Tastes Like Winter

by Penny Wynter

  A sudden thought electrifies me. I can't believe how freaking stupid I am. Why did I go back home? I should have knocked on the window or something like that. No serial killer wants a witness. He would kill me, and that's what I want.

  Oh, this is perfect.

  No more failed attempts at killing myself. I will just let him finish the job. That's brilliant.

  Before I can change my mind, I grab the package and march out of the front door. I don't care that this is crazy or that my pulse is racing. Finally, I have a solution to all my problems, and I'm not going to waste it.

  There's no stopping me as I jog to his house, climb onto the porch and knock on the door. Was it loud enough? Maybe he's scrubbing the floor and didn't hear me.

  I knock again, my knuckles banging loudly against the wood.

  Oryn doesn't need long to open, and I'm a bit disappointed that he's wearing a shirt now. But he's still barefoot.

  "This is for you."

  He cocks his eyebrow and takes the package from my hand. "Oh, thanks. I was wondering where this ended up."

  I'm trying to find the right words as I realize that I'm simply standing there, staring at him like a crazy person.

  He leans against the doorframe and studies me. "Is there anything else I can help you with during this late neighborly call?"

  "I saw the light in your windows." Great. Why do I feel the need to make up an excuse? We both know he was still up. It's late, but not that late.

  "You sure do see a lot of things through windows." He looks at me from his silvery eyes, and my heart is about to explode in my chest. He knows that I've watched him.

  "I know what you did," I blurt out.

  "When? Last summer? Yesterday? An hour ago?"

  "You killed two people. Well, at least two people."

  "If that is true, then why are you standing here, talking to me?"

  I curl my toes inside my Converse sneakers since his deep and growly voice does funny things to my stomach. "Maybe I should call the cops."

  "Maybe you should." He shrugs again, and his gaze travels over my body.

  I feel the need to shiver, but I don't dare show my fear. This is not how I imagined this conversation would go down. Is there a chance he didn't understand me properly?

  "You are a killer."

  "You mentioned something similar before. Are you alright?" There's a twinkle in his eyes, telling me how much he enjoys this. He's toying with me.

  "So, you want me to go to the police?"

  "I don't know. You don't look like you're serious."

  "What?" I can't believe this guy. Why can't he just grab me and drag me inside to finish me off? All I want is for him to kill me. Is that really too much to ask?

  "You heard me. If I'm a killer—what are you doing standing on my porch? You can hardly expect me to ask you to come inside, do you?"

  "How about you try to deny that you are a killer?"

  "Why would I even bother? It's absurd. Do you have proof?"

  "Yeah, I do."

  "No, you don't, Celeste."

  Startled, I take a step back. "How do you know my name?"

  "I like to stay informed on pretty girls who peer through my living room window."

  "Um." Awesome. This asshole calls me pretty instead of doing what I want, and all of a sudden, I don't know what to say anymore. Since my approach clearly isn't working, I need to change my plan. "Can I come in?"

  He laughs. "Oh my God. This is too good. Yes, please do come in."

  Oryn takes a step to the side, but I still get a whiff of how good he smells as I walk past him.

  I head toward the living room, expecting him to stop me. He doesn't. Instead, he follows me and watches as I stare at the perfectly clean floor.

  "They were lying right here, and it smells like bleach."

  "Be sure to tell this to the cops." He sits down on the sofa, not a worry in the world bothering him.

  "Why aren't you upset?"

  His silvery eyes are gleaming. "Because you're still here. You came back, so I know you want something from me. And I have already determined that you're probably a little unhinged yourself. Not only because you witnessed a murder and forgot to call the cops but because I've been doing some watching myself lately."

  My pulse is thrumming in my ears. "Unhinged is a bit harsh, don't you think?"

  "I don't think it is, Celeste. You only ever go out at night, you lurk in the shadows, silent and invisible like a ghost, and everyone else on this street thinks that you moved away after your fiancé passed. My condolences, by the way. I needed to make sure that my new neighbors don't pay too much attention to what I'm doing, and I figured the pretty ghost from next door wouldn't give me any problems."

