Nothing but Darkness

by Maria Ann Green

  The little orange bud glows brighter then almost goes out, and repeats the process.

  “Hey, sugar. Have a fun night planned?” As she comes close enough to study I can see she’s a hooker. I take a moment to look her up and down, which she clearly appreciates. Her boots are knee-high and incredibly worn in. She must wear them every night. Her skirt is covered in sequins and if it were half an inch shorter I’d be able to see her (literal) moneymaker. Her jacket is zipped down halfway, and she has nothing on underneath. She has no curves, and her facial features look hollow.

  She definitely does some sort of drug in her spare time. Or several.

  She saunters close enough to touch me but thinks better of it. Instead, she sizes me up and must like what she sees. Her mouth is practically watering. I guarantee she’s seeing dollar signs across my face.

  Instead of turning her down, I consider an exciting possibility, and I think quickly before answering her. “I don’t take ladies home who have a man waiting for them afterward. Pimps and I don’t get along.” I want to make sure she doesn’t have anyone who will report her missing. Not that a pimp necessarily would, but since the news I’m covering my bases better. I continue to face her, not opening my door.

  “Well lucky for you, I’m an independent entrepreneur.”

  Big words, with lots of syllables.

  “How do I know you’re not just saying that to get the job?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  Wrong answer.

  “Sorry, not good enough. I’m not the trusting type.”

  I turn to get into my car. I can be patient if it means not getting caught.

  “Wait.” Her voice seems desperate as she tosses her cigarette to the ground to stamp it out. If she did have a pimp she wouldn’t be worried about finding another taker. “I am on my own. You don’t see anyone around, do you? No cars are running with the muscle waiting for me to return. Here, you can look at my phone, even. No one to report to. It’s just me.” She hands me a phone that’s seen better days, held together by duct tape and hope. I scroll through her contacts for show, because I already believe her. She has a few female names and about 20 Johns with numbers, identifying features, or streets for last names. There’s no one else listed.

  I hand it back to her slowly, pretending to still be doubtful. It’s entertaining she’s trying to convince me. “I don’t know…”

  “How about half off?” Coupon shopping now, are we?

  Price reduction on all tits, ass, and pussy; blue aisle special, the next two minutes only.

  "I have a date tonight…I could get it for free.” Her face falls and she takes a half step back. Maybe I should’ve accepted her offer.

  But she has one trick left when she looks back into my eyes, practically purring, “Oh, yeah? Well I bet you’ve never had anything as good as this.” She gestures down her body. “It’s what I do for a living, and I’m fucking amazing at it.”

  “You’re a good salesperson.” She steps forward again, reaching for the crotch of my pants, rubbing it over the material for a few seconds. Her breath smells of stale cigarettes. I interrupt her. “Hop in.” And she bounces away toward the passenger door.

  My mind starts to race. I know what I’ll be doing for most of the time before my date. I have a new toy to play with for the next couple of hours, only she thinks we’ll be playing a different game than what I have in mind. I stop short. Where should I take her to play? I’ve had an idea brewing for my next playdate, what I want to do with her, but I don’t know where to do it.

  “Where should we go?” Maybe her suggestion will have what I need.

  “Your place?” I shake my head no. I’m not carrying another body out of there. My house is off limits for all playdates. “A hotel?” I shake again. A hotel would notice a dead body as soon as housekeeping turned up in the morning. Plus the room would be under my name. No way. “Ummmm well I have a place, though—”

  I cut her off before she can dismiss the thought. “Perfect.” I throw the gear into drive and move out of the parking space before she has time to decline. Once we’re driving away from the mall, I ask for directions. She leads me to an incredibly run-down part of town with houses barely larger than my living room.

  Instead of feeling guilty or sorry for her circumstances, I’m excited. Something new.

  As I pull in front of the house, I have a moment of panic as I realize I don’t have a set of fake license plates on. It’s dark and no other cars have driven past us in the last five or so minutes, but still, shit. So when hooker gets out of the car I grab two fake plates from under my seat, the only set of magnetic ones I have, and walk around both sides of the car to slap them on. They aren’t straight, and anyone could pull them off with a flick of the wrist, but in this time crunch it’s going to have to work. After I’ve finished I breathe easier. She’s stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to light another cigarette, and I pull my hood over my head, reaching into my pockets to fish out my gloves. Once they’re on I tighten them at the wrists.

  I smile. There are good things about the winter, too.

  When I look up she’s walking slowly and deliberately, in what I assume is supposed to be a seductive or suggestive walk toward her front door. She didn’t notice the exchange on my car. She’s oblivious and anxious for the money. I’m sure she has ideas of calling a dealer after I leave. Too bad she won’t have the chance.

  I rush up behind her as quietly as I can. As she puts in her key to unlock the door she turns around, and I’m waiting as if I never stopped to hide my identity.

  “You ready for the best you’ve ever had, sugar?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Once inside, I can tell she lives alone. It’s basically a studio, which she keeps pretty clean for the neighborhood she’s in.

