by Tiana Laveen
Good. You’re fucking with the wrong person. You wanna play games, woman? Let’s play then!
****
Holy shit...
The man’s steps grew closer and closer to her. She looked at his feet...the motherfucker appeared to be gliding, as if he were ice skating up the damn hill. She didn’t miss the scowl on his face. His words were warm, but his body said otherwise. Reaching for her gun, she kept it pressed into her upper thigh as she quickly grasped at slippery ideas. The last thing she expected was happening, and her body wanted to bolt. Every pore of her being screamed DANGER.
Okay...calm down. You can work this in your favor...
She rolled her window down.
“I’m not lost. I live close by here,” she offered a cheerful smile. A spiral of cool air escaped from between her lips as she spoke. “Where are you trying to get to? I can probably help you.” Her heart beat out of her chest. If this man was the murderer, he’d be prepared to kill her right there on the damn spot. For the first time, she hoped he wasn’t...
I better shoot faster than him...
She cautiously raised her hand. “Can you stop right there?” She grinned. “I don’t know you and I’d like to help, but it’s dangerous out here.”
The man nodded, his dark sparkling eyes, especially the right one, seeming to twinkle just a bit more. A street light caught the bridge of his nose, illuminating the knobby length—proud, Rubenesque. He flashed her a grin, or was it a smirk? He slicked his tongue over his upper lip, then smiled, his face shrouded on one side and the other in full view. Flipping the hood from his coat over his head, he drowned out his features even further. Falling snow drifted past him diagonally, making him appear like a figure in a strange, urban scene snow globe.
“I understand! It’s dangerous out here, you’re right, especially for someone as pretty yourself.” He paused briefly. “The address is…” He peered at something, clutching the wrinkled scrap paper in his hand. “My friend lives in Federal Hill, on Ducane Avenue.”
“Yeah, that’s near the railroads. You’re not too far,” Jayme said coolly. She knew better than to appear unraveled; it could cost her her very life. She watched as he stepped a bit closer to her—gripped her gun tighter.
I hope he doesn’t think flattery is going to get him somewhere? Make me feel okay... Please don’t take another step! Please! Don’t make me shoot you!
“So, do I just keep going this way?” He pointed back toward his car. “They told me they moved near the old Domino Sugar factory. I have no idea where that is.” He shrugged and smiled. “Um, do you?”
The snow seemed to swirl around his body, as if he, too, were a snowflake amongst the others. And there was that eye again...shining extra bright. Jayme swallowed harshly, her hand still on the trigger as sordid and inappropriate thoughts came and went.
If he is a killer, he is a damn good looking one...you know better than that!
Jeffrey Dahmer was attractive, too...and look where it got his victims.
She chastised herself as the cold air from the outside clutched her skin in its prickly grip.
Killers don’t have a specific look. Crazy is crazy...whatever the packaging.
And just as quickly as the thought came, it disappeared. He was making her feel comfortable, showing a beautiful smile, looking trustworthy, and his voice...his voice was deep, satiny and soothing, almost like a walking lullaby...
She felt herself fall under a spell, a deep, magical spell each time he uttered a word in her direction.
****
Xzion casually brushed the back of his hand across the thick stubble on his jawbone. He struggled as the mental battle continued. He debated using mind control to put the nuisance under, make her disappear...freeze the woman in time so he could make this whole sordid ordeal go away, but then he’d be accountable for her later. There was another problem though. He had to be honest; he didn’t trust himself with her under those conditions. He wanted nothing to do with her, hoped she’d just vanish like incense smoke and leave him the hell alone. However, he knew that was a crack pipe dream. Regardless, he had to do something, and he had to do it quick. Without a shadow of a doubt, one bad move, and she’d shoot him—and then be stunned when her gun didn’t kill him.
