“Traitor!” he screamed as he began to chase her. If he had been psychotic before, he was now pushed over some new threshold. He screamed wildly, spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth. Vera glanced back at him and screamed. She was still holding her bag over her shoulder. If she had sense, she would have dropped the bag, but that was a Gucci sports bag, so to hell with that! Either way, she was no match for a young, healthy man on foot; and within seconds, he knocked her from behind, so that she tumbled to the ground. When she looked up, he was in her face, growling like a beast. “Give me back the sacred panties!” he screamed.
“Okay!” Vera cried out, genuinely terrified. “Here!” she said, holding out the panties with a trembling hand, “—take them!” As he bent down to take the panties, she noticed the butt of a gun tucked into the front of his pants. His T-shirt had covered it before, but when he bent over, the gun was revealed. Vera gasped. Luckily, as soon as he had the panties back, he calmed down. He brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply, a glazed look coming over his face. He inhaled deeply several times, in fact, as if recharging his strength. At last, he walked off, leaving Vera trembling on the ground, as if she were irrelevant.
“The demon must die,” he muttered as he began to walk back toward the concert.
Just then, the crowd cheered at something Pastranzo had said—
“Don’t cheer the demon!” the boyfriend screamed. He began to walk quicker now, as if on a mission. Two nearby girls were clapping; the boyfriend confronted them, screaming, “Can’t you see how hideous it is? You’re all under its spell!”
The two girls looked at one another confusedly. Luckily for them, the crowd cheered again, and the boyfriend continued on his mission toward the podium in the distance, where Pastranzo was in the middle of one of his tone deaf solos.
Vera came to her senses suddenly. She got to her feet and ran after the boyfriend—who was by now at least one hundred feet in front of her. He was still screaming about the demon to everyone who came within earshot. Most ignored him—or did not hear his gibberish over the cheering and the music. However, some people began to look at him in annoyance. Remembering the gun, Vera knew that she had to act before something happened, but she had no idea what to do. She thought about calling the police, but that would ruin the boyfriend’s life—
“The demon must die!” the boyfriend continued to rant as he pushed his way through the ever-thickening crowd. “You’ve already lost your souls to it!” he raged—
“Would you shut the hell up!” a huge, hairy man growled. The boyfriend had just screamed into the man’s ear. The man struck Vera as a huge, hairy mollusk—an oyster without the shell. He had to weigh at least three hundred pounds; and under all that fat, there did not seem to be any definite skeletal structure. In fact, he did not merely have a pot belly, but several layers of flab, which bulged and jiggled against one another as if they were in competition for supremacy. The man’s hair was green, and reached down his back; his beard had been dyed orange, and reached down to his second stomach bulge. He was standing in a group with half a dozen other young men, the rest of whom were of normal human proportions—
“You’re all slaves of the demon!” the boyfriend screamed at them all, “soul-less slaves!” Actually, he screamed at no one in particular—it was just that the mollusk and his crew were blocking him. The boyfriend began to push past the mollusk—
“Don’t push me, asshole!” the man yelled—
“The demon’s drained you—” the boyfriend continued; he tried to push past the hairy mollusk again. However, by now, the man had had enough. He reared his hand back then, and punched the boyfriend squarely in the jaw. There was a loud “crack” at the blow; however, bolstered by his superhuman pussy strength, the boyfriend barely moved. This seemed to enrage the entire mollusk crew—as if the boyfriend had offended their honor. As if a hidden signal had been given, they now all started pummeling the boyfriend.
Vera had watched all this with a kind of numb fascination. She stood about twenty feet away and stared at the scene—just like the surrounding people. That fascination turned to panic when the boyfriend punched one of the punier mollusk crew members in the mouth, knocking out his front teeth. She had to stop this; and yet, there was another voice within her, telling her that this was perfect. At least the boyfriend would not kill Pastranzo if he got beaten up. And if the mollusk crew killed him… she shook her head as the thought passed through her mind, not because his getting killed was a bad thing, but because the boyfriend, despite his derangement (or maybe because of it) was holding his own against the mollusk crew. He was still screaming gibberish about the demon. If anything, his delusion was getting stronger, empowering him. Between lashing out blows, he sniffed the panties, which he kept balled around his fist.
