by Bryan Smith
“Snap out of it.”
Rob blinked. “What?”
“Your head was off in the fucking clouds.”
He sat up straighter in his seat. “Right. Sorry.”
“I love you.”
For fuck’s sake…
“Right. You said that.”
Roxie laughed. “You don’t have to say it back yet. I know you like me. You’ll come around to the love thing sooner or later. Probably sooner.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, as I was trying to tell you, going gaga over you has sort of changed my perspective a little. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll always be what I am. But I do mean to be more careful.” She pried one of his hands off the steering wheel and laced fingers with him. “And that includes no interaction with the staff here.”
Rob grunted. “So…instead…”
He let the implied question hang.
She flexed her fingers slightly for a better grip on his hand. “We watch for a likely target. Preferably someone vulnerable. Preferably alone.”
“We catch them going in or out of their room.”
“Right.”
“Get them inside the room and tie them up.”
“Wrong. Fucking waste of time. We kill them.”
Rob groaned. “Is that really necessary? You haven’t killed anybody in over twenty-four hours. The bloodshed reduction was sort of refreshing.”
“What’s your favorite horror movie?”
Rob stared at her with his mouth hanging open for a long moment. The abrupt conversational shift had caught him off guard. “Um…I…wait. Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Rob shrugged. “I don’t think I have a single favorite. I like so many. There’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Dawn of the Dead. Obviously.”
“Originals or remakes?”
“Both.”
She smiled. “Good answer. The Dawn remake is better than the original, though.”
“Blasphemy. And what does any of this have to do with murdering innocent spring breakers?”
She laughed. “I didn’t want to talk about that anymore, that’s all. I’m killing them. End of story. Don’t make me say it again.”
Her hand tightened around his. A reminder.
This was a command, not a request.
He forced a smile. “Understood.”
She relaxed her grip and smiled back. “Good.”
Rob opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on the edge of his tongue, unspoken and forgotten. He stared at the black BMW parked to the right of the Tercel. Its doors had come open and two passengers climbed out. The very unlikely looking pair started walking toward the motel. It was a middle-aged man and a girl in her teens. The man looked like a powerfully built wino in ill-fitting clothes. The girl was cute as hell. But something about her haircut was off. It looked…unprofessional.
Roxie was staring at them, too. “Something’s not right there.”
“No shit. That car was there when we pulled in, which was“—he glanced at the dashboard clock—“an hour ago. So…”
Roxie nodded. “They hid behind those tinted windows the whole time, waiting for us to get out or go away.”
“Because they didn’t want to be seen together.”
“Right. Or something like that.”
“Weird.”
The strange couple stopped at the door to a room on the first floor. The man opened the door with a key card and they slipped inside the room. The old bum tried not to be obvious about it, but he shot a quick look their way before shutting the door.
Roxie slipped on her sandals (also newly purchased) and retrieved the .38 from the glove compartment. “Change of plans.”
She was out the door and moving toward the motel before Rob could protest.
He slapped the steering wheel.
“Shit!”
One day her impulsiveness really would get her killed. He glanced at the keys dangling from the ignition. For the first time in more than a day he gave serious consideration to the possibility of escape. He could drive away and leave Roxie to meet her inevitable doom on her own. He could go home. Make excuses. Maybe find a way to reconcile with Charlene. Then there was Lindsey. Sweet Lindsey. His best friend. Maybe Roxie was right about her. Maybe she really did want something more than friendship. Or maybe not. Bottom line, he had options. Possibilities. Normal, sane things he could do with his life. Somehow, it was all still just within his grasp.
He looked at Roxie.
She was already at the door to the room the strange couple had entered.
Rob sighed. “Shit.”
He grabbed the keys from the ignition, hopped out of the car, and hurried after her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
March 24
“Are they just gonna sit there forever or what?”
Zeb didn’t answer. He sat behind the BMW’s steering wheel, his head cranked to his left as he watched the couple in the Tercel. They seemed permanently ensconced in the car. The girl, in particular, looked rooted to the spot, scrunched way down in her seat with her feet propped on the dash. She was pretty, but maybe just a little sleazy, with multiple visible tattoos.
“She looks like a Suicide Girl.”
Now Zeb looked at her, a genuinely puzzled expression on his face. “A what?”
“A Suicide Girl. Alternative pinup models. They usually look sort of punk, with tats, piercings, and shit.”
“Tats?”
“Tattoos.”
Julie glanced at the rearview mirror. “I sort of look like that now. I need a tat, Zeb.”
Zeb was staring at the couple in the Tercel again. “I want to kill these people.”
Julie was still admiring her reflection. She fluffed her hair and blew herself a kiss. “Broad daylight, Zeb. Not a good idea. Look, they’re obviously up to no good themselves. They’re not gonna connect us to the guy in the room. And even if they did, they’re not going to the cops. I mean…look at them.”
Zeb nodded. His posture changed and the tensely coiled muscles in his back visibly relaxed. “Right. Enough of this bullshit. Let’s go.”
He opened the door and got out. Julie grabbed her new purse—a nice Gucci liberated from her third victim—and hurried after him. “Hey. Thought of something. What if they’re cops? What if they’re on a stakeout or something?”
