I Can Barely Breathe

by August Verona

  “Oh my. Whose murder?” he asked. His eyes went from her breasts to her lips, then down to her thighs.

  “My murder. I was killed by the serial killer. He raped me and slit my throat in his house.” She was very matter-of-fact, and her fingers caressed the scar on her neck.

  Tom leaned back in his chair and considered her words. The chaotic events seemed to be happening more frequently, and a small part of him didn’t doubt the girl; she looked like she’d been through Hell. “How are you here now?”

  “I’m not sure. I awoke in a shallow grave in his barn.”

  “A barn on Thirty-Second Street?

  “Yes, do you know it?”

  “I do.” Tom had known that house since he was a kid, when Carver’s parents had owned it. He knew every square inch of that property. “The man who lives there, did you run into him while you were there?” Tom flipped a photo around on his desk. Someone had snapped it during an investigation where a little girl had gone missing. In the picture, Tom, Kattic and Carver were leaning on a police cruiser.

  “That man is not who you think he is,” she said, pointing to Carver. “He’s the devil. He raped and killed me, and he did it with a smile on his face.” Her tone was elevated, and her words were carefully pronounced.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’ve known this man since we were kids. He works here at the station.”

  A large bloodstain suddenly covered the girl’s dress. Her hands turned red, and her legs shook.

  Tom felt a shutter run through his body. The girl’s stare was the coldest stare he’d ever seen, and he was no longer interested in admiring her beauty. In that moment, he felt a slight bit of fear.

  “Where the hell did that stain come from?” Tom asked.

  She looked down at her breasts and slowly examined the stain. Her head tilted up, and her eyes were quick to follow, as they locked with Tom’s gaze. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  The wound on the young girl’s neck ripped open, and blood once again gushed out of her, down her breasts, over her stomach and onto the chair. Her hands tried to stop the flow, and she struggled to breathe. The young beauty died once more in a matter of seconds. Tom, with clammy, shaky hands and an extremely high pulse rate, got up and dialed a number on his office phone, while simultaneously closing his office door.

  “This is Kattic.”

  “It’s Tom,” he said, his voice jittery. “I have a dead girl in my office. Can you help?”

  “I’m upstairs. I’ll be there in two.”

  “Oh, and, Kattic”—he paused, almost not wanting to break the news—“she told me that Carver is the serial killer.”

  “We all have our roles to play, Tom. I’ll meet you at his house, after I deal with the body. Go now.”

  The call ended.

  Chapter Fifteen

  What I’ve Always Wanted

  Carver and Julia sat at his kitchen table, sharing a pitcher of orange juice. She had arrived around eight with breakfast from the bagel shop down the street, and they had spent the morning talking. Her blue dress, curly hair and beautiful smile had Carver agitated and semihard. However, it was nothing new. He had gotten used to hiding his desires for her body.

  “Well, I’m glad we’re waiting,” she said with a smile. “Our first time will be so much better if we wait.”

  Carver ignored his actual opinions on the subject and lied instead. “It’s fine by me. If you want to wait, we’ll wait.” He was getting tired of the runaround but shrugged it off, like he had all the other times they’d talked about sex.

  “More juice?” he asked.

  She shook her head, just as Carver’s communicator vibrated in his pocket.

  “This is Carver.”

  “Tom knows.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tom knows you’re the serial killer.”

  A flash of heat shot through Carver’s entire body. His mind went blank.

  “He’s coming for you. Now.”

  There was a silence so strong both men felt its concussion. “Kattic, how long have you known about me?” Carver asked. The shock he felt put a pressure on his entire face. His hands trembled and if only he could do something to quiet the constant pounding in his chest. He brought his hand to his heart and took a breath. His focus wasn’t helping and he knew the second he turned around, Julia would know something was wrong. She’d see it in his face.

  “It’s over Carver.” Kattic ended the call.

  Carver stood, holding his phone, staring at the kitchen countertop. He had been so careful. But a part of him had always known the day would come when he would have to answer for his crimes. He knew his victims would come back to haunt him. His knees were weak and a sick, clammy feeling washed over him.