  For a moment, the pain takes my breath away, but I force the emotions down because I don't have time to deal with them right now. "You've been watching me?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry, did I invade your privacy, my little ghost?"

  "When?"

  "I didn't stalk you, so calm the fuck down. I merely paid attention to when and how often you leave the house."

  I start walking in circles through his living room. How does one propose to be killed? Maybe I should just straight up say it out loud. I stop in front of him, our knees almost touching. Oryn looks up at me, and from this close, he's even more attractive. Especially with that arrogant smirk on his face.

  "I want you to kill me."

  "No." He doesn't even consider it before he barks the short answer. It sounds pretty final.

  "You can fuck me beforehand if that's what you want. Like you did with the other woman?"

  "I appreciate the offer." He turns his arm as if to look at his watch, yet he isn't wearing one. "No way! It's that late already? You should probably go now."

  He gets up, grabs my upper arm, and drags me toward the door, giving me a first taste of how strong he is.

  "I don't want to go. I want you to kill me."

  "Won't happen. Now hush and go home, little ghost."

  With that, he shoves me outside and locks the door behind me.

  For a moment, I consider crying and begging, but my instinct tells me that he wouldn't care. No. I need another strategy if I want him to kill me.

  Little ghost.

  Fucking asshole.

  5

  I really hope Oryn appreciates my efforts. Otherwise, I stole that make-up for nothing. Since I'm out of money, I couldn't really afford to get dolled up, but I figured I could at least try to seduce him into killing me.

  It sounds sad, even thinking about it. I can't kill myself, and apparently, I can't get anybody else to do it either. I would cry if it wouldn't ruin my make-up.

  I still feel bad for stealing a six dollar make-up palette and a dress off the clearance rack from a big chain store, although I'm sure they won't have to file for bankruptcy because of it. But I've never stolen anything before in my life (not counting those useless sleeping pills), and I don't know how to deal with the remorse.

  I'm such a mess.

  Smoothing down the wrinkled fabric with my hands, I plaster my best smile onto my face and knock on my neighbor's door. Tonight, I will get him to kill me.

  I wait, my ear pressed onto the cold wood, but I hear nothing. Don't tell me he isn't home. Damn. I'm already freezing my ass off in this stupid summer dress and my Converse sneakers. Rubbing my arms, I walk to the window to take a peek inside, and sure enough, the lights are off, but Oryn is sitting on the couch, sipping beer from a bottle and watching TV. His face is illuminated by the tv which makes his pale eyes look even more eerie.

  Frustrated, I knock on the window.

  He sighs, closes his eyes for a second before he gets up, and puts the bottle down. My heart beats faster as he approaches.

  He opens the window and props his hands right and left on the frame. "Come on, little ghost, don't tell me you don't know what it means when someone doesn't answer the door."

  "I need to talk to you."

  Oryn
leans closer, his eyebrow cocked. "What is that on your face? It looks hideous."

  Hideous? Yesterday, I looked hideous with my unplucked eyebrows, no make-up, and unwashed hair—and he had the audacity to call me pretty.

  I lift my chin to appear more confident than I feel. "Can I come in now?"

  "No."

  "Oryn, please."

  He narrows his silver eyes at me. "Say that again."

  "What?" I'm confused.

  "Beg me again, little ghost, and I might just give in."

  "Stop calling me a ghost." I'm about to stomp my foot when he laughs and puts his strong hands on my upper arms. He pulls me in through the window, and I hit my shins on the windowsill.

  "Your skin feels like ice—maybe there's more to my ghost theory than I thought."

  I click my tongue and slap his hands away. "I wanted to look pretty for you, so you'd be more compliant."

  "Why? You still want me to kill you, little ghost? And you looked way better yesterday. This does nothing for me." He waves his hand, describing my face and the dress.