  “What do ya wanna do first?” She’s ready to begin and ready to be done. I wonder what she thinks about when she’s fucking her Johns. Does she go over her to-dos, her grocery list? Is she thinking about how she’ll spend their money? Either way, she won’t have much time to think with me. I plan to go faster than normal tonight, too. I have shit to do after this.

  “Can we take a bath together and fuck in the tub? I’ve always wanted to do that. I’ve never had anyone to do it with.” A look of surprise flickers over her gaunt features, but she recovers.

  “Sounds hot. I’ll start the water.” She walks to the bathroom, undressing as she goes.

  As the tub is filling, I strip down to nothing and then wait for the scene to be ready. She gets into the water and playfully splashes me. I play along and laugh with her, but in actuality I’m ready to do what my body has been ready for since she asked for a fun night.

  The electricity running through me like a current is starting to feel normal, expected even, before, during, and shortly after a kill. Everything inside of me is so alive.

  As Hooker gets into the tub, beckoning me over, I think to ask her a question before jumping into what I want to do most. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “It’s Tristan. What’s yours?” Interesting, I bet that’s her real name, too. I was expecting an answer of something like Bambi, or Cinnamon.

  “I’m Aidan.”

  And with the intimate reveal, time is up for Tristan the hooker. It’s time to play. But this time I’m taking a different approach. I’ve strived to make each experience unique so far, and this one will continue with the tradition.

  With sheer excitement threatening to burst from inside me, I push it down to continue. Sitting down next to the edge of the tub, I lean her head back toward the water, and she wraps her wrists around her knees for support. I turn to grab the cup from the sink, starting to wet her hair.

  This is intimate, so unlike any of the other kills. She still feels safe. I’m nurturing her first, building her comfort before taking it and everything else away from her.

  I squirt shampoo into her wet hair, starting to massage her scalp. The suds give off a
pleasant aroma, and she mews little sounds of pleasure. I bet it’s been a long time since anyone has done something like this for her. She doesn’t look well-loved.

  I use the cup a few times to rinse the suds, and then I ask her to lie farther back.

  This is it.

  She keeps her eyes closed as she leans back into the water. Goodbye, Tristan. I strike like a venomous snake. My fingers wrap around her throat, pushing her head under water. Her eyes pop open in fear and shock. They’re blurry beneath the patches of leftover shampoo, but I can still see the panic in them. She was completely blindsided, and my laughter bubbles up and out of my mouth in loud bursts.

  She flails her limbs, getting water over most of the surfaces in the bathroom, but she isn’t strong enough to get out from under my grasp. Her tiny frame and drug habit have both done her a disservice here. My fingers tighten as her time ticks away. She must feel every second pound in her struggling lungs.

  She tries to scream, but only bubbles pop the surface. I can see the blood rushing to her face as she struggles to hold her breath as long as she can. Unless she can hold it forever, it won’t be long enough.

  Finally she sucks in the water and quickly she’s drowned.

  The struggle after opening her lungs to water isn’t as long as they make it look in the movies. It only takes one gulp to flood the system. But under clean bathwater, one is enough to see it happen. One is wonderful.

  One is fucking amazing.

  ****

  I switch into clean-up mode, acting quickly. Draining the tub, I rinse her body as well as the tub with cleaner. Then I refill the tub once more, letting her float. I mop up every surface in the bathroom and clean the mops as well. The sting of cleaners, bleach, in my nostrils has come to mean something incredibly different than it used to. I don’t want any of my skin cells that may have flaked off into the water to be a problem. Once I’m confident in my work, I get dressed.

  I walk to the door, then remember something key. A donation. After running back to the bathroom, I stop to look in the serene tub. She has no worries anymore. No problems. She had nothing. She is nothing any longer. I shake my head to clear it. I need a donation from her. I can’t believe I almost forgot. Opening the medicine cabinet, I spot a pair of little diamond earrings and tuck them deep into a zippered pocket.

  There. Exactly what I needed. The donations are what last forever.

  Finally ready, I head out the door, locking it from the inside first, making sure to leave the lights on. Hopefully with her bad choices in life, her premature death won’t come as a surprise to those she knows or even the police.

  Well, that’s three now under your belt. I want to raise my arm to pat myself on the back.

  Looking at my phone, I realize I’m late. I should be arriving at Bee’s now, and it’s at least a fifteen-minute drive from here. She’s going to be pissed.

  “Hey.” But apparently that’s not the worst of my problems.

  The baritone’s shout almost makes me jump out of my skin. My heart falls to my feet. Please let me have imagined it. But I know I didn’t. So I pretend I didn’t hear, walking faster to my car.

  I need to get out of here.

  “Hey, you.”

  Maybe he’ll think I’m deaf. If I can just get to my door…

  “I’m talking to you.” And a meaty hand falls on my shoulder.

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

  I don’t want to turn. No one was supposed to see me here. I want to die. I want to disappear. I want to run. But I can’t. I have to turn. So I do.

  “Yeah?”

  “You dropped this.” And the giant of a man, six and a half feet and as wide as Jason, hands me my wallet. I dropped my fucking wallet.

  More air leaves my lungs than I knew could be stored there, exhaling my relief with it.

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.” He doesn’t even make eye contact. He’s already walking away as he replies.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Completely unacceptable of me.

