But what could he do?
He had knocked her out and stuffed her into his trunk.
How could he make this right?
Yesterday afternoon, when she called him and accepted the date he proposed four months earlier, Montgomery was ecstatic. Suddenly his plan to kill Liz came springing back to glorious life. It had never completely died, but over the past few weeks it had dulled and faded away as fantasies were prone to. Ashley’s interest reinvigorated his ideas of escape. Now if he killed Liz he didn’t have to go it alone. He could erase that part of his life and begin another. Ashley’s resemblance to victim number one made it even better. By dating her, taking care of her, supporting her and eventually convincing her to move far away with him he could make amends for killing the young girl all of those years ago. He could try to fill whatever void Heather’s disappearance left in Ashley’s life. He could start fresh, never mentioning cannibalism or his sordid past; instead he could embrace her new, unborn, whole.
And then the dumb bitch stood him up.
Waiting at Perfect Pizza, giving up on Ashley’s arrival after about an hour or so and then ordering what actually turned out to be perfect pizza, Montgomery fumed. His violent impulses roared in his befuddled brain and he daydreamed about hundreds upon hundreds of painfully glorious ways in which to destroy her for dogging him out. He envisioned her corpse flayed, pieced, and a small portion of it, about half of a cup, diced and then spread over his pizza and baked to golden brown perfection.
The imaginings made his mouth water and (creepily) his sex harden, but Montgomery fought the thoughts off. No more, he chided. No more.
Surprisingly, despite the rejection, he slept well that night, a dreamless slumber, and didn’t even hear Liz as she came home from work and crawled into bed. The next morning he got up before Liz woke and headed into work a few hours early. As the day progressed, Ashley’s absence really started to bother him. She might have a good excuse, but she had his number and hadn’t bothered to call and apologize or offer up any sort of explanation. Montgomery couldn’t take it, so after hours of waiting on a call that would never come he excused himself from work (a mere hour before the dinner rush was to begin) and went to CHAOS to confront Ashley.
There was never any intention of accosting her. Montgomery still wasn’t sure what drove him to do so. All he had to do was hash it out with her, get in his car and then drive away and return to work. His life was currently very problematic and he didn’t need more stress, but then Ashley had to go and flash her wedding ring and beam at him with that butterfly inducing smile.
The glinting ring cleaved rationale in two.
Montgomery’s mind flipped.
She couldn’t get married. He had already killed her, she was already his.
He had already wrapped his fingers around her throat and choked the life from her body.
He had already stripped her down to her mismatched underwear.
He had already removed her bra and panties and any chance at humility.
He had already cut her from throat to pubis and pulled her apart from the inside out, but there she was, ring finger held aloft unaware of the damage she was doing to him.
He already killed her.
He already killed her.
He couldn’t do it again, could he?
At home he sat in his driveway and, for God knows how long, he kept his hands tightly on the steering wheel and stared into space.
The hall bathroom was in complete shambles. Montgomery kicked aside some errant floor tiles and pulled a few armfuls of supplies from the bathtub (which had been serving as a catch all during the duration of the project). He transferred everything on to the floor and made a large pile against the wall next to the toilet. Two more armloads and the tub was empty (and dusty) save for a heavy sledge hammer and a few rolls of wallpaper. Montgomery scooped these up, put them aside and then got a towel and did his best to wipe the tub clean.
After making a little room in the garage he pulled his Maserati inside and shut the automatic door behind it. He passed within a few inches of the acid barrel as he made his way around to the trunk of the car and felt a little chill go up and down his spine.
Evidence.
Bad news.
He had to stop fucking around and get rid of the heavy bastard before his luck turned completely.
Ashley was still unconscious and pulling her out of the trunk was worlds easier than stuffing her into it. Her hair was matted and stuck to her face in chunky clumps so that it obscured her tightly shut eyes and any damage done to her pretty features during the violence in the parking lot. When Montgomery got his arms under her and began to carry her into the house, she shifted a little and rested her head (sweetly) upon his chest. Instantly, a blast of warmth shot through his body and his chest hummed with a winning sensation.
Montgomery breathed deeply, cherishing the feeling and then took Ashley to the bathroom and carefully laid her in the bathtub. His mind flashed with red warning, the tub had always been his slaughter house, his portioning basin, but an internal voice soothed for him not to worry. It chanted – I’m not going to kill her, I’m not going to kill her, I’m not going to kill her – over and over again.
He wasn’t sure if he trusted himself, but what could he do?
It was best just to keep positive and hold on to the notion that there had to be a passive way out of this mess.
But first things first.
Who knew how long she’d be out? When she woke there was sure to be trouble so Montgomery had no choice but to tie her up. He found a long rope in the garage and cut it into three manageable sections and then returned to the bathroom.
He stood over her for a long time trying to figure out how to go about it. He never had to tie someone up before and it wasn’t nearly as easy as he figured.
