"You're not?"
"You're alright. Done nothing wrong. You're just unlucky."
"That's an understatement."
"But if Rondo or Marcia asks, I'll say I put a bullet in the back of your head."
He turned to me and smiled, a single gold tooth shining at one side of his mouth.
"Thanks," I smiled back. "I guess."
But I couldn't stop the feeling of disappointment welling up inside me. Death sounded like such an escape. In those few moments when I thought it was approaching, I thought that death would have been wonderful.
~
He braked heavily. All around was darkness. I squinted through the pain in my nose and looked into the distance.
"Are we here already?"
"Yup," he answered. "You're good to go."
I was still bleeding all over my shirt. The blood was hot and viscous and drying fast on my sweaty skin. My nose was beginning to throb as pain radiated across the front of my head.
"What if I don't want to get out?"
He gave me that look again, the one he gave me when he thought I was out of my mind.
"You have to," he said.
"But if I get out I'll die."
"I told you. I'm not going to kill you."
"You won't but the desert will."
He frowned as though the thought hadn't occurred to him.
"How good are you at strangling snakes?" he asked.
"Is that... Is that a serious question?"
He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat.
"I dunno, man."
The silence was thick between us. It was as thick as the blood on my face.
"You're weird," he said at last.
"Thanks."
"You're not supposed to take it as a compliment."
"Well forgive me for finding a moment of pleasure before the inevitable happens."
He stared at me for a long while. He was young but his eyes were drooping and he had deepset laughter lines around the sides of his mouth. But his cheeks were still filled with babyfat and his lips were pink and rubbery.
"So what does the rest of the night hold for you?" I asked.
He had his eyes on the door handle as he waited for me to grab it.
"Nada," he said.
"Nothing?"
"Going home."
I wondered what home looked like for him. Did he have a family? Or was he a bachelor? Maybe he lived withall the other bikers at the clubhouse.
"Got a wife? Kids?"
He grimaced.
"Naw, man. I ain't got time for a family."
"So you live alone?"
"Why do you care?"
He was getting bored and tired and fidgeted in his seat, brushing his chubby fingers through his greasy hair.
"I'm just being friendly," I said.
"Why?"
I didn't have an answer. All I wanted was to get the hell out of this situation. I was torn between wanting a quick death and wanting to stay alive. I was delirious. Didn't know what I wanted from one moment to the next so all I did was at least try to preserve the one I was in.
"I guess I just want to know what kind of a person you are," I said. "Just wanted to know if you had someone to go home to."
"Hey, man. I'm not gay if you mean that-"
"God, me neither," I insisted. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just talking crap. Ignore me."
I reached for the door handle and got ready to step out into the night that would swallow me up in a cloud of dust. As the cold wind hit me, I heard his voice from behind.
"I live with my mom," he said. "She'll be waiting for me."
Looking over my shoulder, I could see just how young his face was.
"Mom?"
He nodded.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty," he said.
Shit, I thought. Just a baby. He still had time to straighten his life out.
"Look, can I say something before I walk off into the wilderness and give myself up to Mother Earth?"
"Sure," he said. "I guess."
There was no point holding back. I had nothing to lose.
"Get out," I said. "You can have a great life away from those bastards back there. You don't have to do what they say."
I expected him to lash out and hit me, maybe even pull out a gun and change his mind. Maybe he'd kill me.
"You're right," he sighed. "Momma always says I should have stayed in art school but you know, I always did want to be like my dad."
"Your dad's a biker?"
"Was," he corrected. "He’s dead."
I clapped a hand to his shoulder and managed to muster a weak smile.
"You don't want to be dead too, do you?"
He darted his eyes from side to side.
"No."
"Well do me a favor and make this trip for them your last."
I slipped out into the night and walked away, his eyes burning into the back of my head as he stayed in the truck. For a few minutes he didn't move. Half of me hoped he'd drive up beside me and tell me to get back inside. Maybe the two of us would team up and get our lives back on track together as an unlikely duo. But part of me also liked the idea of just disappearing. Perhaps there'd be a nice rock out there that was smooth enough to lay my bleeding head. I'd sing myself to sleep beneath the stars and drift away to join them.
"So long!" he waved out the window.
I waved back.
"Remember what I said!"
"I will!"
He reversed back a few yards then turned round. The tail lights shrunk away in the distance like fireflies and at last I was all alone. It was so dark and silent it almost hurt my senses, like my eyes and ears didn’t know what to do now they weren't needed. Now all I possessed was my own existence and right now it seemed entirely pointless. I tried to cry at the futility of it all but found that I couldn’t force a single tear. My body was numb.
And so I walked on, unable to see my own feet in the night. There was a bitter chill in the air but I relished the sensation of it caressing my body. Something unseen grazed my foot and I stopped. Maye it was my perfect rock.
Chapter Six
Lincoln
It's real hot out here, don't you think Cynthia?"
She flicked the top button open on her blouse in response. Her cleavage was sweaty.