  What if he hadn’t given it back? What if my wallet had been outside Tristan’s house when she was found lifeless, strangled, in her bathtub? How could I have been so careless? I’ll have to think more about this later. How to correct it. How to prevent it. How to be punished for it.

  Once I’m back in the car, I can’t stop shaking. I quickly text Bee, letting her know I’m on my way, but despite my wanting to rush I know I won’t speed. There’s no need to draw any attention to myself. I change into my new outfit in the front seat before driving away from Tristan’s place and toward Bee’s.

  Before heading up to Bee’s door, I pull the fakes off my car, tossing them into my trunk. I’m feeling a little worthless after my mistake earlier. But I also still have my playdate pride. The mixture of worry and excitement is something new.

  Another thought mixes in with my own crap about earlier. Maybe I should’ve brought Bee a gift. That’s what normal dates do, though the thought is too late, not helping me with my empty hands walking up to her place.

  I knock timidly, waiting for it to open.

  “I thought you might have changed your mind.” She sounds stern.

  “Something came up, but I took care of it.”

  “I know.” Her eye contact is steady, deliberate. She couldn’t…

  “You know?” My blood pressure spikes instantly, and I feel dizzy.

  My eyes are trained on her, hard, looking for every movement or any silent indication of what she meant. She can’t know anything about what I’ve been doing tonight. She can’t. She pauses, shakes her head, and looks to the sky.

  “Sorry. Meant bet…I bet.”

  If she knew, there’s no way she’d have opened the door. I struggle but decide to let it go.

  “Hurry up and get out here. We have lots to do tonight.”

  “You’re awfully bossy for someone who turned up twenty minutes after you said you would. Off doing horrible things, I’m sure.” Again she’s taking the upper hand, to be the one in control.

  “I’ll make it up to you.” I flash her my widest and brightest smile. It works as she melts into the palm of my hand. She moves outside, locking her door. “You ready for the best date of your life?” Is it a date? Well, shit, I guess I just made it one if it wasn’t already…unless she says otherwise.

  “You better not build it up too much or I’ll have to give you shit when it sucks.” She didn’t correct me.

  Guess it’s officially a date.

  We get into my car and drive toward my first destination.

  ****

  “Midnight, black-light bowling? No way.” She bounces on her heels as she peeks around the few couples in front of us in line to pay. She tries not to say anything more, but I can tell she’s holding a compliment back. Eventually she caves, “This is pretty awesome. I love dark games like this.”

  I had the suggestion from Jason. He told me she’s mentioned to Amelia once how much she enjoys bowling. I think she played competitively when she was younger.

  “A little birdie told me it might be a good idea.” Her eyes light up even brighter, and I’m surprised by the swell of pride filling my chest.

  Evidently, making just a pinch of effort to find out what would go over well is impressive. I wonder how badly her dates have gone in the past, and I have to swipe away a nasty scowl wanting to plant itself on my face. Has anyone ever bothered to find out about her as a person? I mean, she’s a little overweight, but she’s fucking cool, which has definitely made her more attractive. Maybe she could give me a list of people who’ve hurt her before.

  That’s something to consider.

  This dating thing is more confusing than I thought it would be, though. I don’t know what I want from her or what she wants of me. It’s all so new. Getting to know someone and hoping they like you too is a lot of fucking work. Just getting laid never took this much effort. I never cared enough to truly try, either, and now I find myself nervous I’ll fuck it all up.
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  “Okay, this almost makes up for being late. What were you doing, anyway?” Oh shit. She pulls me from my thoughts as we move closer to the register.

  A lump forms in my throat, making it hard to answer at first. Why doesn’t a lie come forth as easily as it does for Jason or Eva, or anyone else? I almost want to tell her what I was actually doing, but obviously I can’t. That’s fucking insane. She’d run out of here screaming for the police, and I’d be lynched. No, I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone. Instead I need to come up with an excuse, a lie, and it’s proving harder than it normally does. It’s harder than it should be.

  I’ve already wasted enough time.

  I know Bee can see my hesitation, and her eyebrows rise as a look of suspicion spreads across her face. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I can’t tell you, dummy. It’s a surprise.”

  Well, I guess that settles it. I need to buy her a gift after all. But now I need to do it while I’m out with her, without her noticing.

  Goddamn it.

  Maybe I should’ve just told her. Might have been easier.

  “Really?” I nod. And again Bee looks as if she may burst with excitement. If I can continue making her look like that, I want more than friendship. Because every time she lights up, something inside me starts to wiggle a little.

  She claps her hands together, trying to stifle her glee as we move to the desk. “A lane for an hour, please.”

  The twenty-something cashier looks high as he gathers our shoes and takes my cash. I’d need to be stoned if I worked here, too.

  We gather our ugly shoes, making our way to the dark lane, grabbing our glowing balls along the way. The black lights make everyone look tan, even a little mysterious. The odd lighting provides shadows and a dim sense of adventure I hadn’t anticipated. I wonder what it would look and feel like to have sex in the corner of the alley with the flashing strobes, loud music, and purple lighting. Blood flows at the idea. No wonder these were so popular back in the seventies.