  Carver set the pitcher of juice on the counter and screwed on the plastic top. He gathered himself quietly for a few seconds. A smile formed. It was that familiar Cheshire smile that always won the hearts of these women, mere seconds before he’d snatch them up. He walked to the table and grabbed his empty glass, brought it to the sink and rinsed it with water. His life was over. He would be taken from his home, thrown in a cell, brought up against a judge and jury, and all of it would start by his best friend, whom he’d known his entire life, taking him in cuffs to the station where he worked. He’d never considered the humiliation he would have to face. He knew it couldn’t end this way; he wouldn’t allow it.

  As a plan formulated in his mind, he knew he needed to tie up his one last loose end, Julia. Her beauty had dominated Carver’s mind since the day he met her and he’d be damned if he was going to go down without one last taste.

  Murder. It was the one thing that always lifted him up higher than any drug ever could. He was consumed by it. It was his reason for living.

  Instinct took over, and he knew it was time to take what he wanted. He reached up in the cupboard next to the sink and grabbed a mason jar; there was a small puncture in the lid. He unscrewed it and pulled a cloth from it.

  “Julia?” he said, turning to her.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s time I show you who I really am.” He smiled wide.

  Carver stepped to her and quickly placed the rag over her mouth and nose. She squealed and Carver felt her body fight him right before she passed out, going limp in her chair. Carver stepped back and had a look at her. She was so beautiful, by far his finest piece of work. Bending down to her, he reached up her dress and pulled down her cotton panties. Then with both hands, he spread her legs and buried his face in her pussy. She tasted like peaches and strawberry sauce. His tongue licked every bit of her mound, even sliding inside at one point. Carver squeezed her thighs, as he licked and sucked her lower set of lips.

  He knew he didn’t have much time but hated to rush. For all he knew, Tom could be pulling in his driveway this very moment. He pulled her sleeping body to the floor and unzipped his pants. His lips kissed her cleavage, and he hastily removed the spaghetti straps from her shoulders. As he ripped her dress open, exposing her breasts, he almost wept. The sight of Julia topless, finally getting to gaze upon her naked chest, was breathtaking. He brought his face close and sucked, taking as much of her bosom into his mouth as possible. His dick pushed against her, poking at her vagina until he found her hole. Even though she wasn’t wet, he slid in easily; she wasn’t as tight as he had thought she would be, but the realization didn’t slow him down any. As he started to fuck her, she stirred and regained consciousness.

  The chloroformed rag in the jar had been sitting in the cupboard for a few years; it must have become stale and weak with age. When he first began his crime spree, it was a tool he thought he’d get more use out of. But as he developed a rhythm for taking girls off the streets, he realized his hands and good looks were all the tools he would need.

  She looked up at him with a disgusted expression on her pretty face. It was no bother; it was better if she was awake and her disapproval only worked to excite him more. He placed his han
d around her throat and squeezed, just hard enough to let her know what his intentions were. She kicked and screamed, while her hands beat at his back. He gave her his cock as hard as he possibly could, slamming his shaft deep into her and pulling out just as fast. Tears streamed down her face, as she pleaded.

  “This is what happens, bitch, when you make a man wait!” he yelled and slapped her face as hard as he could. The sound echoed off the ceiling, and the look on her face was priceless to him. It was everything he had ever wanted from her.

  Carver pulled out of her and quickly removed his pants, underwear and shirt. His fingers reached down in his loose pants pocket, and he found his favorite kill knife. Completely naked, he turned her on her stomach, setting the knife on the floor in front of her distressed stare. It was a rush for Carver, knowing that, at any moment, she could reach up her unbound hands and grab the knife. Maybe she’d even cut him, not too much, but enough to send blood rushing down his body.

  “If only you were more of a fighter, Julia,” he whispered in her ear.

