The Killing Kind

by Bryan Smith

  The gun came away from his head.

  What’s she doing?

  The need to know was almost overpowering, but his fear of her was even greater. He kept his eyes shut, finished his prayers, and strove to keep his mind blank. He wanted to enter a meditative state. A gray, formless place. Retreat mentally and just let it happen.

  “Eeny.”

  He felt the gun barrel against his forehead again.

  And Roxie giggled. “Meeny.”

  The gun moved away from him. “Miny.”

  It came back. “Moe.”

  Away again. “My.”

  Back. “Mother”

  Away. “Told.”

  And on it went, back and forth, until the barrel grazed his forehead again on the last syllable. “It.” Another giggle. “So, so sorry, Robin.”

  Greg heaved a big breath next to him. “Oh, thank God. Thank you, God.”

  Rob squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could get them and found he was willing to send out a last-ditch prayer or two after all. He tensed, waiting for the explosion that would blow his head apart and send blood and brain matter flying across the forest floor. He was shaking so hard he barely noticed when the gun barrel moved from his forehead.

  But he did hear the boom of the gun.

  He screamed and opened his eyes in time to see Greg’s body toppling toward him. He screamed again and scrambled out of the way. Greg hit the ground and didn’t move. He was dead, with a ragged hole in the center of his forehead and a much bigger one at the back of his head. Rob whined and scooted away from the body, twisting around to stare up at Roxie through eyes wide with terror. His heart felt close to bursting, it was beating so hard and fast. He tried to speak, but couldn’t catch his breath.

  Roxie was smirking and shaking her head. “Oh, come on, Rob. It was just a game. I was never really gonna shoot you. You lost, remember?”

  Rob stayed there on his knees for several more moments, panting hard and struggling not to hyperventilate. By the time he at last found his voice, the terror was surging inside him again. “I wish you had killed me. Oh fuck. Fuck. Holy fuck. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t. I swear.”

  Roxie leaned toward him, holding out her free hand. “Oh, stop being such a pussy.” She fixed him with a steely, unyielding glare. “I’m not gonna kill you, Rob. Not unless you put me in a position where I have to, and I don’t think you’re gonna do that. Are you?”

  Rob took her hand and let her haul him to his feet. He looked her in the eye and said, “You’re crazy. You are fucking crazy.”

  She opened his hand and pressed the gun into it, forced his fingers to wrap around the butt. She smiled and moved his hand so that the gun barrel was pressed against her belly. “There. Now you’re the one with the power. You can kill me. Be done with me. Go on. What are you waiting for?”

  Rob’s hand started to shake.

  Tears spilled from his eyes.

  Roxie wiped some of the tears away with the ball of a thumb. “It’s loaded, Rob. I’m not setting you up and this isn’t another game. You can kill me if you want. You really can.”

  His shaking became more pronounced.

  He let go of the gun and it hit the ground with a thud.

  Roxie sighed. “It’s funny. I should feel relieved, but a little part of me is disappointed. Isn’t that funny?”

  Rob swallowed thickly. “No. It’s not funny at all.”

  “Sometimes I kind of want to die.”

  Rob’s eyes filled with tears again. “Roxie…”

  A small laugh. “Oh, relax. You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

  Rob kept shaking. This was all too much. He needed a tall bottle of liquor and a fistful of pills. He needed to make this all go away for a while. But he knew he was a long way from even that brand of empty solace.

  Roxie retrieved the gun and tucked it in a rear pocket. “Come on, baby.” She clasped hands with him and steered him back in the general direction of the road. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

  Roxie had a few last things to attend to when they finally reached the road. She retrieved her overflowing tote bag from the Galaxie and stowed it in the Tercel. She switched out the Tercel’s plates with plates stolen from yet another car. Those things accomplished, they got in the Tercel and drove away from there.

  Roxie was driving and that was fine with Rob.

  He’d done enough of it for a while.

  He glanced at the rearview mirror and caught a last glimpse of the Galaxie’s bright red finish before the road twisted and the deep woods swallowed the old car. He felt a pang at the loss of his grandfather’s treasured antique, but it was a numb pain. Too much had happened. Maybe there would be time for sentimentality later. Time to grieve that lost link with his family’s past.

  He looked at Roxie.

  Saw her watching him, face devoid of even a hint of a smile.

  No.

  Probably not.

  He closed his eyes and tried—without much success—to make his mind blank. But he couldn’t stop thinking. About all of it. The terror. The disconnection from his own life. All those dead bodies. So he opened his eyes again and watched the road ahead. Because he knew the truth.

  There would never be any escaping the horror surrounding him.

  It was too late to turn away.

  Too late to run or make a different choice.

  Too fucking late all around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  March 20

  Zeb tied the girl to the motel-room bed and went into the bathroom. He shut the door, went over to the toilet, and flipped the seat up. Moments later he had his cock out and was pumping the engorged organ furiously with his fist. He closed his eyes and imagined it was the girl’s mouth on him. The vivid image made him groan and inside of a minute he was shooting thick ropes of come into the toilet water. He stood there panting for a time and stared at the floating discharge. The ejaculate looked like strands of cheap pearls drifting in water. He groaned again and a feeling of intense relief flooded through him.

