Devil In Her Bed

by Amarie Avant

  “Go on with you, get!” He shoos me away like a wayward dog.

  “I’m trying to talk to you, Mr. Murrell.”

  “Lemme go grab my gun!” He starts to walk away and I stand in front of him, hands on hips.

  “You don’t get to be a prick, Mr. Murrell. I love your son, always have, always will! You could’ve stopped being such a stingy-ass bastard and came to L.A. I argued with Ortiz until I was blue in my face—oh, excuse me, Detective Ortiz. You never made it an initiative to know the name of the detective working your son’s case! Now, I’m not trying to play the race card, but black men, regardless of their clout, aren’t at the top of the list to find! So, having more than just his girlfriend arguing with the police might have lit a fire under Ortiz’s ass.” I pause, wishing I had divulged the stalker situation to our families instead of just the LAPD. “I’ve fought for Hosea way more than you have, so forgive me for dropping by to check on you, since you’re too damn sick to get the fuck up and out of your pity party to give a damn about your own son!”

  The dank air between us is thick with silence. Crap, I’ve never addressed Mr. Murrell in such a manner, never said more than “yes, sir” or “no, sir.”

  A wail so loud and heart wrenching slams through Mr. Murrell. He tosses the hoodie from his head, and he cries. “You’re still searching for my son.” He nods, wiping away tears.

  I nod. “I won’t stop.”

  Mr. Murrell holds out his hand. I place mine out and he shakes it. Again, I promise to search for Hosea Murrell…

  ***

  An erratic explosion of beeps and vibrating comes from my cell phone as I descend the mountain where Mr. Murrell lives. The terrain is hard to navigate, but I take a subtle glance at the screen of my phone, which is wedged into a cup holder. Someone is blowing it up.

  Lincoln.

  Damn, it’s almost 4 p.m. He’s probably returned from his outing and worried. There’s no room to pull over to the side of the road, without the possibility of falling over the side of the mountain. It takes about twenty minutes before I’m at the entrance of the 10 freeway. I place the car in coast, and pick up the phone.

  There are missed calls from him and my parents alike. Dang it, he has them worrying too!

  The phone lights up in my hand. I answer.

  “Siobhan, baby, are you okay?”

  “Ye—”

  “Damn it, where the bloody hell are you?”

  “On my way back to the hotel now…” I pause, straining my ears to hear the background. My mother is going ballistic. “Is that my mom, she’s with you?”

  “I took a taxi over after finding out you left.”

  “Okay, well, I’m closer to their house anyway. I’ll be there in five.”

  Five minutes later I pull up to the corner of my parents’ home. The three of them are stalking back and forth on the porch. Lincoln has taken his suit jacket off, and it’s draped over the swing. When Lincoln notices our rental, his left hand grips the railing of the porch, and he jumps over it running toward me.

  I hardly have a chance to get the key out of the ignition and open the door when he’s crouching down. He pulls the thin black tie from his neck. Callused hands rubbing my cheek. Our foreheads kiss. My eyes close as a plethora of emotions overwhelm me. I've gotta stop giving a damn about this man! I'm falling too hard, too fast. My palm itches where I shook Mr. Murrell’s hand, declaring hard promises.

  Lincoln strokes my cheek.

  “I bloody fucking love you, Siobhan. If something were to happen to you I don’t know what I would do.” He kisses me all over my face, cheek, and neck, declaring how much he loves me.

  Before guilt can overwhelm me, Lincoln's lips seek mine once more. My heart has never beat so strong within my being before. Our tongues intertwine. He pinches softly at my jaw, holding my mouth steady, kissing me breathless.

  “It’s a good thing she’s all right. I’d take off my belt,” Dad retorts from behind us.

  Lincoln pulls away from my lips with a smile on his face. A silly grin is on my face. Dad has never seen me kissing. My man holds out his hand and I get out of the car.

  “Oh shush, he said he loved her, Deon. Lincoln said he loved our baby girl right in front of us. You better give that guy some mad respect.” Mom’s tone is so flowery, I can just imagine she’s grinning her ass off.

  I stare into Lincoln’s eyes, and say, “I love you too.”

