Donor

by Elena Hearty

  Lenore questioned his sincerity.

  Paul frowned at the broken man on the floor. “What's all over him, Rich? He looks terrible.”

  “Oh, that? That's Deirdre.” Richard started to chuckle a little to himself. “She didn't survive the flu after all. I had to…” He broke off, laughing at his own joke, too merry to continue. “I had to…” More guffaws. “I had to burn the body so as not to spread the contagion. It's starting to look like the fallacious flu is fatal after all. Try saying that three times fast!”

  Paul nodded wearily. “Yes, I enjoyed all fifteen of your text messages telling me about the fallacious flu. It's getting funnier every time.”

  Richard snickered, undeterred. “Did you get that pic I sent you?”

  “Which one? The one with Charlie wearing Deirdre's eyeballs?”

  He cackled. “Yeah, that's the one! I'm thinking of having it framed. Don't worry, Charles. I'll print you a copy. I'll get wallet sized.”

  Lenore started backing out of the room, watching for pieces of Deirdre in her path. Thankfully, no one stopped her, and she could still hear Richard ranting to Paul as she walked into the kitchen for a package of Toaster Pastries. Apparently, Richard planned to enter several photo contests and would have calendars made.

  What would go great with the Toaster Pastries? Coffee. Coffee, then a shower. No. A bubble bath. But first coffee. No, first Xanax. Lenore walked down the hall, repeating the sequence in her mind as if it held the combination necessary to diffuse a nuclear time bomb: Xanax, coffee, bubble bath.

  Ten minutes later, Lenore sat in the parlor sipping coffee as Paul and Richard entered the room, engaged in heated debate.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Richard said, spinning to a stop in front of the sofa. “After all the bullshit Charles has put me through, you thought I'd jump at the chance to grant him eternal life? Have I got that straight? Are you out of your mind? When did we start handing out door prizes for fucking me over?”

  Paul looked over to Lenore, raising his shoulders in an I-told-so-you fashion. “Just hear me out, Rich. He's done a lot for us over the years. Just give him what he wants and he'll be out of your hair for good. We both know that he probably won't make it.”

  Lenore met Paul's eyes and nodded encouragingly.

  Richard watched their silent exchange with his brow furrowed. Then he smiled, wide-eyed, at the two of them. "Well, what do we have here? Could it be? Lenore's in on it! The monkeys have taken over the zoo! Who's idea was this, anyway?"

  Paul raised his hand to his temple as if trying to ward off an impending migraine. "It doesn't matter, Rich. It's the best solution. You know I'm not going to give Charles to you. And I'm definitely not going to kill him. Not without giving him a shot.”

  Richard pointed to Lenore accusingly. “And you're okay with this? Charles tried to kill you.”

  She swiveled in her seat, facing Richard head on. “Think it through, Rich.”

  Richard stared at her blankly for several moments. “Why would Lenore be okay with it?” he muttered to himself. And then a wave of realization broke upon his face. “Hey, Paul? Get Charles out of here. Take him back to your place for a while.”

  “What? Right now?”

  “Yeah,” Richard replied, still staring at Lenore. “Why don't you give me a chance to think it over. It just occurred to me that this might work after all.”

  Paul looked surprised to have gotten this far and gaped at his friend, unable to contain his excitement. “Okay, I'll get him out of here right away. You really think you might go for it?”

  Richard nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I'm not sure yet, but it isn't like Charles is going anywhere. God knows he won't be able to walk for the next few days.”

  ✽✽✽

  Loud screams echoed throughout the apartment as Paul popped Charles's limbs back into their sockets.

  ✽✽✽

  “Hey, roomie? Can I come in?” Richard whispered, disrupting the sanctity of Lenore's bubble bath. He stood hovering in the doorway, like a child awaiting entrance to his parent's bedroom.

  Lenore shooed him away with a loofah. “No!”

  “Can I talk to you from right here?”

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “Paul left with Charles a little while ago. I wanted to talk to you in private about this turning idea. Why are you all for it? What's going on inside that sedated little head of yours?”

