After The Flesh

by Colin Gallant

  As for her body, that was the worst. Freddy had gone from supermarket to supermarket. He bought a few necessities and a bottle of Clorox at each. He wanted lye – good strong lye – but he was sure that would be remembered and with our small apartment he did not have the facilities to make it himself. A university kid self-conscious about skid marks in his shorts was a nobody in people’s memories. Freddy moved her to the bathtub. He douched her with bleach. He forced bleach in her anus and down her throat. He filled the tub with cold water and poured a dozen jugs of bleach into it. The smell alone was enough to strip the hair from your nose. He scrubbed her and left her there fully submerged. He even lay weights on her to keep her under. He made the bed and scoured all signs of himself from the apartment. He even vacuumed and took the bag when he left.

  He killed the furnace. It was ten below outside and getting colder. The apartment would freeze. They would not be able to pinpoint her death closer than the broadest of terms. The trick with the safety chain was not vital but it would serve as a distraction. It would confuse the focus of the investigators. It was actually quite easy, requiring only a coat hanger, a strong magnet and a piece of scotch tape. He took these with him, along with the empty bleach jugs and a coke bottle full of her blood he would enjoy later. The last thing he did was to replace the light on her stoop, which he had removed earlier in the evening.

  Tina was his alibi for that one. They both got drunk and passed out – or so she would believe. Tina never drank and their friends knew Freddy as a self-confessed light-weight. Two beers were always his upper limit. The joke was, any more than that and he could be anyone’s bitch for the night.

  Tina drank her spiked champagne and she passed out. Freddy nursed a glass and poured the rest of the bottle out. She woke up with a hangover and an apology on her lips. Freddy kissed her and told her he felt just as bad. They made love and spent half the day alternating between the bed and the shower.

  Freddy was so much himself on the thirteenth even I didn’t suspect anything. We talked for two hours that afternoon and I never got anything from him. No guilt, no concern or fear. Nothing. He was completely without a conscience. He had no soul. He was not human.

  -

  Freddy made himself an omelet and toast while he talked. He cleaned up as he went so efficiently that when he sat down opposite me not even the frying pan was left unwashed. He dug into his breakfast with the ease of someone discussing an evening at the movies.

  “I used the blood last night,” he said around a mouthful of food. “It was fucking great.” He sighed and slumped back into his chair. “It was like she was still there with me – you know?”

  I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t even know how he could eat. I felt like I was going to be sick. One thought hit me, the one glitch in his plan. There would be phone records. I had been calling her from our phone for weeks now.

  The thought of going to the police did cross my mind. It was an idea formed from panic. I was becoming blinded by it. Freddy sensed this.

  “You’ve been fucking her,” he said, “I know. But so has everyone else. Big deal. Did you call her the other night?”

  I had called her from a pay phone in the library. I was feeling numb from the eyebrows down.

  “That’s good. That helps.” Freddy nodded and shoveled more food in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. “But I don’t think you were fucking her. You didn’t even know her.” His smile widened, crumbs of toast, flecks of onion rimming his gums. “Her and I – we were old friends. I can’t deny that. I wasn’t fucking her but we were chatting on the phone every so often. If the cops come, I’ll talk. I’ll tell them that.” His eyes went wide and flat, the life draining from them. After a moment they came into brutal focus. This was the stare that softened men’s bowels and parted women’s thighs. “You don’t do shit. It’s your fault she’s dead anyway.”

  I gaped. His stare failed to have its usual effect on me. I barely even noticed it after his last statement.

  “I’ve seen you looking at Tina. I know you want her. But she’s mine – just the way Angie was mine before you had to go and stick your dick in her. You fucked it up. You always fuck it up.” There was scorn in his voice and the dead plane of his eyes took on the chiseled edge of pure hate. The monster was there, just below, peering out at me. It knew who I was.

  I was speechless. My old terror was renewed. It was always there but it had never been like this since Carrie’s death. It was a selfish thing felt for no one else.

  Freddy smiled suddenly and the monster disappeared. “Just think about it,” he said. “You don’t want the same thing to happen to Tina, do you?”

  The last of his breakfast disappeared and he went to his feet immediately washing and drying his dishes. He wiped the counter again and the table and even got out the broom and dust pan and swept under his chair and along the base of the counter where the toaster had been. The kitchen was spotless when he left it.

  Two birds with one stone. He got his kill, his sacrifice. He also taught me a lesson I fear I needed. If not for him – and sadly for Angie – I fear I would have pursued his girl. Even if I had not succeeded, I know Freddy would have killed her.

  Worse, Freddy found his system. If he was not caught soon, he would absolutely perfect it. Unlike others of his ilk, Freddy did not take trophies or a prize that was lasting. His only trophy was the blood, the ritual and the pleasure it gave him. His trophy was the memory cemented in that ritual like no fantasy could be. If the police did come, they would find nothing.