Montgomery put the rope aside and knelt by the tub. Her clothes had to go. The thought popped into his head just like that and for a split second it made all of the sense in the world. By amping her vulnerability he was decreasing her chance of striking back or escaping before he was able to neutralize the situation. Besides, how was he going to cut her open if she was still dressed?
Wait.
No.
He wasn’t going to kill her remember?
He wasn’t going to eat her.
He just had to figure something out, something else out, something other than his brain’s clockwork methodology.
Just like with the idea to remove her clothes, the assumption that he was going to section her out for consumption simply popped into his head. This was going to be a struggle. He had to break a firmly seated pattern.
So then, the clothes still had to go, but there would be no cutting her open.
His head swam and his thoughts got all trancey and fragmented. An urging inside disrupted the wishy washy contemplation and drove his hands toward Ashley’s body. In a dream like state, vision fuzzy around the edges, motor control autonomous, he delicately undressed her. After he removed her shoes, socks, pants and shirt he was surprised to find that her undergarments matched. They weren’t dingy or worn out like they were years and years ago.
This is Ashley, he had to keep reminding himself. Not victim number one, but Ashley.
She wore a black lacy see-through bra and matching, sheer panties. Montgomery swallowed hard and fought off an ever-massing army of inappropriately sexual thoughts. He removed the bra and then slid the panties down her legs and off of her feet. Completely nude, helpless before him, the sexualised thinking diminished a tad (just a tad). The sexy underwear had charged the air around them with eroticism, but her unclothed nudity turned things a little more clinical. Montgomery was able to look at her as he did the many victims that came before her – more like meat than a beautiful naked woman.
Except she wasn’t meat. Not this one.
And her red nipples were erect.
And her pubic hair…
He felt embarrassment raise the small hairs along his s
kin and a sheen of cool sweat washed over him. Montgomery ran to the master bath off of his bedroom, grabbed a towel, and draped it over her. He tucked the towel here and there until it covered her breasts and pubic region. Perfect. Now she was exposed and vulnerable, but the towel would allow the both of them to retain a little of their modesty.
Next, Montgomery got a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a plastic container Liz kept a bag of cotton balls in. Once again he knelt by his captive and once again his hands went to work. This time they gently cleaned her wounds, dabbing at the nasty gash on her cheek with as much care as possible. He had really smashed her face up good. More embarrassment crept in and he swallowed hard again for the second time in a matter of moments. Montgomery couldn’t believe he had done so much damage to such a delicate, pretty thing.
Back in the parking lot everything just came to a head. Despite the murders (for food, not sick fun), he hated violence. He wasn’t a violent person. Or so he thought, but standing before Ashley, listening to her bullshit excuse, watching her face, the face that he desperately wanted, needed, to save him, something inside just broke. He could barely remember. One minute she was showing off her ring, excitement pouring from her eyes like sunshine, the next he was savaging her, propelled by a dark, uncontrollable rage.
It was scary.
Had his propensity for killing finally caught up with him?
Did a segment of his brain see violence as the ultimate answer, an escape route?
As he washed Ashley and dressed her wounds he felt nothing of the fury that pushed his body to manhandle her. In fact, he felt the exact opposite as he carefully worked dirt and debris from the cuts and scratches that purpled and bloodied Ashley’s face and arms and hands.
Montgomery took her left hand up close to his face and pulled the impressive wedding ring from her finger. He held the hand aloft with one hand and put the ring into his pocket with the other and then pulled her hand to him and buried his face in it.
One, two, three deep breaths, her essence filling him with something akin to golden, glorious joy until the prospect of true happiness died away with the waning intensity of her scent. He let her hand fall and then got busy tying her up.
Liz would be home in about seven hours.
It was just after eight and Montgomery paced around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do. Just as he finished tying her down, Ashley began to stir. He quickly reinforced her bonds, a piece of rope around her ankles, another piece around her wrists and another tying her neck to the exposed plumbing near the shower head, and then rushed out of the bathroom before she regained her senses. After a beat he ran back, found some insulated wire and encircled her waist with it, brought it up and secured her bound wrists to it. Minimizing movement would make things easier when the moment of confrontation was upon him.
Satisfied, he ran out of the bathroom for the second time in minutes.
He couldn’t face her.
Not yet.
Maybe he could blindfold her and just drop her off somewhere.
But Ashley knew it was him that accosted her and beat her silly.
Or did she?
Maybe he could somehow pretend he rescued her from the clutches of a madman. It could work. He could say that he was just about to get in his car when from out of nowhere this raving lunatic jumped on her.
Would she believe him?
He didn’t remember much; perhaps her memory was just as muddled.
Or perhaps she remembered every little detail.
Oh Christ! How was he going to look her in the eyes? She probably hated him and it hurt because it was never his intention to hurt her.
Liz would be home in about five hours.
Montgomery tried to watch a little TV. Sometimes while vegging out in front of the tube he got his best ideas. Back in culinary school, he experimented with a lot of different cooking methods and was constantly trying to create new and exciting flavors. His best ideas always seemed to come while watching mindless television.
This time it wasn’t working. He switched the idiot box off and strained his ears listening for any sounds coming from the bathroom.