  Damn it. I take a deep breath to calm myself down. "No problem. I can wash my face and take the dress off. All you have to do is promise to kill me."

  "I won't kill you, little ghost. We've been over this." He walks back to the couch, picks up the beer, and takes a big swig.

  "Why not? If you don't do it, I swear I will go to the police and tell them everything."

  "Right. Let me know how that works out for you. Especially the part where they ask you why you didn't come in immediately." He sits down and picks up the remote, changing the channel.

  "I really don't get it. Why won't you kill me? You clearly enjoyed killing that other woman and not to sound too arrogant, but I think I'm way prettier than her." I cross my arms, unsure of what to do. Should I sit down next to him? Be bold and walk to the fridge to get a beer of my own? My stomach rumbles because I haven't eaten since yesterday. I officially ran out of food, and I was so nervous when I stole the make-up that I forgot to take something to eat for myself.

  Oryn stares at me for a moment before he gets up. He vanishes into the kitchen and comes back with a sandwich wrapped in clingfilm. "Sit down, little ghost."

  His voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because he sounds so damn stern. Since my knees feel a bit weak anyway, I obey him and place my butt on the couch. The sandwich lands on my lap, and I find myself peeling away the wrapping.

  "You got it all wrong, Celeste. I'm not a serial killer but an assassin."

  "At the end of the day, you kill people, don't you? So, what's the difference?" I take a bite, and it tastes delicious. Turkey and lettuce with sharp cheddar and mayonnaise. It feels like forever since I had a decent meal. But then again, I expected to be dead about three weeks ago.

  "The difference is that I'm a professional with an impeccable reputation. I don't walk around killing random people, and my services don't come cheap. If you don't happen to have fifty grand lying around in that ruin of a house over there, I don't see myself killing you anytime soon." He winks at me and sips his beer.

  "You can't be serious." I stare at him, the sandwich halfway between my lips and my lap.

  "Nope. No money, no murder, little ghost."

  "So, if I get the money, you'll do it?"

  "Of course." He puts his feet on the table, clearly getting comfortable while I'm sitting here, eating his food.

  "I don't assume you'd be willing to accept payment via installments?"

  "Nice try. Who's going to pay once you're dead?"

  I swallow the last bite. "Good point. Wait. How about sex?"

  "It's not that I'm opposed to that idea, but how many times would that be?"

  "I don't know." Biting my lip, I shrug. "How much does a prostitute charge?"

  He grins and pulls a smartphone from his pocket. "I have no idea, but the internet might help us out with that."

  I watch him as he googles and reads up on that topic. Now, that I have eaten, I feel calmer. Also, there's a tiny bit of hope in me that I might convince him to kill me after all. At least we're finally talking about it.

  A part of me is seriously worried that I'm sitting in the living room of a real assassin like it's nothing. I'm even somewhat relaxed. Maybe he's right, and I really am unhinged.

  "So, here's an article from 2015 that says the average streetwalker makes 75 bucks per gig while a high-end escort charges around two to four grand per hour. None of this is really helpful. What would you charge?"

  He studies me, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. Why didn't I expect this question?

  "Um, no idea. I don't think I would take as little as those streetwalkers unless I had no other choice, but two thousand seems awfully expensive. Maybe . . . uh . . . four-hundred?"

  "Seems appropriate. What does that include?"

  Okay, now my face must be crimson. "You mean like dinner and drinks?" I'm confused.

  He laughs. "You're so innocent, little ghost. I'm talking anal, oral? Am I allowed to slap you, or does that cost extra? How about kissing you?"

  The thought of him kissing me makes me blush. I remember how his hands felt on my skin, and it's nerve-racking, to say the least.

  "I don't know." My voice becomes breathless halfway through the sentence.

  "Okay, let me make this easy for you. Assuming you'd let me do whatever I want—slap that pretty face of yours, fuck your squeezable ass or cum in your mouth—I'd be willing to pay 750 bucks for that. No condom between us, and I will take my sweet time."