  But I knew I would wait. I would follow his lead and others would die. My selfishness would allow it because I wanted what he wanted – my footprints in the stars.

  -

  A second girl died just before Christmas break. She was the random. She would keep us safe – or so Freddy assured me. Her name was Susan Emery. She was nineteen. This was her second year at the University of Calgary. She was so completely different than Angie Cross and from such a completely different world that the police could not be led back to Freddy.

  He was questioned after Angie’s death. Not questioned really, but the police did speak to him. They had checked her phone records as we knew they would. Our number was in his name. The apartment lease was only in his name. Even the cable was his. Everything was his. They never even wanted to talk to me. They never even knew I existed.

  Constable Sobeleski was his name. Dan Sobeleski. Freddy brought him into the apartment and offered him coffee. The offer for coffee was declined but he did come in. Freddy noted his eyes, sharp and quick, roaming the apartment.

  “You keep a tidy pad, Mr. Cartwright,” he commented.

  Freddy smiled benignly. “Not really. It comes in fits and starts. You usually need the right footwear to reach the couch.”

  The constable grunted. His eyes were still roaming. “Yeah, I’m about the same, I guess. I like to think I’m a nineties man but my wife does most of the housework.” His finger was bare but Freddy could see the indent.

  “You’re here about Angie I suppose,” Freddy sighed. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms then uncrossed them, putting his hands in his pockets. Body language was everything. Freddy was a student of body language.

  “Yes. You knew her.” It was not a question. The cop was watching him now but Freddy was not bothered by his scrutiny.

  He nodded, his eyes distant. “We were pretty close back in high school.”

  “You dated – is that correct?”

  “Something like that.” Freddy breathed a contemptuous little laugh, a self-mocking laugh.

  “Oh?” The cop’s eyebrow rose. He had his notebook out but Freddy couldn’t see what he was writing. He figured if the cops suspected him there would have been two at his door instead of just this one.

  “We dated,” Freddy agreed, “but it was hardly what you’d call exclusive. We both knew. But it was cool. I’ve kinda always been like that – until I met my present girlfriend.”

 
; “Was Ms. Cross … like that … as well?”

  “Yeah, you could say that,” Freddy chuckled, seemingly reminiscent. His laughter died and a dark look clouded his face. “I think that’s what got her into trouble back home.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  Freddy shrugged. “Just that she lost her fucking scholarship because some bitch couldn’t keep her man.” He glanced at the cop. “Sorry officer – constable. It’s just … that still pisses me off. Angie could have been in the Olympics. She was that good.”

  “Is that what you believe about her attacker?”

  Freddy glanced at him. “I get the sense I’m not telling you anything new. The papers never said much but I’d be looking into the guys she was seeing. See if you can find out who might have a jealous girlfriend.” This was good. Everyone would have their own theory.

  The constable’s face remained so impassive he might have been a statue. “Were you involved with Ms. Cross in that way?”

  Freddy shook his head. “Not in a long time. We’re friends.” He caught himself and allowed his voice to catch. “We hung out once in a while. We talked on the phone, God, almost every week – just briefly, to check up on each other. But I love my Tina. We’re into company once in a while – if you know what I mean. But never Angie. That would have been awkward.”

  Constable Sobeleski smiled. His eyes reflected a moment of either contempt or envy before glassing over again. “No doubt,” he agreed. “You’re a sociology major – is that correct?”

  “Yeah, I’ve always been interested in it.”

  “It’s odd you would be so willing to volunteer this.”

  Freddy didn’t like the edge he heard in his voice, the passing smugness. This cop was young but he wasn’t new. The squint, the slow smile that never was – they could be part of his act. Freddy wasn’t sure. He played it like they were. If they weren’t it probably didn’t matter.

  “Where the law is concerned there’s two schools of thought, Constable Sobeleski,” Freddy told him, “two ways for me to respond to your questions. One – I could just answer your questions and you can scribble your notes. You’ll come back or another cop will and those questions will be asked again. You’ll compare notes and add up any discrepancies before coming back a third or fourth time. I’ll be wasting your time while whoever killed Angie is still walking around free.

  “Or alternately, I can volunteer as much information as I can think of in hopes that I can either help you or eliminate myself from a list of suspects – which would be helping you but for other reasons, I suppose. I can tell you about how she drools in her sleep and how she still has nightmares from the time when she was eight and her uncle touched her down there. He told her it was for fun, like a tease or a goose – but she shouldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t understand. That little touch fucked her up and has decided all the bad things she ever did with her life – the booze, the sex, etcetera. I could tell you a lot of stuff and let you sort through it. It might help or it might not but at least you won’t wonder why I never told you about it the first time.