Bullets from regular guns on Earth couldn’t kill a Zarkstormian. Even if shot straight into their brain, they had a good chance of survival. The reason being, that each of their organs, just like human organs, were susceptible to injury but a Zarkstormian’s organs were encased in impenetrable tissue, acting as pillows that were practically impossible to penetrate. It took special weapons that involved skilled craftsmanship to break through. This technology was void on Earth. Nevertheless, bullets left nasty bruises, were quite uncomfortable and sometimes drew copious amounts of blood, but they were rarely deadly.
Regardless, he wasn’t in the mood to have to explain himself to Aton, nor did he want to have to kill the source of his recent wet dreams. That was another problem—she could fight. She’d struggle, making it all the harder.
He hated fighting with his kills. He could over power them quickly should the need arise but her...he didn’t want to have to do it. She’d have the upper hand as she fought for her miserable life...
And she is so fucking beautiful...
He recalled her kick boxing the air to her collection of exercise DVDs while he stared at her through the window that brisk evening. Her sweaty body glided and bopped about and much to his dismay, he’d returned the night after that, too...like a forbidden teenage lover, peeping into her window, devouring the sight of her in various poses and mundane domestic duties. Vacuuming, watching television, reading. He’d returned, night after night, despite his self-made promises to stop the growing obsession that spread into his thoughts like a black-mold fungus. Images of her putting a hurting on that boxing bag crashed his memory most of all though. She went to town on it and the poor, rubber dummy almost had the stuffing knocked out of its downy core. He imagined it being her frustration unleashed...
He didn’t want to fight her, but rolling around with her in a violent, fleshy heap would have its benefits. Regardless, the thought was beautifully tainted. He didn’t want to be on her, he wanted to be in her—yet he needed to do this hit and there was no way, a cop that suspected him of being a john, killer, pimp or dealer would allow him to get close enough to kiss her, let alone feel her bare body against his. He wanted her to want him, crave him...call out his damn name, like he’d done hers ever since he learned of it...
Officer Knight, Officer Jayme Knight...
She snapped him out of his thoughts as her urbane voice cut through the icy air, bringing him back into the dismal realm of reality. “Yes, you’re going the right way. Make a left up there on Trephine, then another left and you’ll be on Ducane Avenue.”
He took a step back from her, easing off of his previous quests. He’d begun the first stage of mind control, the tranquil feeling, but pulled back...pulled away. At that moment, it felt like foreplay going nowhere, and he begrudgingly retreated from the recesses of her mind.
Please, just go away, Jayme.I don’t want to have to hurt you, sweetie...
He waved and smiled. “Thank you!” Then, he walked back to his car to go in the direction of the address he didn’t give a damn about...
****
After waiting for some minutes, she rounded the bend, turned left, then made another left to find his car parked, right in front of the address he’d mentioned. She shook her head in frustration, then picked up her phone.
“Hey, officer Canley.” She threw pep in her tone, trying to sound upbeat. “Yeah, I’m great, thanks. How are you? Fantastic...look, can you do me a favor? Can you run an address in the computer and tell me who lives there? Thanks...sure.”
Jayme waited impatiently, thumping the steering wheel with her gloved hand.
“Oh...okay. And how long has she lived there?...About five years...What is her profession?...Uh huh...Any police recor
d?...D.U.I. back in 2007? Clean record since then?...Okay, thank you so much.” She gritted her teeth, wishing nothing more than to throw something hard and make it shatter.
“This guy is unbelievable.”
Just then, the front door swung open. The tall, debonair derelict softly kissed the woman’s cheek as he wrapped his arms possessively around her waist, then exited the row house. He got into his car, grabbed a black duffle bag and wielded a wide smile—a little too wide as he re-entered the home, the large wooden door swinging closed behind him...
****
One thing Xzion prided himself on was being able to come up with fast solutions. He was a problem solver, and a problematic situation had definitely presented itself. It would’ve been much easier to simply snuff the cop out, but instead he rose to the challenge and introduced himself to the sullen eyed woman who answered the door. Then, he took over her mind, looking deeply into her pupils, making them expand and unnaturally glow. The forty-two year old new divorcée soon felt at ease and invited him beyond the threshold.