  Never in his adult life had he experienced a level of frustration even close to what he had been dealing with the past few days, not even during his years in the institution, locked up for so long in that little room. That had been easy compared to the effort required to keep his hands off the girl.

  He flipped the toilet seat down, letting it bang shut, and pushed the flush handle. A gurgle of rushing water carried his spilled seed away. He shuffled over to the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror mounted above it. His long hair was gone. The girl had cut it for him last night, after they’d cut her hair into that bob style and dyed it an unnatural shade of bright red. He had been wary of trusting the task to her, but Lulu had insisted. The scissors were long and sharp, a potentially very effective weapon. He had felt vulnerable, another unfamiliar and unpleasant experience. But he wasn’t in the habit of disobeying Lulu, and, as usual, she had been right. The girl did not attack him. And that was a hard thing to figure out. She could easily have inflicted a very severe wound, perhaps even killed him. So why hadn’t she?

  “I told you, Zeb. She’s like you. Deep down, she knows it.”

  There was a new image in the mirror. Lulu had materialized and was standing a few feet directly behind him. He turned and faced her, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his butt against the edge of the sink. “Yeah, you keep saying that. But so far I haven’t seen any proof.”

  Lulu smiled. “You will, soon enough.”

  This was another thing he was having some trouble accepting. Until yesterday, Lulu had always been a disembodied voice in his head. Completely real, he knew, but there had never been any hint of a physical component to her existence. Until she appeared out of thin air last night, after the girl had drifted off to sleep. That had spooked him. Zeb had never been genuinely scared of anything in his entire adult life, but that had done it. One moment he was sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette and just thin
king, and then—poof!—there she was.

  Lulu was a dead ringer for Adrienne Barbeau, an actress he remembered from low-budget movies he’d seen on cable when he was young. She wore a tiny blue bikini and a necklace of withered human ears. The attire was bizarre, but it was her uncanny resemblance to the actress that initially made him think she was a hallucination. So, acting on the theory that no hallucination would have physical substance, he’d grabbed one of her large breasts. It had felt real enough—and pleasingly pliable—beneath his probing fingers. The subsequent stinging slap across his face had felt just as real.

  She looked exactly the same as she had last night, except now she wore a red bikini instead of a blue one.

  “You really think she wants to kill?”

  “She killed Clyde, didn’t she?”

  Zeb’s expression darkened. “Yeah. In self-defense. Ain’t the same thing as what you’re sayin’. I gave her a chance to prove herself and she couldn’t do it.”

  Lulu made a clucking sound and shook her head. “It’s because you picked the wrong kind of victim. Find her someone she’d like to kill and she’ll do it. She’ll do it and she’ll love it. You’ll see. And then you’ll have a new partner, a better one.”

  Zeb frowned. “Wasn’t nothin’ wrong with Clyde. He was my friend.”

  “He was a nasty, disgusting piece of shit.”

  “So? Most folks would say the same about me.”

  Lulu laughed. “And they’d be right. You fuck corpses and eat human flesh. You are the very definition of disgusting, Zeb. But there’s a difference. Clyde wasn’t special. You are. And so is that girl.”

  “That’s another thing you keep saying that I don’t get. Special how?”

  Lulu smiled again. “That’s not for me to say yet. Some things you need to figure out on your own. It’ll all become clear in time.”

  “I really want to fuck her.”

  Lulu’s smile vanished. “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She approached him and jabbed a finger against his chest, the long nail pricking his skin. “Shut up about this, Zebulon. The girl is special. That’s all you need to know. You will not force yourself on her.”

  “What if I just can’t help myself?”

  Lulu reached up and clamped her hand around his throat. She forced him to his knees with astonishing ease and bent down close to him. Her hand was like a band of iron around his throat, and he struggled for breath as she spoke. “If you violate her, I will punish you. And then I’ll leave you. You will never see me or hear my voice again. I’ll be gone forever and you will never be the same.”

  She let go of his throat.

  Zeb gagged and struggled to draw in breath. He got to his feet and managed to croak out an apology: “I’m…sorry.”

  Lulu’s expression remained dark. “Not as sorry as you will be if you disobey me.”

  Then she was gone, the space where she’d been occupied only by air now. He thought about what she’d said and tried to imagine life without Lulu. The prospect terrified him.

  So that was that. The girl was off-limits. Permanently.

  Christ. He hoped like hell Lulu was telling the truth about her.

  Hoped she was worth all this struggle and pain.

  The crazy man was talking to himself again. Well, talking to Lulu. Which amounted to the same thing, as Lulu clearly originated from somewhere inside his fucked-up brain. She had almost gotten used to the strange one-sided conversations, but this time there was a new wrinkle. She was hearing both sides of the exchange. One part of it was in his usual gruff speaking voice, which normally was the only part she would hear, with Lulu’s replies presumably only being audible inside his head. But now she was hearing the other side of the conversation too, a higher-pitched, almost squeaky voice. It was Zeb talking, but he was trying to make Lulu’s contributions sound like they were actually being uttered by a woman. Upon hearing this, Julie had to suppress a giggle fit. It was so incredibly absurd. But then he said something that removed any trace of humor from the situation.