  How quickly have I fallen?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Stalker

  Since it is August and the sun doesn’t set until well after 8 p.m., I have to wait to get Glendora’s gift from the trunk. I understand the art of patience and don't want to open my trunk without the blanket of dusk to surround us.

  Waiting gives me a chance to prove Glendora had lied to me about Alton arriving home shortly. Well, maybe her intentions were good.

  The lemonade was bitter, so I had to teach her how to make it. Her slender, pale fingers had shaken all the while. She acted like one of my captives. Around 5 p.m., I got hungry and forced her to open a can of chili beans which we ate while I taunted her about Alton still not being home.

  Now it’s just past eight. I force Glendora into to my rental car. There is no way in hell, she will just stand there while I back the rental into her carport. After all I’ve done for Glenny, the bitch would’ve ran and called the cops. Then we get out.

  I pop the trunk which causes Glendora to gasp harshly.

  “Oh, Alton,” she screams.

  “Shut the fuck up.” I glance around, eyes narrowed in keen observation. The closest house is a quarter of a mile away.

  “Is he dead?”

  “What’s the fun in just offing people, Glenny? I prefer them fully aware of what they’ve done.” I gesture toward the man’s legs. “Grab his feet. The fat bastard has just as much tits as you do nowadays.”

  We work to get Alton out of the car. I am trying not to undo the plastic tape which I had transfixed around the entire trunk when the old bitty at the hotel came out to her car being nosey. The plastic came in handy when I picked Alton up this afternoon at the bar. Glendora was right about one thing; the bastard had gotten wasted on the job. She’d lied about him calling her to come home though.

  Alton’s behavior followed the trend of a noonday trip at the bar after fucking the hot piece of ass a few blocks down from the home he shared with Glendora. The attendant at the gas station told me this when I drove by for fuel this afternoon.

  We drag Alton into the living room. His head thuds against the scraped wood floor.

  “Fat bastard,” I huff, issuing a swift kick to the man’s ribs.

  Glendora tugs at my arm. “Stop it, Jeff!”

  “Wahoo, you’re fighting for this piece of shit.” I raise the back of my hand and she flinches. “You know this dance all too well, Glendora. But I’m not gonna hit you. Too many women have met their demise because they were unable to figure out why you were such a selfish little bitch!”

  “Selfish?” She points a stiff hand at her chest. “I was trying to survive, Jeffrey! You were content being a creep!” She begins to chant: “Jeffrey Peterson, the ginger, was a creepy motherfucker, and ain’t nobody in the entire town liked him—well, I did, Jeffrey! I loved you.”

  I wave her off. “You ain’t loved me. I met a real woman about a year and a half ago. She has this lush, dark chocolate skin tone, dove eyes, and my God her legs are toned—not scrawny, white legs like yours. She’s beautiful.”

  “What are you talking about?” Glendora screams.

  “I’d grown tired of chasing after you, after the image of you, and asking the women why you were so stupid. I'd get tired of holding you close at night, and come morning, I'd ask you what the fuck was wrong with you and I'd have to kill ya. Fifteen of you.”

  “Kill me? What do you mean kill fifteen of me?”

  “Not you!” I shake my head. Why didn't Glendora understand? With each woman, I held them, loved them. After s
ome time, I grew tired of offering my affections and receiving no love back. At which time, I’d wait for them to awaken. I'd asked them to explain themselves. To explain Glendora’s issues.

  “Kill me?” Glendora shrikes again.

  “Not you,” I shout once more. “The women!”

  “Again, Jeffrey, I do not understand what you’re telling me. The women? What women?” Glendora glances toward her husband on the floor. Her body language is so easily read.

  “Alton can't help you,” I respond to her deepest wish. I grab her arm and pull her to Alton. She makes such a hassle that she almost trips over her husband.

  “Why do you look so sad for him, Glenny? He got drunk on the job as usual. I’m guessing that doesn’t help much when it comes to paying the bills. And like every other day he gets drunk, he goes and fucks his whore and then finishes it off with a few drinks at the bar. There isn’t a thing wrong with Alton, he’s just blindingly drunk, Glenny! Drunk and probably dreaming of his bitch.”

  She shakes her head. “You think I care that he’s drunk and screwed the town whore, Jeffrey? I’d take my current life, right here with that fat slob, over anything you could ever give me.”