  “Guess which approach I prefer,” Freddy looked at the cop and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I don’t want to slow you down, Constable. I don’t. So, suspect me, question me and make good notes for the next cop who shows up. I’m here to help you. I want to help.” He was actually close to tears by the time he was done. Freddy was good. I had no idea how good he had become. “I just don’t want Angie to become another statistic.”

  Constable Sobeleski gave him a minute to compose himself. “At this time, you are not a suspect, Mr. Cartwright.”

  Freddy nodded. That was good. He wiped at his eyes self-consciously but did not show relief.

  “But I have to ask you – for the record.”

  “Where was I?” Freddy hiccupped a little laugh.

  The constable gave a smile that was at least half relief. He wasn’t new, but he was young. “Exactly – just for the record.”

  “Here. With my girlfriend,” Freddy replied. “It was our nine-month anniversary.” He shrugged. “Women, eh? Relationships are like babies to women. They age them by the month for the first couple of years. Why is that?”

  The cop actually chuckled. “I have no idea. Your girlfriend – Tina?”

  “Tina Armstrong, yeah.”

  “She can corroborate this I assume?”

  “I hope so,” Freddy groaned. He waved away the cop’s questioning look. “We had a bottle of champagne and I don’t drink. I fell asleep around eight. I think. She was probably up a little longer but not much longer. Tina doesn’t drink either.”

  “A single bottle? For two people?”

  “I don’t even put sugar in my coffee.”

  Constable Sobeleski made his notes. “When was the last time you two spoke?”

  Freddy seemed to think about it. “It would have been a couple of weeks before … when I saw her last – just briefly between classes.” He sighed. “I don’t know. I might have called her a few nights before she … died. Maybe a week. Sorry.”

  The Constable nodded. He flipped his notebook closed. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Cartwright.”

  “That’s it?”

  “For now,” he replied and moved to the door.

  “When you find whoever did this, I want five minutes,” Freddy told him. He let his eyes get hard, a frustrated, hands-tied, running in circles hard. “Just five minutes. That’s it.”

  Sobeleski gave him an unreadable look he thought could have been understanding. But there was something smug even about that. His eyes roamed through the apartment again. “Once again, you keep a clean pad. I have a hard time remembering to put my dishes in the dishwasher.”

  Freddy made his grin look like he was trying hard to do it. His hand was on the doorknob. “I guess I’m just afraid my mom’s gonna pop in for a surprise visit.”

  The cop nodded. Freddy noted he backed out of the apartment and only left once the door was closed.

  A barrier of wood and steel between them, Freddy frowned. A finger rose to his eyelid, rubbing absently. He was thinking it would be a good day to make chili and throw away the bulk of his cleaning supplies. If the cops came back, he would need to apologize for the mess.

  -

  He picked Susan Emery because she had a hot ass. He told me she was the random but she had a hot ass and he wanted her. That was it. If she didn’t do aerobics or spend a half hour each morning on the Stairmaster, Freddy would have walked right past her as she squatted to retrieve a fallen pen. He would have found someone else and she would have gone on with her life unaware how close the specter of death came to her.

  Freddy said nothing to her. He followed her and learned where she lived. He learned what classes she was in and where she worked. He wanted to know what kind of person she was. For five weeks after the cop had spoken to him, he followed her and learned her habits better than she knew them herself.

  He watched the approaches. That’s how he put it to me later. He watched the approaches as he tailed her. He watched the cars on the street looking for new windows on old beaters. Ghost cars, undercover cars, maybe ten years old with a dent or two in the panels but they always had good rubber underneath and clean glass all around.

  Freddy watched the faces in the crowd and he spotted a few that didn’t quite jive. Some could have been Narcs – there was quite a drug culture on campus – but there definitely was a police presence. They were not watching him. They didn’t even seem to notice him when he tried to make his own presence obvious. Of that he was sure.

  She never suspected a thing. She had two roommates and they were the big challenge. They would need to be gone and for more than a few hours. Freddy wanted the whole night with her. Later, grinning while I thought I was going to be sick, he told me her ass was that hot.

  Susan Emery came home from her shift at Starbuck’s. She was probably only thinking of a quiet night and a book in the tub or an old mov
ie on the tube. Her roommates were out. Andy wrote his last exam on the fourteenth and he was home in Chase, BC for the holidays and he would not be back until the third of January. The other, Cynthia, was also gone. She was in Cancun with her boyfriend for a week until she had to write her last exam on the twentieth.

  Freddy had his window and he would enjoy it to its fullest. Before she got home, he let himself in the back window with the rotted catch. He brought in his supplies and moved the car two blocks over. He was back in the house with nearly an hour to spare.

  Susan never saw him. She was knocked down from behind as she was bent down in the pantry hunting for popcorn. Freddy never took her blood with him. He didn’t need to. He had a full eight hours to enjoy her and when he left, slipping out the back door before the sun rose, before the morning paper was even delivered, he was alone and went unnoticed.