  “I think you've already figured it out, Rich,” Lenore said, closing her eyes and sinking back into the tub.

  “We're going to kill Charles, aren't we?” he asked, grinning.

  Lenore nodded. “We're going to kill Charles and make it look like an accident. He's probably going to die anyway. Let's make sure that he does.”

  Richard's grin widened, threatening to surpass the confines of his face. “How?”

  “No clue. But I'm sure you'll have fun coming up with a plan.”

  The grin retreated. “But Paul's going to be here the entire time. How am I supposed to kill Charles right under his nose?”

  “How am I supposed to know? You're the murderer, not me.”

  “Yeah, but I'm not some sort of ninja assassin,” Richard replied, shaking his head and taking a step forward. “Christ. If it were that easy to kill Charles, don't you think I would have done it by now?” He walked into the room, gazing at his reflection in the medicine cabinet before approaching the toilet and taking a seat on the lid.

  “What happened to talking to me from the doorway?” Lenore exclaimed, drawing the shower curtain up to her waist.

  Richard shrugged. “I can't see you from over there, and I want to hear your ideas. Besides,” he smiled, “it isn't like I haven't seen you with your shirt off on before.”

  “Hey, I have an idea.” There was a loud splashing as Lenore rested her feet against the spigot.

  “What's that?”

  “How about you never bring that up to me again?”

  Richard giggled. “You had me all excited for a minute there. I thought your idea was going to have something to do with killing Charles.”

  “I don't have any ideas on that. I guess you can't suck him dry while Paul isn't looking?”

  “Paul would absolutely know if I did that.”

  “Well, I don't know then. Can't you poison him or something?”

  “So I thought about that, actually, but Paul would smell poison. You always smell like Xanax, for instance. It's like your calling card. If I poisoned Charles he'd start sweating the odor of whatever I gave him.” Richard looked up at the ceiling and smiled. “Hey, roomie? How many Xanax would it take to kill someone? You can overdose on that shit, right?”

  “Yeah, but I thought you said Paul would be able to smell it.”

  “But if you were in the room, it would mask the odor. Paul wouldn't necessarily know it was coming from Charles, especially if we got rid of the body right away. I mean, it's not like he's going to order an autopsy or anything.”

  Lenore shook her head. "No can do, Rich. That would mean I'd have to hang out the entire time and give up half of my pills.”

  “Aw, come on. Take one for the team.”

  “Since when are we a team?”

  “Don't you want to see Charles dead?”

  “More than I want to see you dead?”

  “Whoa, killer. Pace yourself.”

  “Fine. Sure I want to see him dead. But that doesn't mean I want to watch a bunch of people die while we pretend to turn him. Paul told me what happens at these things.” She made a face. “No thanks.”

  Richard brought his hands together. “But that's perfect, actually. Don't you see how that's perfect?”

  “Not really. No. What's perfect?”

  He rose to his feet, placing one hand on each temple like a fortune telling receiving an important message from the spirit world. "It's all coming together. We'll set Charles up in the living room where he can hang out on the couch. Then I'm going to insist that you stay in
there to monitor him; that'll definitely sound believable because he's going to get fucking sick. You agree to stay on the condition that you don't have to watch anyone die. I'll generously offer to slaughter the victims in the laundry room so that you don't have to see anything and bring cups of blood for Charles instead. A couple days in, I make him a very special cup of blood, and he keels over dead."

  “Rich, no offense, but it's going to sound like bullshit if you generously offer to do anything. Think of another reason the victims stay in the laundry room.”

  Richard brought a single finger to his lips, thinking. “My rug. I don't want to get my rug dirty.”

  “That sounds a lot more like you.” Lenore ran all of the steps through her mind, looking for holes. “If Charles is drinking blood, hasn't he already been turned? Isn't it too late to kill him at that point?”

  “Nah, there's a halfway phase. That's the one that most people don't survive. If we give him a Xanax cocktail at that point, it's sure to do the trick.”

  “But isn't the blood going to taste funny? Won't he know there's a problem right away?”