  Large, strong hands reached around and squeezed her bare breasts, as his dick found its way in between her ass cheeks. He didn’t penetrate but pushed his penis hard against her asshole, almost climaxing on contact.

  Gripping the knife, Carver pulled her to her feet, but her steps couldn’t match his; he dragged her to his murder room, while she screamed. Bypassing the padlock by kicking in the door, he shoved her into the dungeon. Daylight glowed from behind the white curtains, giving the room a dreary appearance. Her body hit the hard, cold, bloodstained tiles, and she soon realized what she was sitting on. The black zip ties went easily over her wrists, as they bound her hands together.

  Pulling her to her knees, he pressed his penis in between her breasts that heaved with every breath she took. Then, confusing her further, he stood her up and backed her arms over the supports of his stand. His hand swung through the air and made contact with her face again. She cried a useless cry and pleaded with him to stop. This part always made him feel so alive.

  “Spread your legs, Julia!” he said in a terrifying voice.

  She whimpered and did as she was told. “Are you going to kill me?” she managed to stutter.

  His erect penis penetrated her vagina once again, and she let out a gasp.

  “Yes,” he whispered, then brought the serrated knife from behind his back, up to her throat and slashed it.

  Her body jolted and squirmed, as blood spilled out and covered their bodies. Carver laughed. He watched as her movements caused her to massage his dick, just as he’d planned. Every thrust she made, every flail of her shoulders and jump of her legs, caused her to give him the best ride of his life.

  A little too in the moment, he brought the knife up over his head, just as her gaze locked on his. He stabbed her in the chest over and over, until her lifeless body dangled from his arms. His grip on the knife could have crushed walnuts. Stab after stab, he punished the young beauty, destroying her perfect body. The power and pride he felt over the dominated girl was godlike.

  Carver pulled her from the stand and dropped her body hard to the floor. Her blood dripped from his rock-hard shaft. He got on top of her and slid inside again, his hands gripping the red tiles. His penis pounded her body, making a slapping noise every time his pelvis slammed into hers. Carver stared down at her open eyes and, with one final thrust, pumped his semen into her dead body.

  Three loud knocks banged on the front door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Truth Hurts

  Tom used his shoulder to break in the front door, with his shotgun in hand. When he got inside, a sharp pain cruised up and down his leg. His Buick sat outside with a flashing light on top, the trunk and passenger door wide open. His gun swept the living room.

  He was hopeful in that moment that all of it was a big misunderstanding. Carver would walk out of the back bedroom and explain everything. He would make Tom understand why the blonde had accused him, and everything would be fine. They would continue to investigate together, and nothing would change. Maybe Carver was set up. Maybe the blonde was lying or confused.

  As Tom limped through the dining room and into the kitchen, the back bedrooms came into view. He saw Julia’s half-naked, blood-covered body lying on the floor with approximately twenty stab wounds in her chest. His heart doubled its pace. It was a quick little moment that told him his worst fear had come true.

  His best friend was the serial killer that Cosmos and Sorrow’s Sky had been hunting for so long.

  If his adrenaline hadn’t been pumping so hard, he probably would have felt the embarrassment then that would inevitably catch up to him and his reputation at the station and within the town. Carver was his rock. They’d been working together for seven months side by side. Tom was the police chief’s son and a detective. How could he not have seen that his own partner was the killer?

  “Carver! Where are you?” he yelled in a panic.

  The house was too quiet. He knew Carver wasn’t one to hide from a fight. Glancing out the kitchen window, he saw his friend disappearing into the barn. It took Tom a few minutes to exit the back door; he moved across the lawn as fast as his injured leg would allow. The wind had picked up; it felt cold on his face. He could hear it whistling through the rafters of the barn’s roof. The building creaked with the gusts. As he got to the door, he steadied his weapon and tried to catch his breath.

  “Carver?” he yelled again. “I’m coming in!”

  Tom hobbled through the barn door and focused his sights on his target, who stood still with a knife in his hand.

  “Drop the goddamned knife, Carver! It’s over.”