“Ask me inside...” he whispered seductively and without hesitation, she complied.
“I’m going to stay here for a while.” The woman smiled at him and nodded appreciatively. He peeked out of the window, seeing the cop still parked there.
She’s determined to stay on my ass, try to catch my scent like a bloodhound. Well, here is a little something for ya... Enjoy the show.
He reached into his bag, glancing occasionally at the woman who simply stood there, staring into space. His body felt like an inferno, so he removed his shirt, replacing it with a black leather vest. He found the scent invigorating—perfectly prepared cow flesh for his adornment. He had to change clothing in case she saw his next move. There was no telling who she had crawling around to help her. He’d be a different guy now...just like her, in disguise. Even though the damn cop was staring bullet-holes into the house, waiting for a movement, anything. He rejoiced in the confusion he’d cause...this was almost too easy...
This would kill two birds with one stone—possibly remove Knight’s suspicions of him being on a murderous rampage, at least for the compromised evening. He now had a solid alibi for the murder he’d be committing in less than an hour as he snuck out the back door of the lower level...
****
Jayme looked at her watch and shook her head. The glass face grabbed part of her reflection from under a nearby street light. Tired and frustrated, she craved the confines of her warm bed and wished he wasn’t still in the house, so elusive, dragging this out. Her stomach knotted as fear of not being able to take him down became more of a reality. She had to have known that her string of luck would eventually come to an end. Although being known for being able to bust a suspect in no time flat, interrogate the mess out of them and have them pleading for a jail cell—any place was better than with her—she could feel it in her chilled bones, this time would be different, so much different. Her thoughts swayed to the possible reasoning. Hell, maybe she was barking up the wrong tree, maybe she had falsely accused him.
Maybe it’s his girlfriend. He took a bag inside, must be staying the night.Now I have to wait here all damn night...figures. She obviously knew him, looked all star struck at him, kissed him...
She sighed and waited...
Yup, he’s staying the night; it’s been three hours now.
She yawned then grinned.
Oh my God, this is my chance! I have the FBI to back me up. They did tell me that anything I needed to do, I could, within reason of course, and this is definitely within reason. This is one of my few chances. I don’t know the man’s schedule, but he’s with this woman...finally, an opportunity.
She quickly moved away from the curb and drove straight to his house without a moment to lose...
****
Xzion pulled the bloody remains of his latest victim further into the enclosure. He ushered the man into his lavish bedroom filled with family antiques, hand crafted vases from Ireland, and snow-white walls with matching snow-white weasel dust trails along the black marble vanity counter.
A cocaine party for two. How thoughtful.
The corpulent, squatty white man with perfectly coiffed salt and pepper hair had a secret life after dinners with the governor, and vacations with his wife and children who were none the wiser to his inside trading deals, raging cocaine distribution ring and love of young, muscular men to take to his bed...and that was Xzion’s way in.
Due to the murders, Mr. Lennox had stopped visiting his ‘street pharmacists’ on East Baltimore under the guise of trying to help the impoverished community. Matter of fact, sometimes he’d even invite media crews as he gave away free vouchers and shook hands with supposed rehabilitated drug dealers, their hands tightly gripped as swirls of smoke and cool air escaped their lips in between flashes of the cameras.
All of it was a farce, one big elaborate scheme. The man was on dating websites with fake photos and profiles. Xzion soon discovered this delicious piece of data after hacking into the wealthy businessman’s computer. He was in luck—he really seemed to go for the tall muscular guys and the more naïve they appeared, the more delighted the monster would become. Xzion had been talking to him on and off for over a month, exchanging fake photos of himself in various poses, but had chosen a model close enough to his own appearance to be believable.
