while, maybe travel around Europe. If I'm lucky, she's no longer kicking around here.
"First message." The machine clicks. I reach for the buttons again and tap a couple.
"Delete all. Are you sure?"
I press once more to confirm, and the red light goes off.
The air feels stale, like on an airplane. I've had enough of that sensation recently, so I open the window. The breeze is welcome, but the dirge of the city's endless grind isn't.
The television remote is on the table, and after a few attempts to turn it on, I realize it's still switched off at the outlet. I flick the power on and settle down on the chair again, rummaging through my bag for water as the local news anchor goes through the motions.
"Simon Farraday, better known as sadistic killer 'The Dollmaker…"
He isn't a sadist. He's just a sad weirdo, like I said he would be.
"...is recovering after a vicious assault at the hands of a fellow patient at Kirby Forensic Psychiatry center, Wards Island. Farraday was allowed to mix with the other violent and dangerous patients, a risky decision considering the nature of his crimes."