Nothing.
He wanted to check on her, but again he couldn’t meet her gaze or explain his actions.
Liz would be home in four hours.
What if he just untied her and let her go? Simple as that. No complications.
Liz would be home in three and a half hours.
Montgomery sucked it up and decided to go in. He would give Ashley back her clothes, her ring, and then apologize. She seemed like a reasonable girl. He would kneel alongside the tub and assure her that she was in no danger and that he had just lost his cool for a moment and everything was okay now.
She had to understand.
More, he would tell her how he felt, get all love struck and deep with her and hope she was a sap that could justify violence for the sake of obsession. She might be the type to go for it. If he could convince her that he loved her, not just obsessed over her or likened her to a long lost love, but deeply, deeply loved her, he might be able to keep her from going to the cops and even begin dating her.
It wasn’t ideal and it would be difficult keeping it from Liz, but what else could he do?
His foolish hotheadedness created quite a problem.
If she complied he would take her somewhere and work on sealing the deal.
But what if she refused?
Which was more likely than not – a few hours ago she was bragging about her fiancé and their impending marriage.
Montgomery racked his brain and couldn’t find a solution. The only thing he could do was bank on the fact that she would be confused and not remember what happened. Maybe his hero story would work.
Thinking and thinking until his head felt like it was going to explode, he finally got up the nerve and made for the bathroom.
Liz would be home in three hours.
Ashley was awake. The first thing she said to him, or rather, screamed at him, as he entered was “Let me go you motherfucker!”
So much for a cool, calm meeting.
So much for explanations.
Montgomery stood, petrified, back against the door while Ashley thrashed against her bonds and seethed with visible anger. This went on for about thirty seconds and in that time she managed to call him every foul word he had ever heard. Montgomery was just about to leave and rethink his strategy when her exasperation broke and the brutal tirade gave way to big, sloppy tears.
“Why are you doing this?” she wept and shuddered through hitching breaths.
Montgomery felt his heart breaking. Literally. A deep pain throbbed from within his chest cavity and a throat constricting lump rose making it tough to swallow. He reached his hand out in supplication toward her and motioned for her to stop.
“What?!” Her voice picked up volume and raged through a holocaust of blubbering sobs.
Montgomery lowered his hand and remained frozen against the bathroom door. Words wouldn’t come. This had to be the hardest thing he had ever been through.
“What?!” she repeated just as venomously, just as heartrending.
When he finally managed to speak his voice came out small and quiet. “I’m not going to kill you.”
Ashley fired back immediately, repeating her singular response, not quite as angry or poignant, instead cracking and hitching and suffused with disbelief. “What?”
Montgomery didn’t answer. She looked terrible. The wounds on her face had reopened and blood was running down in rivulets to intermingle with the river of tears and snot. She stared on, tears pausing, eyes wide in a look of incredulity as if his words didn’t process.
Just as quietly he repeated, “I’m not going to kill you.”
Her look of disbelief morphed back into anger. “Why am I naked, Montgomery?!!! Why am I tied up in your bathtub, Montgomery?!!! Why did you break my face, Montgomery?!!! What the fuck did you do with Heather, Montgomery?!!!” With each question the volume
and hostility in her voice escalated until she was screaming bloody murder.
On the heels of her last quandary, the one he wanted to avoid more than anything, Montgomery turned and left the bathroom. He quickly shut the door behind him and slumped to the floor.
With his head in his hands the floodgates burst and he cried harder than he ever cried in his entire life.
VIII
Benediction
Consciousness flittered in and out and everything seemed unmade, shapeless, fuzzy, loose. The first concrete idea that established itself within her recomposing train of thought was that this Montgomery motherfucker was soooo dead.
Dead.
Once Henry got wind of this, the guy was a dead man.
Plain and simple.
No explanations.
No defenses.
The particulars of what happened were still very shaky. Ashley was getting into her car one moment and then she was attacked the next. After that she woke up naked in a bathtub in a rundown bathroom. Thankfully she had a towel to partially cover her exposed body, but her neck was wrapped with a heavy rope, tied off behind her on something solid, and she had very little leeway to move. Likewise for her hands and feet – her wrists were bound together as were her ankles and again, there was virtually no flexibility.
Motherfucker!
Motherfucker!
Motherfucker!
What was going on here?
The insides of her skull felt like they had been pulverized with a jack hammer and everything, every little part of everything, ached something fierce.
From being knocked unconscious by—the pavement? A weapon?—up until this very moment, waking disorientated, struggling against bonds, naked, hurting, everything was a giant blur. She remembered talking to Montgomery in the parking lot. She remembered him pouncing on her, but that was it. While unconscious she didn’t so much as dream as mentally bleed. Visions ran red, indistinguishable, but violent and disturbing in nature. When at last she opened her eyes, relief washed over her. Anything was better than the cryptic, horrible shit staining her anti-dreams. Anything that is, until she was able to get a bead upon her surroundings, until she was able to process the gravity of her predicament.
As Fate Would Have It Page 19