No, Vera had to put an end to this. She knew how, but she would not allow herself to acknowledge it. She kept the awareness locked up in a dark place within herself. …There was only one thing that could save the boyfriend now. He was totally psychotic; all ties to reason and reality had been severed. The only thing her profession could do for him was pump him full of drugs and institutionalize him. That, she knew, was out of the question, as it would ruin his life; calling the police was out of the question; leaving him alone to continue with the escalating madness of his delusion was out of the question, as she had no doubt that he would turn over heaven and earth to kill Pastranzo, or the next person the delusion told him to kill. And now, as she looked at the melee, she noticed him trying to reach for his gun. Luckily, he was put off balance by a blow to the head. A dark, unnamable impulse took possession of Vera, and she found herself going to the melee. If she went quickly or slowly, she had no idea. Somehow, there was a voice screaming in her ears, directing her. From the stage, Pastranzo was squealing like a skewered pig. Somehow that sound joined with the one in Vera’s mind, pushing her over some new threshold—some previously unattainable mental barrier—so that soon, she found herself within the melee, pummeling the boyfriend. Her presence went unnoticed in the chaos. He was screaming; his attackers were yelling; and from the loud speakers, Pastranzo’s screeching solo reverberated. Somehow, Vera found herself screaming as well. She did not know when she had taken Stacy’s switchblade out of her bag; but somehow, it was in her hand, cloaked by the boyfriend’s one-time cape. And then, somehow, with her mind and will numbed by all the screaming, she jammed the knife into the boyfriend’s back. His spine arched—
Pastranzo’s screeching solo ended. Everything seemed suddenly silent. Vera’s insane screams stopped—if she had ever actually screamed at all. She put a trembling hand over her mouth when she realized what she had done. The boyfriend’s attackers continued to beat him, unaware of what had happened. The entire thing was so horrible that Vera was about to scream out in horror—but miraculously, Stacy appeared at her side—
“Enough!” Stacy screamed, stepping in between the hairy mollusk and her boyfriend’s drooping body; she grabbed his slumping body, holding him up by looping her arm under his left arm. “—Isn’t this supposed to be a peace concert!” she chastised the stunned mollusk. Like many, he was amazed by her beauty; his crew, which seemed to follow his lead in everything, stood there like sulking six-year-olds, waiting for their mother to administer punishment. The boyfriend made an inarticulate noise—a moan. Stacy looked at the mollusk disapprovingly; feeling compelled to explain himself, he pointed at the boyfriend with a trembling finger and whined:
“Well, he started it!”
Stacy ignored him and began to drag the boyfriend away. She made sure to keep her hand on the curtain cum cape, and the bloody knife it concealed. Vera, coming to her senses, grabbed the boyfriend’s other arm and began to help Stacy. Together, they began to move off, dragging the mortally wounded boyfriend.
“He’s still alive,” Stacy whispered as they walked off. Somehow, it sounded like an accusation.
“Oh God, I’m sorry!” Vera said too loudly.
Stacy
shushed her. “Keep it together, Vera.”
Vera nodded her head uneasily. They were making their way through the crowd now. People were cheering and swaying to Pastranzo’s strange music, but all Vera could think was that they all knew what she had done. She had stabbed a man…!
They were now out of the thickest section of the crowd. Stacy steered the boyfriend toward some portable toilets. People were on lines to enter the toilets. A woman came out of one of the toilets; a man was about to enter, but Stacy stepped in front of him, saying, “We had an accident—you understand.”