"Tell me about it," she said. "It's sweltering."
"How about we go inside where it's cooler?"
She raised her eyebrows.
"Gustav..." she said. "He doesn't look happy."
We both looked into the kitchen where Schiele was glowering at us.
"The old man always looks like that," I said.
She laughed harder, slapping her hand on my thigh until it stung.
"That old fart doesn’t know the meaning of the word fun. Why do you think I took up my new hobby?"
She removed her hand but maintained eye contact.
"Tell me, you have any memorabilia in that case of yours?"
She nodded and licked her lips.
"Absolutely."
"Any chance I could have a peek?"
She leaned forward so I could see more of her cleavage.
"Tale a peek..." she purred, "You wanna take a peek at what's in my...case?"
"Inside," I said. "Let's go."
We walked past the kitchen where Schiele was splashing his crimson face with water.
"Ignore him," she said.
"I was going to."
I took her hand in mine and it felt like I was holding a lizard.
"This way."
The side door took us to the top of the basement steps. It was dark but I could still see the shape of her stretched and bloated face.
"How about a little visit to my laboratory," I suggested.
"Oooh."
"I'll be honest. Not many people are allowed down here."
Letting go of her palm, I dragged it dry down the side of my pants.
"Really? You'd invite me into your lab?"
/> "Of course. I doubt your man would appreciate it."
As soon as I opened the door, the smell hit us. I had got used to it, had almost grown to like it. After all, it was the smell of Etta, it was the smell that grew the more I missed her.
"Oooft, Jesus!" screamed Cynthia as she clapped a hand to her mouth. "What is that?"
"Oh, I'm sorry we're having some work done on the drains at the moment. It'll be fixed soon, though."
She appeared disinterested in any further explanation and strode inside, slipping on a puddle of icy water before correcting her balance and leaning against the wall.
"There's a lot of ice in here," she observed. "Is all this water safe with all these cables?"
"Oh, sure," I said although I knew it wasn't.
She was starting to look uneasy. I hadn't quite realized just how bad the smell was.
"So..."
I gestured for her to take a seat at one of my counters. She climbed up with her stubby legs swinging from the stool like a child's.
"Tell me about your collection," I said, pointing to the case.
She still looked uneasy but nevertheless, was pleased to talk about her newfound hobby.
"I have things that make people want to be sick," she giggled as though that was a tremendous achievement. "Gustav thinks I'm sick myself."
"Oh, believe me. You're not the one who’s sick."
Her eyes darted back over to the box as though she was drawn to it, unable to look away.
"What you keeping in there?" she asked.
"Champagne," I said, a little too hastily.
"Really?"
"Yep."
She searched my eyes for the truth. She knew I was lying which surprised me. I was a good liar but she seemed peculiarly perceptive.
"Anyway," she continued. "What do you want to see?"
"What have you got?"
She hurled the case up onto the counter. It landed with a thud.
"How strong is your stomach?" she asked.
"Oh, pretty strong," I laughed.
"Okay. Get a load of this."
She unzipped the case with great ceremony and lay it open in front of me. There were dozens of plastic bags labelled with post-it notes. She plucked one out with her long nails, pulled off the post-it before I could see it and ran her tongue over her top teeth.
"Close your eyes," she demanded.
I did as I was told. A second later, I could feel the plastic in my hand. It crinkled between my fingers.
"Okay, guess what it is?"
This was the weirdest party game I'd played but enjoyed the challenge. Pressing my fingers into the sides of the bags, I could feel a sharp edge, then another, then a small gap. Dragging a fingernail across it, I could feel there was a slight texture. Its coolness was evident through the bag too. Whatever it was, it was metal and it was rusty.
"Some kinda... erm... blade?" I suggested. "Can I open my eyes now?"
I looked up and saw her grinning at me.
"Fuck, you're good at this."
"Hey, that's not the first time I've been told that."
She was breathing heavily again.
"You're a little too good."
She clenched her front teeth around the zip on the bag and pulled it open, her lipstick smearing along the plastic as her lips squeaked.
"Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"
"Put your hand out."
I held up a palm and she tipped the bag over. A rusty blade fell out and landed in my hand. It was barely bigger than something you'd shave with.
"Nice, right?" she breathed.
"What is it? Or rather, who did it belong to?"
She pressed herself up close to me. I could smell the way her perfume mingled with her sweat.
"I've done a really bad thing letting you touch it but you're not like everyone else. You appreciate these things when no one else does."
"Cynthia, if you don't tell me what this is I'll-"
"It was owned by Ed Gein. It was the one used to kill Bernice Worden."
The revelation stunned me. It knocked the air outta me. Shocked, I looked down at it. It was then that I noticed the blood stains.
"You have got to be kidding me."
“Do I look like the sort of person who laughs about this sort of thing?”
She did. She really did. She looked as though she was the sort of person who could kill someone herself and do nothing but laugh, the blood on her hands the same color as her blusher. I wondered if she ever thought about killing her husband. He was a lot more obnoxious than I remembered and he also had the Tricephthial. He was reluctant to hand it over as well. Was death an option in this? Could I kill him for it?