  "Sounds good." I know I'm agreeing way too fast, but I'm sick of waiting to die.

  Oryn sighs and shakes his head. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, but we're still talking about roughly sixty-six fucks. Even if I fuck you six times every week, you would have to wait ten weeks before I kill you. Are you willing to do that?"

  My shoulders slump. That's too long, and maybe I'm imagining things, but Oryn also doesn't sound too thrilled at the prospect.

  "You're really something, little ghost." He gets up and takes off his dark gray hoodie before handing it to me. "Put that on. You must be cold."

  The stern tone in his voice is back, and again my body reacts with that pulling sensation in my lower abdomen. I can't help but think back to the night I watched Oryn fuck that other woman and how he ordered her to masturbate. He used the same assertive voice then. Of course, I totally wouldn't mind him fucking me, even without payment. One last nice experience before I leave this life behind. That would be great.

  I could never tell him that though.

  Especially since he doesn't seem too interested in me sexually, besides the awesome compliments. I don't know if someone ever called my butt squeezable before. It sure sounds nice.

  I slip into his hoodie and can't tell if the warmth is better than his delicious smell, which clings to the fabric.

  He stands in the kitchen door. "Come with me."

  All of a sudden, my heart starts racing. Is this it? Did he change his mind? Will it hurt? My legs are badly shaking, but I manage to get there.

  Oryn leads the way into his garage. He switches on the lights and opens the trunk of his car.

  I choke when I see a body wrapped in the same plastic sheet he used yesterday for the couple. Of course, there's another body—what was I thinking coming here?

  Oryn puts his hand on my shoulder, and his breath tickles me as he leans closer. "You know what brings way more money than whoring yourself out?"

  "N-n-no." I hate how much my voice is trembling, yet there's nothing I can do. It's all a bit much. The body in front of me, the man behind me and his touch.

  "Getting rid of people. Killing is easy. Disposing of the bodies is not. You help me, and I give you a thousand bucks per vanished corpse."

  I blink, my throat dry like a desert. "Deal."

  "I have a few conditions, though."

  Slowly I turn toward him because I need to see his face for this conversation. I notice that he doesn
't let go of my shoulder.

  "Which ones?"

  "If you want to be my little ghost, you have to give up living in that ruin of a house. I can't have any traces lead back there. Especially not since it's probably only a matter of time before the bank's debt-collectors start showing up. The neighbors think that you're gone, and I'd like to keep it that way. You can get your things and move into my guest bedroom. So I can have you at my disposal at any time. As you can imagine, I don't exactly work regular office hours."

  "Okay. I can go right now."

  "Yes, do that, little ghost. But don't forget to come back to me." He finally lets go of my shoulder, and I instantly miss his touch.

  Fuck, he really was right. I am completely unhinged.

  6

  It doesn't take long for me to gather my few remaining belongings. Actually, they all fit into my backpack, and I only need a couple of minutes before I'm back on Oryn's porch, barely able to contain my excitement. He's going to do it. He's really going to kill me, and all I have to do is help him get rid of a few bodies.

  In my opinion, I made an awesome deal. And I won't have to freeze and starve any longer. Right now, I couldn't be happier.

  Before I can knock, he opens the door for me.

  "That's it, little ghost. After this, there's no turning back."

  "I sure hope so." I squeeze my body between him and the doorframe, unable to wait any longer.

  Oryn switches the lights on, and I get a glimpse of the upper floor. "Follow me," he says and starts climbing the stairs. "Now is probably a good time to go over the rules."

  "You mean like wearing gloves and stuff like that?" I'm so eager I can hardly wait to bury my first corpse. Or to throw it into the harbor basin or whatever it is we're going to do.

  I should probably be disgusted by the idea alone, but all I have in mind is my ultimate goal. I want to do this, so he kills me. For someone who always took the path of least resistance, I sure feel motivated and enthusiastic right now. To be honest, I can't even remember the last time I felt like this.