  I really want to fuck her.

  By which he meant rape. Fucking was something you did with a willing partner. And while she might well be open to engaging in a lot of twisted activities, she knew for a fact she would never give herself to the creepy old necrophiliac willingly. The way he looked at her most of the time never failed to chill her. Those dead eyes made her feel like she had a million invisible bugs crawling all over her body. Especially when he’d undress her and stare at her for a while, as he’d done prior to going into the bathroom. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure out what he’d been doing in there prior to Lulu’s arrival.

  The talk with Lulu got even stranger after a few minutes. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on in there, but she got the sense Lulu was administering some kind of physical punishment. Zeb made gurgling sounds and uttered a few strangled words, then spoke clearly as Lulu in that ridiculous faux-female voice. The latter sounded sort of like Mickey Mouse.

  Julie couldn’t help it—that impression did make her giggle.

  The bathroom door banged open and Zeb staggered out into the room. He came over to the side of the bed and stared down at her. He braced a knee on the edge of the bed and leaned over her to undo her bonds. He licked his lips and stared at her breasts. “Can’t decide whether I’d rather eat those or suckle on ’em.”

  Julie made herself stay very still. The physical proximity repulsed her, but she was afraid flinching away would agitate him. “Lulu says you can’t do either.”

  He scowled and finished untying her. “It ain’t nice to eavesdrop, bitch.”

  Julie scooped her clothes—denim shorts and a halter—up from the floor and began to get dressed. “Yeah. Real sorry about that, Zeb. But, you know, the fucking bathroom’s only ten feet away. Don’t want me to hear your talks with Lulu? Take it outside.”

  She finished dressing and grabbed the television remote from the nightstand. The remote was on a cord, which was anchored to the nightstand. Which she thought was pretty fucking funny. Who the hell steals a remote?

  Zeb frowned. “What are you doing?”

  “Gossip Girl is on tonight. Let’s see if this dump gets the CW.” She thumbed the power button, the TV blinked on, and she began to scan through the limited array of channels. She squealed. “Yay! There it is. Wanna watch?”

  Zeb turned and stared blankly at the TV for several moments. Then he looked over his shoulder at her. “You like this shit?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed. “I guess I’m too old for it. I don’t under—”

  Julie put a finger to her lips and shushed him. “Shut up! I’m trying to listen. Save it for the commercials.”

  She flopped onto her stomach, kicked her legs up, and propped her chin in her hands. Zeb sat on the floor. They watched the entire show. Zeb surprised her by keeping his comments and complaints to a minimum. She even had a bit of fun fielding his intermittent questions about the show and its characters. He really didn’t get it at all, but he was struggling to grasp her interest. It was sort of what watching the show with her dad might have been like. That thought took her to a dark place briefly during one commercial break, but she shoved the bad thoughts away and lost herself in the show again when the break ended.

  A touch of melancholy crept in with the end of the show. For that one hour things had seemed almost normal. But now it was over and she was again forced to deal with her new reality, which remained pretty fucking grim. She was being kept prisoner by a man who might snap and kill her at any moment. She couldn’t stop thinking of what might happen. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him on top of her nude and very still body, face contorting in twisted agony as he penetrated her dead pussy. She was thinking of it again and this time it was worse, her morbid mind taking her down paths that repulsed her even as they stirred her curiosity. There was the question of lubrication, just for instance. Dead girls don’t get wet for their postlife
partners. Obviously. And the term partner was grossly inappropriate in this context, as it was another word implying consent, and dead people, duh, weren’t capable of giving that. So…what did he use? His own spit? Some kind of lotion? Or…ugh…the victim’s fresh blood?

  Might as well come out and ask him. She doubted she could offend the kind of guy who did that sort of thing, so fuck it. “What do you use for lube when you bang a dead body?”

  Zeb was still sitting on the floor. He turned toward her and propped a forearm on a corner of the bed. “Why you want to know?”

  “Just curious.”

  He grunted. “Whatever’s handy.”

  “Like?”

  He told her. In detail. He used a variety of methods. Some obvious. Some…not.

  “You are a sick piece of work, Zeb.”

  “Yeah. I suppose so.”

  “You fucking suppose?” She laughed. “Like maybe there’s a little part of you that thinks you’re normal or, I don’t know, just misunderstood?“

  He smiled. “I reckon.”

  The smile was a strange thing to see. It rendered the next string of sarcastic remarks she would’ve made DOA. It was genuine. Not his usual leer at all, but rather a reflection of simple amusement. It humanized the monster for a fleeting moment. But then she thought of the murder she’d witnessed in the woods. That terrified woman tied to that tree, strung up like some piece of wild game he’d captured. She had to keep reminding herself of things like that. His cruelty. His perversions. His willingness to kill and inflict extreme pain. It was strangely easy to lose sight of that in a moment like this. She had to keep her guard up, both physically and emotionally.

  Zeb was still staring at her, a quizzical expression in place of the now-vanished smile. “What makes you special? What does Lulu see in you?”