by Eric Miller
His voice was deep and resonated in his chest. I found myself wondering what his screams would be like, whether they would remain in that attractive lower register or if they would slowly climb in pitch until they came close to hurting my ears. In either case, if I could work quickly to subdue him and cover my tracks against the incessant pursuit, I would have plenty of time to find out.
Taser guns are truly inspired creations and rendering the blond unconscious was ridiculously easy. Even better, they do the job leaving nary a mark. Absent the two small punctures from the Taser, which could be easily overlooked, the youth’s body would be like a fresh canvas for me to create upon. Obviously, you can’t do what I do without causing some damage. Nevertheless, I like to begin each session cleanly. Accidental bruises and such are an indication of carelessness. While my ministrations are unavoidably messy, I try to pay attention to details and I abhor blatant sloppiness.
I’m strangely fussy, I suppose, and I want my subjects to be physically pristine at the start; it lends an ambiance of purity to the occasion. I take a certain satisfaction in knowing that every slice is deliberate and that nothing is ever mutilated or cut away by accident. If something is crushed rather than removed, or burned rather than cut, it is done for a precise purpose or to provoke a particular reaction. Technique is what counts, technique and patience. With proper technique, one can happily spend several days enjoying oneself. For the moment however, as tempting as it was to begin on the spot, I simply secured his wrists and ankles for travel with zip ties and left him where he’d fallen. I had more than enough time to gag him before stowing him in my trunk; for now, he was out cold anyway.
As for disposing of the older man, his body had tumbled over the lip at the edge of the asphalt and now lay in a hollow of earth slightly below the surface of the road. It was as good a place as any and, with the addition of some dry brush, the corpse was concealed from any but the most observant of freeway travelers who might happen to be looking at the precise spot at the exact right moment. I was just happy that it saved me the time and effort of a burial. If I were at all lucky, it might be as much as a day or two before he was found. That was more than enough time for my purposes as my trail would grow cold in a matter of moments and the young man and I would be safely at our destination within the hour.
My pursuers might deduce who was responsible, if not specifically by name, at least by way of style. They might even step up their efforts, following me more closely, more intently seeking an opportunity to “collar” me, as they say on the television crime shows. But as my years of avoiding them had proven, their having knowledge of who did it was a vastly different thing than their having the ability to stop me.
Moving the truck was problematic. Once I got behind the wheel I realized that I had no idea how to even start the thing. I originally had some notion of driving it into the desert and perhaps concealing it on the far side of one of the dunes. It didn’t need to be very far, just out of immediate sight of the highway. But the stick shift was intimidating, much larger than I’d expected, and all those buttons and levers baffled me. In the end, I simply left it by the side of the road with the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition, hoping that some enterprising criminal might steal it before anyone realized it was abandoned.
Hoisting bound young men onto my shoulders is never an easy feat. They seem to weigh far less when they’re fully conscious. Then again, when they’re awake and have an inkling of what’s going to happen to them, they tend to flail about, making them difficult to keep hold of. Everything else being equal, in spite of the increased difficulty, unconscious is better. I carried him back to my car, opened the trunk…and stopped, confronted by my own stupidity.
Every incident has its own wrinkles and unexpected complications. Fortunately, they are usually minor ones and can be easily overcome. This time, I’d been so caught up in the excitement of the pursuit that I had completely forgotten about the other boy!
It was a terribly foolish oversight on my part, especially since the only reason I’d been headed out to the desert in the first place was to dispose of the body. Praying that the corpse was not still in a state of rigor, I breathed a sigh of relief when he folded quite nicely, leaving just enough room for me to tuck my new acquisition in beside him. It looked like a tight squeeze and the blond was apt to be a tad uncomfortable, but things would have been much more unpleasant for him if I’d had to “hack and stack” by the side of the road.