“They’re not detectives. Too young.”
“Detectives? You mean like Magnum, P.I.? That old-ass TV shit? I’m talking about cops, man. Like real cops.”
Zeb glared at her. He did that a lot when she was talking. It was sort of funny to wind him up. “I’m talking about police detectives, girl. Investigators. I had some experience with them when I was younger. They’re the ones you’d see on a stakeout. These jackasses are not police detectives, I promise you.”
“You hope.”
“Shut up.”
Julie giggled.
Zeb opened the door to room 109. Julie went in first and flipped on the light. She saw Zeb shoot a look at the Tercel before shutting the door. “Shouldn’t have looked at them.”
Zeb grimaced. “I know.”
He rubbed his hands on his face, sighed, and sat on the edge of the king-size bed. He looked beat. Julie stared at him. Despite his size and imposing musculature, there were times when he just looked like a tired old man.
“Maybe you should take a nap.”
Zeb yawned. “Maybe.”
He scooted backward to the center of the bed, swung his body around, and stretched out, resting his head on the stacked-up pillows behind him. He closed his eyes and folded his hands over his chest.
“Hey, Zeb.”
He opened one eye and looked at her.
“It okay if I play with this guy some?” She reached into her bag and pulled out the large hunting knife. “I’m bored.”
He shrugged. “You can cut on him some. But don’t kill him just yet.”
Julie grinned. “Cool.”
Sh
e turned away from Zeb and looked at the man tied to one of the room’s two metal-framed chairs. A layer of silver tape was wound around the bottom part of his face. This was to keep the gag in his mouth. His eyes went wide and his nostrils flared when he saw the big knife. Tears leaked from his eyes and he began to shake. She couldn’t blame him. She’d used the blade on him quite a bit during the night. He was nude from the waist up. His torso was a road map of red and pink lines. The red lines were the open, still-weeping wounds. The pink lines were places where she’d cut him and then applied a lighter flame.
She approached him and placed the tip of the blade to a fold of bruised and swollen flesh just beneath his left eye. “Hi, Ronald. I’ve missed you. Sorry we were gone so long.”
Ronald whimpered.
“You’ve got a choice. Should I cut you? Or should I beat you with the phone book some more?”
Ronald looked up at her through eyes overflowing with tears. He looked like he wanted to be put out of his misery.
Not yet, Ronnie. So sorry.
She set the knife and Gucci bag on the table by the window and picked up the phone book. She liked the weight of it in her hands. She got a good, two-handed grip on it and positioned herself in front of Ronald again.
His bloodshot eyes seemed to beg her.
Have mercy. Please, please, have mercy…
She lifted the book over her head and swung it with all the force she could muster, smashing it across the man’s face and snapping his head brutally in the other direction. The backswing blow that followed was just as devastating. The man choked and sobbed behind his gag. Tears spilled from his eyes in fat droplets, splashing his big belly. His whole body trembled nonstop. Julie watched him for a minute, savoring his misery. Then she raised the book again and smashed him across the face four more times in rapid succession.
She dropped the book and picked up the knife. “Wow, that was fun. A total fucking rush. But you know what? My arms are getting tired.”
Ronald’s eyes locked on the knife again.
Julie smiled. “Say hi to Mr. Pointy.”
She poked the knife into the raw hole where his right ear had been. Ronald screamed behind his gag, but the gag and the tape effectively muffled the sound. Julie scraped the blade around the inside of the wound some more and laughed as he thrashed uselessly against his bonds.
This was too much fun.
“You need to stop. He’ll die.”
Julie took the knife out of the man’s ear and turned to address Zeb. “Yeah? So? I want to kill him now. I haven’t killed in two days.”
Zeb chuckled. “You sound like a doper jonesing for a fix.”
Julie laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I am definitely hooked on this shit.” She began to pace the room, reluctantly backing off for now. “Four people, Zeb. Not counting Clyde. Four innocent motherfuckers I’ve fucking ended. And you know what? It’s not nearly enough. I want more, more, more.” She stopped pacing and stared at Zeb. “How many people have you killed?”
“Couldn’t begin to guess, girl.”
“More than ten?”
He just smiled.
“Right. Epic underestimation. More than…fifty?”
He kept smiling.
“Holy shit, Zeb. More than…a hundred?”
He shrugged. “Lost count a long time ago. But…probably.”
She grinned. “That’s awesome. I want—”
The blast made her yelp and drop the knife. She sucked in a startled breath and spun about as Zeb sat up quick. She saw the hole in the door right away. Another blast blew the lock mechanism off the door. Then the couple from the Tercel came barreling into the room. The one who looked like a Suicide Girl came in first. She had the gun. The man came in right on her heels and kicked the door shut.
Zeb snarled and leaped off the bed at the girl. Julie figured he’d take the gun from her and stick it down her throat. He was that lethally quick. She had seen more than enough proof of it. But somehow the girl was even faster. She got the gun up and aimed faster than seemed humanly possible. She squeezed the trigger three quick times and each slug hit home in the approximate center of Zeb’s chest. He dropped hard, hitting the floor like a slab of granite, with a big, teeth-rattling boom.