So, he showed up with his bag, champagne and wine glasses in tow. He rapped on the man’s door, entered the house, and before Mr. Lennox had a chance to get down to his wrinkled, gray boxers filled with a crooked erection, Xzion had taken him out, cut down the middle of his barreled chest like a butterflied shrimp and cast the carcass into water, soon massively bloodied, in the vast garden tub. He left the ‘XXX’ on his forehead and left, catching a cab back to the woman’s house he’d temporarily seized, but ensuring to be dropped off two streets away. He walked to the back of the house and slipped inside just as quietly as he’d left.
He carried her to her bed, a floor below, and gingerly laid her down and removed the control he had of her by simply saying before he left, “You’ll awake in six hours and remember none of this. Sweet dreams...”
****
Jayme looked at the house for a while. The art-deco style was an ill fit in the otherwise classic upscale area. Nevertheless, the building was impressive, and the ranch style construction sprawled quite a distance, like a long tunnel with walls. She popped open her glove compartment and removed her tool kit then made her way toward the structure. With a quick glance back up the street at her parked car, she drew closer to the property—the snow undisturbed in the front lawn, pristine, glistening under the street lights in the prestigious and quiet suburban neighborhood. She’d leave footprints on the snow-covered sidewalk, but she’d take care of that later. She proceeded to the back of the home, prepared to disarm the alarm and survey the area as quickly as possible.
This wasn’t her first time having to enter a strange house as an uninvited guest; it came with the job. Regardless, she worked her lower lip almost into fleshy ribbons as she simultaneously wrung her hands, the kit hitting her thigh as she built up her nerve.
He had a bag.He won’t be back tonight...and he lives alone. The house is pitch black...
She had to reassure herself as she had no probable cause for a search warrant, so this would have to simply do. The necessity to be quick but thorough wasn’t a tall order for her—she knew what she was looking for. Evidence—anything to show that she was on the case and he was a stone cold killer. She stopped suddenly, debating on calling one of the agents, then shrugged it off, realizing she had nothing to offer in explanation. And if she was wrong, she’d then have to explain how once again, a person from her department had fumbled. That person being her. No, she couldn’t risk that. She needed to bring back a prize, something tangible, something she could hang a smile on—and suspicion, admission of stalking a property, was just not it.
Carefully canvasing the area, she made her way further to
the back of the house, peering in basement windows for something, anything—only to see much of nothing. It was completely blocked and only different contrasts of light and shadows could be seen. Going to the side door, she looked both ways before turning back to the locked entrance. She reached into her tool kit and removed the flat piece of sturdy metal then slid the torque into the bottom of the deadbolt keyhole, making sure she jiggled it just right, aligning it so that the pins clicked.
She allowed a grin as the door opened, giving her a glimpse of strange, azure lighting. She looked around the weird foyer area, narrow in some areas, then suddenly wide in others, searching for the alarm security box. Suddenly, she was fully bathed in the blue light that she’d seen upon entry. She held her arm up over her eyes, blinked several times, gathered herself and continued to make her way down the long hallway. She saw the alarm and raced to it, the flashing red light beckoning her. Focusing as much as she could under the blinding light, she surveyed the box and immediately unplugged it from its power source then disconnected the backup battery inside the control case. She waited until all of the lights on it went dead. Her heart beat in her ear drums as she overdosed on the now dissipating adrenaline rush. Sighing with relief, she looked both ways down the hall and entered the living room, freezing in her steps.
Are you kidding me?!
She pulled her coat tighter at the freezing temperatures and stared at the clear ice block walls in disbelief. She’d felt the cool air as soon as she entered the dwelling, but things went from cold to meat locker frigid—the kind of cold that would even be too much for snowmen, carrot nose included.
What kind of weird shit is this man into?
She ran her hand down the wall, wet, super smooth and slick to the touch, but surprisingly, keeping its cubed shape. She looked over at a control panel, noticing it to be some sort of heating and cooling device. Not wishing to waste any more time, she forced herself to get past her shock and further her investigation. Opening drawers in a nearby desk, one at a time, she seized computer discs, read scraps of paper under the glow of the blue light, perused strange charts she couldn’t understand and stuffed them into her pocket along the way. Soon, she was inside the master bedroom.