By this time, the young man had regained consciousness and he began to struggle. There was fear in his eyes, as well as an understandable anger and frustration at his helplessness. But he seemed determined to hide his fright and he did it well. It was only when he realized that his traveling companion was already dead that his terror surged and he began desperately writhing and straining against his bindings.
I placed my hand on his chest to reassure him, admiring the way the muscles flexed beneath my fingers as he fought to free himself. He was strong. Good. He would last.
“Shhh,” I crooned. “Just relax and everything will be fine.”
My eyes darted up the road and I squinted. For an instant, I thought I’d seen a flash of something bright, as if light was reflecting from the metal grill of an approaching car. I waited for several long moments before concluding that it must have been my imagination. As eager as I was to bury the one youth and get to work on the other, I resolved to take my time and proceed with my usual caution. The people who I feared were adept at sniffing out vulnerability. Should they descend upon me while the two young men were bundled in the trunk, I would indeed find myself vulnerable!
I turned back to my captive. Naively, he was still testing his bonds, hoping even while hope faded that he could summon the strength to break free. Oh, he was a feisty one indeed!
“I’ve got everything under control.”
I hoped my even, relaxed tone would calm him down a little. If he continued thrashing so strenuously, I was concerned that he’d hurt himself.
“You needn’t worry. I’m always very careful.”
I bent over the open trunk. Our faces were so close that we would have been breathing each other’s exhalations had he not been gagged. I always find the smell of helpless terror intoxicating. A single trickle of sweat ran down the strong column of his neck and pooled in the hollow of his throat. I was captivated by the sight of it.
There is an unavoidable intimacy to what I do. A rare few of my young men come to understand that and, when they do, it makes the time we spend together far more meaningful. Something told me this youth might be one of the special ones. As if stimulated by that thought, my tongue darted out with a mind of its own and, before I quite realized what was happening, I licked up the droplet of moisture. The salty tang of it sent delicious shivers of anticipation coursing through my entire body. Yes, I knew this boy was going to be special.
“There’s nothing to worry about.”
Though my voice was a soft whisper, it was laden with the promise of what was to come.
“After all, they haven’t caught me yet.”
Meghan Arcuri writes fiction and poetry. Her short stories can be found in various anthologies, including Chiral Mad from publisher Written Backwards, and Insidious Assassins from Smart Rhino Publications. She lives with her family in New York’s Hudson Valley. You can visit her at www.meghanarcuri.com or www.facebook.com/meg.arcuri.
BEYOND THE BEST SEASONING
Meghan Arcuri
“SO WHAT DO YOU THINK’S IN IT?”
Dex sighed. They’d barely pulled out of the loading dock, and Kyle was already talking about the damn thing.
“Don’t know.” Dex hoped brevity would end the conversation.
“Food?”
Dex sighed. Guess not.
“Guns? Drugs?” Kyle laughed that dopey laugh of his. “Porn?”
“Jesus, Kyle.” Dex took a hit off the joint he’d just lit. According to the GPS, the ride was supposed to take four hours. Four damn
hours. On the back roads of upstate New York. With this stupid idiot. No way he could do it without altering his state of mind.
“Hey, man,” Kyle said, shoving his hand in Dex’s face. “Gimme a hit.”
Dex hesitated. This was the shit from his brother. The good shit. He didn’t want to share.
“Please,” Kyle said, whining like a four-year-old. He probably wouldn’t stop.
Dex passed him the joint.
“Thanks, man.” Kyle took a hit. Made a big production out of it.
Tool.
“So what do you think’s in it?” Kyle said.
“Mr. Fitch told us not to ask any questions.”
Fitch owned the trucking company Dex and Kyle worked for.
Fitch’s Delivery: Service with a smile.
Original, Bob Fitch was not. But he ran a tight ship. And, known for being discrete, he made all kinds of deliveries. He trusted Dex with his most delicate customers. Kyle, not so much. He was a big dope, and even Fitch knew it. But Kyle was his new girlfriend’s son, and he needed a job. And at 6’3”, 250, he had the right stuff for loading the heavy deliveries.