  Richard chuckled at this as if the question were absurd. "Lenore, Lenore, Lenore. You have no idea how delicious blood is, especially when you're hungry. He won't have any idea. Goddammit, I'm a fucking genius. This is going to work. Can you feel it?"

  “Yes, you're a ninja assassin, Rich. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lenore let out of a deep breath. "There should be fifty-seven pills in the bottle on my nightstand. Take thirty-five of them, but leave the rest for me. And you're on the hook for getting me more when this is over.”

  “Thanks, roomie,” Richard said, getting up. “Don't forget to scrub behind your ears.”

  Chapter 9

  The Elegant Solution

  Sunday, 11 pm

  Charles slept on the sofa as Paul and Richard laid a tarp over the living room floor.

  “What's that for?” Lenore asked, stopping by on her way to the kitchen.

  Richard began to secure the lining with duct tape. “Gotta protect the rug,” he said. “Can't be too careful.”

  “I thought no one was dying in here,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the room. Upon further inspection, the sofa on which Charles lay appeared to be covered in saran wrap.

  “It could still get messy. Charles might throw up, spill blood, shit himself; God only knows how Captain Useless over there might capable of. I'm not taking any chances.” Richard threw the roll of tape to Paul, who proceeded to secure the other side. “How many victims were you planning on for this? And where were you going to put them?”

  Paul shrugged. “Six? If we tie them up we can store all of them in your laundry room. I was planning on getting some folding chairs from the utility closet.”

  “Folding chairs?” Lenore wrung her hands uncomfortably, looking like she had just swallowed a toad. “You mean you're going to keep people tied up in there for days? Waiting to die?”

  Paul nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Buck up, kiddo. This was your idea.”

  “No. No, that was not my idea,” she grimaced. “You can't store people alive like that. I thought you'd just get them as needed. I thought you'd make it quick. I can't imagine anything worse than being tied up in that room back there, waiting.”

  Richard rolled his eyes disdainfully. “What difference does it make? They'll be dead soon enough anyway. Why don't you go back to worrying about popping pills and eating Toaster Pastries, and leave the important details to the grownups in the room?”

  Terrible thoughts sprung into her mind. “But how are you going to feed them?” How would they use the bathroom? Would they be able to hear Richard murder them one by one, knowing that there was no way to escape, no way to stop it?

  “GODDAMMIT, Lenore. This isn't a fucking hospice. They don't need to EAT. I'll see to it that they stay alive until they serve their purpose and that's the end of it.”

  Paul frowned up at her, having fastened his end. “I told you this was messy business, kiddo. Just stay out of the laundry room. Rich is right—let us worry about it.”

  Richard eyed Paul skeptically. “So how are you going to get all those people? We're in this mess because you two dumbasses couldn't manage to find me one supplement. How are you going to get six? Are you just going to snatch people off the street?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, that was the idea. There's a shelter not too far from here. I don't think it should be too hard to find victims. Just gotta grab 'em when they're alone.”

  "That still sounds a bit risky to me."

  “It isn't like we can't cover it up.”

  “Yeah, but I hate asking for favors.”

  “I'll be careful.”

  This was not the first time Lenore had heard the two men talk about covering their tracks, but the conversations were always too cryptic for her to decipher exactly how it was done. It sounded like they had a contact somewhere that would help them out if they became accidentally linked to a murder, and she wondered how far up the chain their connections went.

  "Hey," Richard whispered to Paul, looking unnervingly cheerful. "You know who we should get? Let's get the litigious Mrs. Grayson down here. Let's take care of that lawsuit once and for all."

  Paul shook his head. “Jesus fucking Christ, you're unbelievable. I thought you didn't want to call in a favor on this one.”

  “That woman is a grade-A cunt. I can't imagine I'm the only person who wants to see her dead.”

  “She's seventy years old, Rich. How many enemies could she possibly have?”

  “Exactly. Who's going to miss her? I've got the key to her apartment. I'll snatch her up later tonight. We are doing this all tonight, right? It's going to be a pain in the ass so I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  "Yeah, that's fine. It shouldn't take me over a couple of hours to get five people down here. I think you're being a moron pulling that tenant, though. You're going to end up spending more money getting yourself pulled out of that investigation than you were ever going to spend on that piddly lawsuit."