  “That right?” I pop her mouth. I slap her again, and again.

  Blood upchucks from Glendora’s thin, pouted lips. But she laughs. “You ain’t got no cock to give, Jeff. You want to know why?”

  I glare at Glendora. She knew….

  I was only fifteen when Alton and his boys cornered me one day after school. They’d said such an ugly-ass ginger didn’t deserve to sow his seed. Now, I only had a mangled piece of meat where a hunk of cock should have been.

  It was the day Glendora was supposed to meet me to do a project. She’d been sick at school the day before, and her girlfriends, only allowed to have a pairing of three, left her in the dust. With a class of an even number, there’d have to be a group of two. That left Glendora and I.

  “I was supposed to meet you, Jeff,” Glendora says, brushing the blood from her face with the back of her hand. “We needed to talk about our history project. I told Alton and the boys where you were—hell, I didn't know what they'd planned. Mr. Wagner was gonna give me an ‘A’ anyway so those dumbass boys could do what the fuck they wanted to you as far as I was concerned.”

  She stops speaking to scoff. “Don't give me that look. We were both gonna get A’s just because. Heck, I’m sure it was your first A. How was I supposed to know Alton intended to snip and tuck your junk? The way you always act, as if you aren’t all there anyway, makes me think he did you a service.”

  Our childhood flashes before my eyes. She’d been ugly with buckteeth. Only I attend her fifth birthday party. I’d picked her an assortment of wild flowers along the way, because my family was dirt poor. I loved her from the start. Then the stories that Hosea told me over the past year mixes into my reality. The love Hosea and Siobhan had for each other was real.

  I black out. Bits and pieces of truth blink before me. Fifteen blondes, with emerald eyes, long legs, and a hearty laughter. They had to have the same laugh as Glendora Wilson. Fifteen women died because they just didn’t understand why Glendora didn’t share the love I had for her.

  Glendora is the reason why I didn’t have the ability to love Siobhan Lowe wholeheartedly. This bitch is the worst. I know exactly what I have to do now. Murder Glenny, and leave Siobhan be.

  As much as it hurts, I know one day I’ll grow weary of my inability to show my affections to Siobhan in the ways that men and women ought. My inability to love her wholeheartedly will blossom with resentment. I'd be forced to kill Siobhan one day. Shit, I almost had gone into a rage after Lincoln murdered my fucking dog. This unfortunate, yet likely outcome scares me. Alton stole the capacity for me to wholly love Siobhan.

  This definite outcome is too much to bear. How to redirect fate so Siobhan could live?

  I determined that Glendora’s death will be the perfect art. She’d die slowly, and her death will be enough to sustain me. Enough to rid myself of Siobhan screaming for me to help at the wreckage of Samuel’s car accident. Yes, if done correctly, the cleansing process of murdering Glenny would break the obsession I feel for Siobhan Lowe.

  I will let Siobhan go from here on out. I love her, and she loves me. But we can’t truly be together. I will let her live, unlike the others...

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Siobhan

  (One Year Later, Willow Bluff)

  It isn’t even six in the morning and Lincoln and I jet up the hill near my old home. A home that is now on the verge of completing the escrow process. After Thanksgiving, last year, which was spent with my mother’s family, Lincoln and I made the jump. I moved in with him, and my home sat on the market. Though it was not long into our relationship that we made such a rash move, he and I have built a cohesive life. We have our routine. His business, my small, yet beloved business, and us.

  Nothing compares to us.

  Fog surrounds Lincoln and me. It’s a chilly October morning. The clock hasn’t even struck 6 a.m. and we’re on our third mile. Sweat is glistening down his body, and every so often I slow down just to watch the muscles in his back.

  When Lincoln’s pace slows, he circles back and grabs my ass.

  “Keep up,” he growls in my ear.

  “Man, I’m blowing you out of the water.” I sprint off, arms chopping through the cool air.

  And then Lincoln soars past me.

  “You cheat!” I shout, moving at top speed, but he’s already smoked me out of the water. Lungs damn near about to explode, I try with all my might for the next two miles back to the home we’ve shared, his home, to catch up.