Not that this one was heavy.
“I guess. I wouldn’t wanna ask that dude questions, anyway,” Kyle said.
“Fitch?”
“No, man. That dude we got the package from. Fucking freak, if you ask me.”
“Did he scare you?” Dex liked messing with Kyle sometimes.
Kyle sat up straighter in his seat. “No way. Used to beat the fuck out of skinny fucks like that in high school.”
I’m sure you did. Probably afraid of them, too.
“Nah,” Kyle said. “That dude was just straight up weird. Slicked back hair, sunglasses at night. And did you see those fingers?”
“They were pretty spindly.”
“Huh?”
“Like a spider’s legs.”
“Exactly.” Kyle waved his fingers in front of Dex’s face and made a high-pitched noise. “They’re gonna get you!”
Dex slapped at his hand. “Knock it off.”
More of that stupid laugh.
“He kept saying weird things about it, too,” Kyle said. “‘It’s delicate,’ ‘needs to join with the other six,’ ‘it would be a sin if it didn’t make it.’ Then laughed like he’d made a joke.”
“Yeah…” Dex thought he was odd, too. “I think he’s just a strange guy with some strange things. Fitch deals with a lot of guys like him.”
“Well, I hope I don’t have to deal with them too often.”
“It’s a job, Kyle. You do the work and get paid. And don’t ask too many questions.”
Kyle took another huge hit off the joint.
“Gimme that,” Dex said. “Shit, Kyle.”
He’d left Dex with hardly anything. Dex finished off what little was left.
Kyle huffed a laugh.
***
They had driven for a while in silence when Kyle said, “Seriously, though, man. We can ask each other questions, right?”
“Of course.” But Dex didn’t really want to. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Kyle was right. Weird just scratched the surface with that guy. Sure, he looked a little different, but other things set off Dex’s Freak-O-Meter. The guy was quiet. Too quiet. And his voice, when he did speak, reminded Dex of some creepy B-movie vampire.
Not to mention the upside down cross he wore. Dex’d thought that meant atheism, but at one point, the guy looked to the sky and said, “Unworthy, my Lord.” Who knew what that was all about?
Plus, the strange package.
“So?” Kyle said.
“So what?”
“What do you think’s in it?”
“I have no idea.” And usually Dex didn’t care. When he had a job to do, he did it. Pick up the package, transport the package, drop off the package. Get paid.
But something about this package intrigued him, too.
“I mean, it was so damn big but light as a fucking feather,” Kyle said.
That and its unusual shape.
Dex had never seen anything like it.
Kyle’s stomach rumbled.
“Didn’t eat dinner, huh?” Dex said.
“I figured we could stop somewhere.”
Dex laughed. “It’s the middle of the night. And there aren’t any stops on this route. It’s all back roads, small town shit.”
“Damn.” Kyle downed the last of the coffee they’d bought before they’d left. His stomach rumbled again.
“Check the glove box. Sometimes Ron or Cheeks leaves stuff in there.”
Kyle opened it. “Nothing but some stupid wet wipes and ketchup packets. Should’ve known. Those fat fucks eat everything. I’m surprised this stuff is still here. But…” He snapped his fingers. “Sometimes there’s a cooler in the back.”
“I don’t remember seeing one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“100% sure?”
“What is this, middle school? No, I’m not 100% sure.”
“Then let’s stop and check.”
The cab jerked as the truck hit a pothole. A drop of Dex’s coffee splashed into the cup holder. He finished the drink.
“Where do you suggest I pull over? No shoulder on these roads.”
“Who cares? It’s the middle of the night. So what if our tail’s hanging out on the road a little? Not like we’ve seen another car in a while.”
He had a point. Miraculously. And if pulling over would get him to quit whining about his hunger, then Dex would do it.