I shook myself from the thought and handed the blade back over. Of course, I couldn’t kill him. There had been too much death already in this house. It had to stop.
“It’s wonderful,” I said as the blade slipped out my hand. “I can’t quite believe it. Where did you get it? I thought all of Ed Gein’s stuff was in an evidence locker somewhere and everything else had been burned to cinders.”
She tapped the side of her nose and winked.
“I have my sources.”
“But what sources? Don’t keep me hanging!”
Never in my life had I been interested in the belongings of serial killers before but now, with this macabre artefact in front of me, I felt a rush. I needed to own it. Needed to own everything else like it. What was wrong with me? The hairs on my arms were sticking up on end. There was a weird taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat. I pressed a hand to my chest and felt my heart beat wildly.
Serial killers. Fuck, they were the most abhorrent creatures to walk the Earth but suddenly it dawned on me like it had never done before. I was one of them. Before I could justify my killings.At least to myself anyway. I could tell people I was doing it for the greater good. I was saving children and only killing those who were dangerous to society but was it even my place? There were times when I thought of myself as a secret hero, a man who used his money to avenge the most vulnerable members of society but at the end of the day, I was a killer. A serial killer. I may not have been as twisted as Ed Gein or Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer but I was a killer nonetheless.
Looking over at the box of ice where I knew Etta lay, I had to admit that my deviant behavior was beginning to fit the profile of a crazed killer. Maybe I was just like one of them. But no one would ever know.
“Are you okay?” asked Cynthia.
“I.. I don’t know.”
There were no words to describe how I was feeling. Part of me was exhilarated by Gein’s blade. It was a piece of history. It was gory and disgusting but it was also arousing some latent part of me. Yet at the same time I was repulsed by this feeling. I didn’t want to be like Gein or the others.
“Holding these things can make you feel weird sometimes,” said Cynthia. “Ever heard of psychometry?”
“That new age nonsense about sensing the past by holding an object?”
“Yuh. It’s not nonsense.”
“Of course it is.”
“Oh, Linx. Considering you’re such a genius you’re really quite close minded. Anyway, I feel things when I hold these objects. Like really feel things.”
She closed her eyes and flung her head back. I was waiting for her to start speaking in tongues or channeling spirits but instead, she held the blade to her chest and let out an anguished sigh.
“It’s like I can feel their pain. The victims. They speak to me through these things. They make sure they’re not forgotten.”
With perfect, dramatic timing, she shed a single tear. It carved its way through the powder on her cheek and sank itself into her smudged lipstick.
“I don’t feel anything like that,” I said. “You must be more sensitive than me.”
Does Schiele know about all this shit? I thought. He didn’t strike me as the sort of person who entertained their wife’s psychic whimsies.
“I’m a very sensiti
ve person,” said Cynthia as she opened her eyes and dropped the blade back in its protective wrapping. “I’ve always sensed things.”
All that I could sense was that she was lapping up my attention and that she was waiting for me to ask the magic question and she’d be off telling me a thousand ghost stories from her childhood. But I wasn’t interested in any of that. I wanted to talk more about the blade.
“I’ll give you a million dollar for it,” I said.
“What?”
“I’ll wire you the money tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, erm.. This is already reserved for a client but… but.. Oh, my God. A million? Are you serious?”
“I’m completely serious. I need it. It’s beautiful.”
She began to shake.
“Holy shit,” she squeaked. “A million dollars. That’s quite a lot for just a tiny razor blade.”
“But it’s not any old tiny razor blade. It’s probably the most horrendous one in existence and I need it.”
She knew she had to accept the offer. Who else would give her that much money for it?
“Okay,” she said. “You have a deal. And of course Gustav will be delighted.”
The smile on her face was so wide I was a bit worried it might dislocate her jaw.
“Cynthia I could kiss you.”
She managed to smile even wider.
“I wouldn’t stop you,” she said. “But first, do you want to see what else is in this case?”
Chapter Seven
Berger
“Marcia, you bitch. Why did you have to ruin me like this?”
I was lying on the rock looking up at the stars. Now, after surviving the sweltering heat, it was unbearably cold. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around my sides and watched the stars.
“Why did I ever leave Miranda? Why did I ever get involved with that psycho Bosworth?”
I’d never paid much attention to the stars before. You didn’t see them much in the city anyway but now they were all I had. At last I was starting to see the beauty of them. They were so far away and shone down on us with the promise of a distant place no one would ever reach.
They made me feel so small, like I was nothing but a cockroach waiting to die, just another fading organism out here in the desert.
A shrieking sound came from the distance. It could have been a coyote or a wolf or even a vulture. I wasn’t clued up on my animals. Besides, I didn’t know what was out here. I just hoped that whatever it was it would hurry up and take me to a quick death. Tear me apart, I thought. I’m ready.
Jewels and Panties (Book, Fourteen): Countered Questions Page 4