Julie bent to pick up the knife.
The girl aimed the gun at her. “Don’t.”
Julie stood up straight. “Okay.”
Reappraisal time. Zeb was out of the picture. You don’t take three in the chest and get back up. Which sort of sucked. She wasn’t exactly fond of him. And he remained creepy as all get out, what with the corpse-fucking and all. But she had grown sort of…attached to him in their week together. He’d allowed her to break through a barrier that otherwise might have taken her years to breach, if ever. She enjoyed killing and never wanted to give it up. Would rather be dead herself than have to give it up. But if these fuckers were cops, she wasn’t going to have a choice. The man in the chair was still alive. He could testify against her, send her to prison for a very long time.
Hmm, prison…
The girl with the gun indicated the bound man with a jerk of her head. “You worried about him?”
Julie frowned. “Um…I…guess?”
The girl approached the bound man and pressed the barrel of the revolver against his forehead. She squeezed the trigger and a spray of blood and brain matter splashed the window blind behind him.
“Holy shit.”
Okay. Re-reappraisal time.
Not cops. Definitely not cops.
“Who are you guys?”
The woman shook her head. “No time for that. Cops will be here soon. Grab that knife if you want it and come with us.”
Julie didn’t have to be told twice.
She scooped up the knife and followed the woman and her man—who looked sort of shell-shocked—out of the room.
They were gone by the time Zeb was able to push himself up on all fours and crawl over to the bed. He sat down, put his back against the side of the bed, and looked down at his chest.
“Fuck.”
He heard a clucking sound. “You’re a goner.”
He looked up and saw Lulu standing over him. She was still the spitting image of Adrienne Barbeau, but she’d exchanged the bikini for a little black dress. Black for mourning, he supposed. Though it was far more revealing than any funeral dress he’d ever seen.
He coughed up blood. “Hurts. Hurts bad.”
“I imagine.”
“Can you help me?”
“Afraid not, Zeb. This is the end for you.”
The tears that spilled down his cheeks surprised Zeb. He couldn’t recall ever having cried as an adult. “Sucks. I don’t want to die.”
Lulu smiled. “Who does, Zeb?”
“Are you real?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Does it matter?”
Zeb’s eyes fluttered and the world turned white for a second before snapping back into focus. More blood trickled out of his mouth. “I think you’re real.”
Lulu just smiled.
“You’re real. I thought I was special and that was the reason I could hear you when nobody else could. But…I was wrong…”
Lulu shook her head. “It was always about the girl, Zeb. It was your job to get her here. To meet those people. That’s done now. And now it’s time for you to meet God.” She laughed. “You ready to talk to God, Zeb?”
Zeb felt a sudden chill.
He thought of all the people he’d killed and their desperate pleas for mercy. He wasn’t ready, not even close, but he had no say in the matter now. His breath hitched and he convulsed a little. When the convulsion passed, he heard the whine of approaching sirens.
Lulu lowered herself to the floor and straddled him. “Don’t worry about them. You’ll be gone before they get here. You’ve only got a few seconds, baby. Think about what you want to say to God. Be quick about it.”
Zeb tried to think of something. Anything.
But all he could hear
now was the echoes of his victims’ screams.
Then he was gone.
Lulu watched him go.
She kissed him once on the mouth.
And then she was gone, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Diary of a Mixed-up Girl blog entry, dated March 25
Feels like I haven’t updated in eons. But I guess it’s only been about a week or whatever. I’m sure most of you will be surprised as shit to even see this. Thought I was a goner, right? Well, guess again. I am alive and well and having a great fucking time. Hardly really have time for this, but I wanted you bitches to know I’m all right. Not sure why. I don’t give a shit about any of you. LOL. Btw, I’m writing this on a new laptop that belonged to this guy who really won’t be needing it anymore. It’s nice. Bells and whistles out the fucking ass.
So I’ve made some new friends. This really hot chick and her boyfriend. Think I’m gonna be hanging with them for a while. The chick is fun. I’ve totally bonded with her. The boyfriend is okay. It’s fun to mess with him. The chick’s got this big thing planned and it is going to be a fucking BLAST. I can’t wait.
Oh, I wanted to address some shit I’ve been reading online today. First off, what happened to the Lees was really sad. But seriously, me taking off is totally unrelated. Whatever psycho did that didn’t abduct me. Yeah, I went to their house to collect my babysitting money, but nobody answered. End of story. Kind of creepy to think there were a bunch of dead people on the other side of that door, though. Anyway. So what DID happen to me? Simple. I hooked up with a guy passing through town and decided to take off with him. Total coincidence it happened the same day.
Bottom line, I’m fine. Better than fine, really. I’m finally free. I felt like a prisoner living with my parents and I’m never going back, so tell them to knock off this searching bullshit, okay?
So that’s about it, I guess. I’ve wasted enough time talking to you losers.
OH! I got a tattoo yesterday. My first. Hurt a little, but totally worth it.
Laterz.
Note: Of the more than one hundred comments posted in response to the above entry, only the following received a reply from Julie Cosgrove.