“Fine.” Dex stopped the truck.
They went to the back and opened the door.
The box hadn’t moved much, due to the expert loading job Dex had done. The box itself was almost as wide as the bed of the truck, but not as long. A few straps and a couple of blankets took care of that. Kyle had stood by and watched as Dex had packed it. If the shape and size of the box hadn’t been so large and unwieldy, Dex would’ve been able to do this job himself. Would’ve kept all the tip money, too.
Mr. Daddy Long Fingers may have been a freak, but he tipped well. Best tip Dex’d ever gotten, even with splitting it. And he’d promised more at the destination, if the package arrived safe and sound.
That thing must be pretty important to the guy.
Kyle hopped into the back of the cargo compartment.
“Careful,” Dex said.
“I’m fine,” Kyle said. “Thing looks like a giant, weird-shaped pizza box.”
“You’re just hungry.” Although he pretty much nailed the description. The large box was brown and plain and about a foot thick. It looked to be sealed with one piece of packing tape.
“What the hell shape is that? A pentagon?” Kyle said.
“Heptagon,” Dex said.
“I always sucked at math.”
Apparently.
“Pentagon’s got five sides. That thing has seven.”
“Well excuse me, Alfred Einstein.”
Oh god.
“Albert.”
“Huh?”
“It’s Albert Einstein. Not Alfred.”
“Whatever.” Kyle stood on his tiptoes and looked around the back of the truck. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“No cooler.”
“Told you.”
“Now we know for sure.” Kyle didn’t move, his eyes seeming to linger on the package.
“Let’s go, man. We’ve got three more hours ahead of us,” Dex said. “I just want to get this trip over with.”
“It’d be easy enough.” Kyle didn’t look at Dex, his normally booming voice now almost a whisper.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Opening it.”
“The box?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re crazy, man. We’re supposed to deliver the packages, not open them.”
Kyle looked at Dex. “You really think we’d be the first guys to open one?”
Dex had he
ard all sorts of stories in his five years at Fitch’s company. “No. But it’s not something I do.”
“Well, aren’t you a big, fucking Boy Scout?”
“No, but it’s just not right.”
“Whatever, man.” Kyle pulled out his pocketknife and, before Dex could blink, sliced the sole piece of tape.
“What the hell, Kyle?”
Dex wanted to rip the knife from his hands, shove him from the box, and get back into the cab. But Kyle was huge, and Dex had never been one for confrontation.
“Relax, man. We’ve got plenty of tape. We’ll just peek in, see what’s so special, then tape it right up. Like nothing happened.” Kyle pocketed the knife and lifted the top of the box. Hinged at one side of the heptagon, it opened like a pizza box, too.
Sweat formed on Dex’s upper lip. His heart raced. This was wrong. He wanted to hide in the cab. But pride kept his feet rooted.
And, if he were honest with himself, so did curiosity.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this.” One last, feeble protest.
“Too late, bro,” Kyle said. “And don’t you smell that? I think there’s food in here.”
Dex wanted to protest, tell Kyle his hunger was getting the best of him. But damn if he didn’t smell food, too. Something savory and delicious.
Kyle dug through a sea of packing peanuts. “Go get a flashlight.”
Dex complied, grabbing the big Maglite from under the driver’s seat.
It’s gone this far. Might as well see what it is.
He jumped into the back and held it over the package.
“So weird,” Kyle said. “All that packing shit…for this?”
Kyle had moved the peanuts to reveal a small, pine chest. About two feet by one, it had two bronze hinges and a simple, bronze latch. No lock.
Kyle undid the latch and lifted the top.
“Hallelujah,” Kyle said. “It’s like my prayers have been answered.”
The flashlight shone on dozens of piping hot bacon cheeseburgers.
Dex’s favorite.
Now his stomach rumbled.
The chest seemed too small for such a large amount of food, but before Dex could voice the thought, Kyle had reached in and grabbed one.