The guy did not get a chance to answer. Stacy opened the door with her free hand. Their noses were blasted by the dual odors of floral-scented chemicals and steaming excrement. Vera coughed. Stacy and Vera had to maneuver their bodies so that they could shove the boyfriend in. He slumped on the commode. There was not space for all three of them to enter, but they did. Stacy locked the door. Vera was queasy from the scent and the reality of everything—
The boyfriend moaned. Vera had to stifle the sudden urge to vomit.
“Give me your handbag,” Stacy demanded then.
Vera did as she was told. It was a struggle to move within the cramped space, but she finally handed over the bag; she hit the boyfriend in the head inadvertently. She went to apologize, but stopped herself. Stacy was fishing around inside the bag. Vera had no idea why, and she was too numb to think to ask. However, after a few seconds, Stacy pulled out a plastic bag that Vera had wrapped some used gym socks in (and forgotten about). Stacy discarded the socks and proffered the plastic bag to Vera.
“You can finish him off with this,” she said simply.
“Me?” Vera said when her mind finally deciphered the sentence,”—I can’t,” she said, refusing to take the bag.
“You’re halfway there, Vera,” Stacy reassured her. “Hold this over his nose and mouth—it’s the easiest way.”
“Can’t you do it?” Vera pleaded.
“I told you before that I won’t do it. You have to play your part.”
“I can’t!” she sobbed.
The boyfriend moaned; drool was dripping from his open mouth as he sat there with his head slumped forward.
Stacy talked to Vera slowly, like a mother addressing a disagreeable child: “Here, take this.” She took Vera’s hand and placed the plastic bag in it. Vera was still sobbing, but she took it.
“Do it, Vera. It’s the only way. Every moment you delay only means more suffering for him. Look at the agony on his face,” she said, taking hold of the boyfriend’s head and tilting it upward, so Vera could see his face. A disembodied cry escaped from his lips; his eyes had rolled back in their sockets by now—
Vera shuddered and looked away, still sobbing.
“You have to put him out of his misery, Vera. Look at him, don’t turn away. Good, that’s it. Look at him—see him for yourself. You’re in control here. You can save him, Vera—save him from suffering and his delusions. Death is the only way. Do it.”
Vera’s hands were trembling as she held the plastic bag. She took the bag in both hands now, as Stacy nodded her head in encouragement. Vera was moving the plastic bag closer and closer to the boyfriend’s face—
“Do it!”
Suddenly, the internal screaming started in Vera’s head again; the people outside started cheering, and the same strange numbness as before took over. She brought the bag to the boyfriend’s face and held it there. He tried to move his face away—an instinctual defense mechanism of the body. However, now that the internal screaming had started again, Vera found her muscles quivering with awesome strength—or so it seemed to her. She leaned over him, applying all her strength. He struggled at first; and while he did, the screaming voice inside of her blocked everything out. She held her breath while all this was going on—everything seemed to stop in fact. It was only when his struggles finally subsided to nothing that the horror of it registered in her mind. She released the plastic bag. Considering the pressure she had applied to his sweat-drenched face, the bag stuck to his skin. His eyes were still rolled back in their sockets. His body was limp. He was dead. She tried to step away—to flee—but of course, there was nowhere to go in the cramped space.
Stacy held her then, and laughed out triumphantly. “It’s over, Vera! I’m proud of you!” When Stacy detached from her, Vera looked at her as if fighting to understand: as if her mind had been severed from the surrounding reality. “We are one now, Vera,” Stacy continued, “—bound together by fate. Dry those tears now—you’ve become part of something great…!”
Five minutes had passed since Vera killed the boyfriend. She watched with a kind of semi-conscious fascination as Stacy prepared the body. Vera had had a towel in her huge handbag. Stacy pulled out the knife, pulled off the boyfriend’s shirt, then used the towel (and the plastic bag) as a bandage. She then put the shirt back on, and tied the one-time cape around his midsection, covering all signs of blood. Stacy’s finishing touch was a pair of movie starlet sunglasses she had found in Vera’s handbag. These, she used to cover up the boyfriend’s eyes, which refused to stay closed. With this ensemble, he looked like some kind of cross-dressing freak, but it would conceal his death unless the police stopped them. Stacy’s plan, Vera gleaned from the woman’s cheerful chatter, was that they would take him home, wait for him to come back to life, and then reprogram him. That gave them an hour.