  Lincoln’s seated, legs stretched, crossed about the ankles, on the mossy branch that I almost tripped over when we first met.

  “Can’t keep up, pretty brown legs?”

  “Whatever, pasty legs,” I shoot back, staring down at him.

  “Aw, don’t talk tosh. If you peer closely, my legs have a lovely golden hue as well,” he chuckles. Lincoln grabs the back of my knee and pulls me toward him.

  “Lincoln,” I gasp, “we’re outside…”

  He’s attended sessions with me and Dr. Beck. I clung to him, crying happy tears the day I received a card from my stalker. I knew it was from the bastard, because within the paper, it contained a small black rose petal. The asshole told me he’d always love me, but had no real way to show it…

  The letter was sent to me last Christmas. There was no way in hell I desired to be on the continent during the season. Lincoln and I had headed to Rome and embarked on a Mediterranean cruise. We had packed gifts for each other, my parents, my godchildren, and from our friends to open while away. And I thought the Christmas card was from family. But lo and behold, it was from a faceless monster, declaring that he’d released me.

  Though I had shouted to the highest realm of heaven while embracing Lincoln, there are instances when the hesitancy of living consumes me.

  “Lincoln, we’re outside…” I murmur as his hand glides up the back of my knee, sending thrills of lust sparking in every direction. Though it feels great, and I’ve felt totally free from being watched, I place my hand over his. “Lincoln, baby, I want you badly. But we’re outside.”

  “Yeah, we’re outside, and I’m craving chocolate.” His voice is heavier than usual as he nudges his nose against the apex of my legs.

  I grip a mass of thick, black hair in my hand and push his mouth away from my hot pussy.

  He chortles, keeping a hand at my ass to hold me in place. Lincoln’s thumb strums against the thin spandex shielding the luscious mound between my thighs. “I could fuck you anyway, Siobhan. Will you let me fuck you here? Do understand that it’s a courtesy on my part to even ask to fuck you here, beautiful. You are mine to possess.”

  My mouth floods with saliva and I gulp it as Lincoln tugs my hips, pulling me into a straddling position. His cock is wedged between us, spearing my leg through his basketball shorts just as
his lips descend over mine. He kisses the length of my neck as his hand sneaks beneath my sports bra to cup a breast.

  A sharp breath escapes my mouth as Lincoln’s fingers clamp around my hardened bulb.

  “It’s just you and me, Siobhan.” His steely voice is but a whisper against my ear. The slither of unsettled angst in my heart begins to dissipate as our mouths connect once more.

  “I’ve been watching this beautiful derriere.” His hand slams against my ass, gripping the thick flesh. A thrill of laughter bubbles from my mouth, and pain sparks from the center point of my sex, spirals and expands in a hot wave through my body. By the time it reaches my hair follicles and toes, I’m all tingly and in agreement with Lincoln serving another dose of pain.

  “That ass right there,” Lincoln says, giving my ass another squeeze, “was made just for me.”

  “All this ass is yours,” I say, bestowing another kiss against needy lips.

  “Why thank you.” Lincoln smooches my mouth.

  He reaches between us, takes my hand and slips it into his basketball shorts. The strength that’s in his shorts is like handling a snake. “While we’re delving in niceties, Siobhan, this here has your name written all over it,” he tells me. I love the way he handles his cock, his hands are fucking huge, but he strokes his dick like it weighs a ton. This time, Lincoln’s hand is steadied over mine, stroking his shaft.

  “Are you wet for me, Siobhan? Is that pussy nice and wet?” His gaze locks on to mine, delicately moving my hand over his cock. How is it so silky soft, yet harder than any rock at the same instance?

  “Yes, baby, my pussy is drenching wet for you.”

  He removes my hand from his shorts and forces my back into an arch. My hands steady my upper body so that I’m elevated with my lower body into the air. The dolphin position—I recall from a Kama Sutra poster I marketed for a sex store. The position of the woman with her hands over her head, gripping the floor had been blunt, in your face marketing, the style was something I never dreamt of doing.

  The lush, sweet grass filters through my nostrils as Lincoln breathes in my core. I have to look crazy with tiny branches and grass sticking in my hair, but it feels good. My legs wrap around his neck.