  “Oh, but it'll be so worth it. She dies last. I'm taking those back payments out of her ass “

  Paul shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

  Lenore continued on her way to the kitchen, and when she got there she decided to pull all of the food from the pantry and store it under the bar in the living room instead. Anything to avoid passing by the laundry room on future trips; anything to avoid thinking about the people inside of it, strapped to folding chairs, waiting for Richard to put them out of their misery.

  ✽✽✽

  Monday, 3:25 am

  Lenore did not look up from painting her toenails as she heard two more people being dragged through the hallway.

  ✽✽✽

  Monday, 5:10 am

  “HEY, ROOMIE. GET OVER HERE. PRONTO. “

  Lenore paused her video game and followed Richard's voice into the foyer. He stood at the entrance, restraining an elderly woman who Lenore could only assume was the litigious Mrs. Grayson. Richard held the woman's head and torso, allowing her arms and legs to flail wildly about in an effort to wrestle free. Red welts lined Richard's face and forearms.

  “Meet the bitch who was suing us,” he said, ignoring the screams of his captive.

  Lenore nodded, confused.

  “Now, I thought there was no way this bitch could piss me off more than she already has, but it looks like I underestimated her.”

  Lenore nodded, still confused.

  The old lady screamed, causing Richard to jostle her around like a cat shaking a mouse in its teeth. “Shut the fuck up, will you?” he said to her. “I'm having an important conversation with my roommate over here. Lenore, do you see the watch this bitch is wearing?”

  Lenore nodded, no longer confused. The watch looked like it was made of silver, and explained the welts on Richard's face. Good for Mrs. Grayson; she had put up a fight after all.

  “Now what I
need to you do,” Richard continued, “is get the fucking thing off her wrist. I'd ask Paul to help me, but he's off getting lucky contestant number five. And I'd ask Charles to do it, but—no, never mind on that. I wouldn't trust Charles with anything this complicated. You've got to help me out here.”

  But Lenore did not want to help him out. She did not want to remove Mrs. Grayson's only line of defense against the evil that would torture and eventually kill her. Over the past few months, Lenore often struggled with what she owed Richard's victims, even when she knew there was nothing she could do to save them. Looking at Richard's latest kill, she thought she finally had her answer: she owed them their ability to put up a fight. She owed Mrs. Grayson her silver watch.

  Lenore's lips trembled as she backed away from the pair. “No, Rich. I'm not going to help you.”

  Richard lurched forward, his victim in tow. “What's this? YOU NEVER SAY NO TO ME. UNDERSTAND? WHEN I TELL YOU TO DO SOMETHING, YOU JUST FUCKING DO IT.”

  Lenore recoiled, meeting Mrs. Grayson's eyes for the first time since stepping into the room; they looked like fear. “Not this time, Rich,” she said, shaking her head. “I won't help you. Please don't make me help you.”

  "Oh, I think I get it," Richard grinned, swaying with the body struggling in his arms. "I've presented you with a moral dilemma. Gosh, I'm so sorry. Well, let me put it to you another way: either you take that thing off her wrist, or I'm heading into the kitchen with her so I can CUT HER FUCKING ARM OFF." He smirked as Mrs. Grayson screamed at his latest suggestion. "How's that for a moral dilemma, Lenore? What will our pill-popping heroine do? The suspense is killing me."

  Our pill popping heroine stared at the ground, defeated. Richard would absolutely make good on his threat to cut Mrs. Grayson's arm off. And what's more, he'd probably celebrate the accomplishment by nailing the geriatric appendage to Lenore's door like triumphant Beowulf at the mead hall. “Okay, I'll do it, Rich. Just—just hold her still. I'll get it off.”

  Lenore approached the pair with caution, fearing the restrained party might kick her in the stomach if she got too close. Mrs. Grayson had stopped fighting, however, and looked at Lenore with a bewildered, terrified expression on her face. Lenore wondered if cows looked the same way when being led to slaughter, never understanding the reason behind their murder.