Stacy pushed open the door of the portable toilet. Vera was startled by the light of the day, and the fresh air, and the reality of the crowd. Somehow she had forgotten about the outside world. The people waiting on line to use the toilet looked at the strange scene of two women and a guy jammed into a toilet. Some of them gasped; some laughed and pointed. Vera looked at the staring crowd with a mixture of shame and uneasiness. One woman about Vera’s age averted her five-year-old’s eyes from the sight, and pulled him away in a huff. Stacy, as usual, was unfazed. While Vera avoided their eyes, Stacy looked at them as if to say, “What the hell are you looking at!” Stacy was the first to maneuver out of the cramped space of the toilet, leaving the boyfriend and Vera jammed in there like zoo animals on display.
Just then, a pack of four teenage boys was passing by. The oldest was probably sixteen at the most:
“Damn,” one said while the others laughed, “what were you guys doing in there!”
Without missing a beat, Stacy smiled at the young men seductively: “We just fucked his brains out,” she said, pointing back at the boyfriend, and a stunned Vera. And then, while the surprised boys stopped and stared, and their previous laughter gave way to shock and disbelief, she continued, “You guys want to be next?”
The boys stared at one another, speechless.
“Speak quickly, gentlemen,” Stacy urged them on. “This is your one chance.”
The boys looked at one another and nodded excitedly.
“Okay then,” Stacy went on. “All you have to do is help me get him to a cab. He passed out after what we did to him. Hopefully you guys won’t give out as easily.”
The boys practically fought with one another as they ran to get the boyfriend. Vera barely managed to get out of the way. They hauled out the boyfriend and returned to Stacy, like dogs playing fetch. Two had him by the shoulders, and two had his legs. Stacy smiled seductively again, then began to walk quickly toward the park exit. Vera walked behind them all, her mind numb as usual. Of course, none of the boys noticed her—Stacy was their prize. Vera did not know if she was relieved by that or insulted.
Every few moments, Stacy would goad them on with something like, “Faster, baby, I’m so horny,” or, “The quicker we get him home, the quicker we can fuck.” Vera could not believe her ears. It was ridiculous and shameless at the same, but the teens were worked into a frenzy by it. On the other hand, Vera’s mind was still stuck on the reality of death—the reality that she had stabbed and suffocated a man.
Stacy was practically jogging now, and the horny teens ran after her. None of them was in particu
larly good shape; and with the burden of the boyfriend, they were wheezing after a few minutes. Even Vera seemed to be in better shape than they were. The horny teens began to slow, but Stacy urged them on with, “Faster, baby, I want it so bad!”
After a while, Vera did not know if it was horniness that spurred them on or their male egos (and the fact that they did not want to appear weak before Stacy). That was especially so, as Stacy’s energy still seemed inexhaustible.
Vera was beginning to regain her composure. She jogged past the struggling teens and up to Stacy’s side. “You’re not really going to screw those fools, are you?” she asked.
Stacy laughed, and glanced back at the wheezing foursome. She winked at them, to encourage them, but they were so exhausted they did not seem to notice. Stacy looked back at Vera: “You can have them, if you want.”
Despite everything, Vera smiled and shook her head.
They were nearing the edge of the park. Stacy ran ahead with a few graceful strides that left Vera amazed. Soon, she was fifty yards ahead of them, standing on the curb and gesturing to an oncoming cab. The cab pulled over. Stacy looked back at the stragglers and gestured for them to run faster. Vera ran ahead of the now bleary-eyed teens.
How to Kill Your Boyfriend (in 10 Easy Steps) Page 13