  “It’s fitting, isn’t it? That you would be the one to bring me in?” The young killer turned, and his eyes scanned the open grave. “It was the blonde, wasn’t it? She woke up.”

  “She came to see me at the station. She pointed you out in a picture.” Tom took a moment to ponder the implications of the five other graves that lay just beyond Carver’s untied boots. “You killed all of them? I thought I knew you.”

  “You did know me, just not all of me.”

  “You’re going to prison,” Tom said. “You may even be sentenced to death. Was it worth it?”

  “Yes. You have no idea the feeling you get when you kill someone. The look in their eyes will change you forever.” Carver paused and shook the thought from his mind. He smiled a sincere smile. “You’re going to save me, Tom. I need you to pull that trigger and save me from my sins. That’s what best friends do.”

  “Make a move with that knife and I will.”

  “You know I’d never hurt you. We’re brothers. I need you to do this.”

  The words echoed in Tom’s head. He couldn’t blame Carver for wanting to die, for not wanting to face the families of the ones he’d murdered so brutally, for not wanting to face his coworkers at the station. All their lives the two young men had looked out for one another.

  Tom was always the honest one. He was honest with his friends and the courts, the other cops and the people of Sorrow’s Sky. He had to be honest with himself too. The path that lay before him was grim. He was partly to blame for all those innocent lives, and no one would overlook that. But where death begins, death ends. He could change things.

  In a heartbeat, his hope for his best friend took over his thoughts. He felt an undeniable pity for Carver that overpowered him, and, in that collage of memories and camaraderie, Tom saw a weakness that could only be named love. Because of that weakness he did the only thing that made sense to him; he squeezed the trigger and set his brother free.

  The explosion from the barrel pushed Tom’s shoulder back, shaking his body in an instant. The pellets entered Carver’s chest, throwing him onto the girls’ graves and splattering his blood on the back wall. Tom could smell the buckshot and smoke, as the dust settled and his ears rang. He dropped the shotgun in the dirt and pulled the pistol from its holster under his suit jacket.

  Tom was alone. A
s he put the gun in his mouth, he thought of his life in Sorrow’s Sky. He closed his eyes and cocked back the hammer, then pulled the trigger, and it was over.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Last Letter Home

  Kattic sat in a comfortable chair in the base of the clock tower. The cold air down below the tower’s inner workings and gears had him chilled, so he covered his shoulders with a small blanket.

  He had retrieved his black book from its hiding place in the wall upstairs and spent some time pacing around the old tower. His thoughts were racing with the day’s events and by the time he had mentally organized them he found himself down below, in the cold. The harsh cold did him well. His hands were shaky, his foot tapped the old wood floor repeatedly and inside he felt a heavy pressure in his chest. A part of him hoped that the cold would numb him.

  It was storming outside. Rain covered the windows; the wind blew fiercely, and the thunder pounded overhead. He noted how strange it was to have yet another rainstorm in late October. Candles burned all around, helping to warm him. He opened his book to an empty page and wrote:

  Friends,

  I must admit, I write to you on an eve when I can barely breathe. You’ve all heard the stories and lore of the Carver Thorton killings. In your time period the man is an icon of horror cinema, and the stories of his murders are told on a daily basis around the world. Well, over the past seven months, I’ve gotten to know him very well. He has been a good friend, a shoulder to cry on for anyone in need and an impressive special investigator.

  If you could have known him and were somehow unaware of the monster that consumed him, his eye for detail would astound you, his courage would be revered and his sense of humor would only make you like him more. Today the legend has died. I suppose today is the day his story truly begins.

  Our partner Thomas Mallik died today as well. Let me tell you, our history books were correct about him. Even though Carver was his best friend, he stopped him from ever killing again. The police say Carver must have rushed Tom with a knife in the old historic barn that you all know too well, and Tom did what he had to do. However, killing his childhood friend must have been too much for him. Tom put a gun in his mouth shortly thereafter. He was a brave man, and I am forever changed by knowing him. May he rest in peace.