The Rest Will Come

by Christina Bergling

  Who do I want to be? What would I want my name to be? What name would they want me to have?

  Deidra, she typed into the field. Her fingers were energized on the keys, animated by the creation of false lives.

  I think Deidra is from New Orleans. It sounds like Deidra would be from NOLA. Let’s see, what does Deidra do for a living? Business Professional. That’s perfectly vague.

  Hi, I’m Deidra from New Orleans, and I’m a business professional.

  30 years old.

  Athletic build.

  Looking for a relationship.

  Undecided on children.

  When she reached the open paragraph reserved for a bio or mission statement or whatever, Emma hesitated, tapping her nail on the space bar. A jumbled blur of every profile she had read over all these attempts echoed against her skull. Every false line, every double entendre. She began to type.

  I am a fun-loving, active girl looking for my partner in crime. I really want someone I can talk to and start a new adventure with. Message me if you want to know more.

  Emma reread her work. “Oh shit,” she breathed.

  She needed pictures. They could not be actual pictures of her. She needed someone who looked enough like her to be recognized at the date but not actually be identified.

  She decided Deidra would have long blonde hair. She’d always wanted to be a blonde. Maybe then she would have more fun. So she needed a blonde who looked somewhat like her.

  Emma opened a new tab and asked the search engine for blondes in their thirties. She scrolled through a barrage of smiling women, heavily peppered with pornographic images, until she found one that portrayed the woman far enough away to dull her features. She tilted her head from one side to the other to decide if the picture resembled her enough. Or would when she donned a matching wig.

  Emma saved the file and uploaded it to Deidra’s new profile. She trailed the image to a tragically public MyBook page and snagged a couple other distant shots of the blonde. Specifically, a few obscure ones with her in a group. She uploaded the stolen images as her profile’s other pictures, then she released Deidra onto the online world, dangling the bait over what she knew well to be desperate waters.

  Part of her felt like Deidra as she sauntered out of the library. The persona crawled up out of the back of her mind and stretched out under her skin. She decided that Deidra was fierce and confident, that she owned what she wanted and settled for nothing less, that she used men instead of being used by them. Deidra played prey while she hunted. Emma felt that bit of empowerment, that part of her swell at being taken out to play.

  On her way back across town, she pulled into the parking lot of a superstore. Not her own local store, one somewhere on the way. Still feeling the curvaceous drag in her step and the extended posture in her spine, Emma walked slowly and deliberately down the torturously lit aisles. She tossed a prepaid smartphone into the cart.

  She parked her cart and lingered in the clothing section, brushing against the circular racks of garments. She lifted shirts and dresses in front of her, evaluating each one in the mirror. In her mind, Deidra shopped somewhere a bit more refined, more expensive, but Emma did not have the budget to finance fancy personas. As if the men would notice the difference anyway.

  She settled on pants tight enough to reveal the contour of her hips and a shirt that would cling subtly to her and allow a hint of her cleavage. Then she ambled through the shoes and snagged a matching pair of heels one size too big. She paid in cash.

  With her costume supplies safely stowed in her trunk, she glided her car to the home improvement store across the shopping center. She still felt the otherness in her stride, the extra layer of personality influencing her mind. She walked like Deidra, confident and wily. She sauntered, infected with the knowledge that she was in control now.

  Emma snagged a chain hoist, a bucket, many more sheets of painter’s plastic, along with some paint, brushes, and rollers to sell the story. Again, she paid in cash, keeping her head down in front of the cameras and avoiding eye contact to not make an impression on any other patrons.

  With one final stop for a convincing blonde wig, Emma walked into the restaurant to meet Ronnie and Josiah, feeling some blissful blend of liberated and excited. She could not wait to climb into Deidra’s shoes. She could not wait for Deidra to ensnare and execute her first victim.

  She arrived at the small café before Ronnie, which was never surprising. She got settled at the table with a glass of water and set up her burner phone. She kept the edge of her peripherals alert to stash the phone before Ronnie could ask what it was for. When she pulled up FishOfTheSea.com, a devious grin consumed her face at seeing how ravenously those fish were biting.

  Emma caught sight of Ronnie coming past the front window of the café, juggling Josiah in her arms, and quickly stashed the phone deep in her purse.

  “Hey,” Ronnie said as she approached the table and dumped Josiah into the staged high chair.

  “Hey,” Emma replied. “You made it out. Aren’t you afraid someone might see you with him and think you’re a mother?”

  “Don’t worry. Anyone would assume he’s yours, and I’m just your friend who loves food and booze too much.”

  “Shut up.”

  “How are you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. You’re always hiking or whatever. Ever since that last awful date, you’ve been different.”

  I’ve determined that murdering stupid guys I date makes me happy and fulfils me on a deep and disturbing level, so I’ve spent the past few weeks planning and preparing for my next kill.

  “Yeah, I’ve been trying to deal with some shit. I’m trying to concentrate on living my life. Working, finding hobbies I enjoy, trying to make myself happy.”

  “I see you do that without us.”

  I have been avoiding you because, deep down, I’m sure you are going to be able to see right through to what I really am.

  “I’m only trying to find my way on my own. I can’t horn in on your family forever.”

  “Yes, you can. We’re your family too.”

  “I know, and I appreciate that, but you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I talked to Gladys recently, and since then, I guess I’ve been trying to figure out who I am.”

  “Gladys knows her shit. So who are you then?”

  “I honestly don’t think I know.”

  “That makes sense. I mean, how often do you think you’ve really been yourself in your life? You weren’t yourself with Justin. You weren’t yourself after he destroyed your life. You weren’t yourself dating all these asshats.”

  “Exactly. I think it’s time I find myself.”

  “I love it. Are you done with dating then? No more trying?”

  I’m not done, but I am done with the bullshit. I am done with the searching. I’m done being used. Now I’m going to use them.

  “I think I’m done. Done playing the game.”

  “I’m glad you’ve made that decision.”

  “Yeah, it kind of sounds like crap coming from someone in a relationship with a family.”

  Someone who has everything I am supposed to have.

  Ronnie laughed. “I’m sure it does, but I am firmly convinced that I ended up here because I wasn’t looking for anything. I wasn’t trying to make anything happen. I didn’t give a shit.”

  “No, you did not.”

  “I was simply me, trying to find out what made me happy. I didn’t try to impress or trap Terrence because I didn’t think I wanted him. Things got to happen naturally.”

  “From this side, it looks like you got what I wanted without trying at all.”

  “Life is not about getting what we deserve. We don’t get to earn things. Life would be fair if shit worked like that! Besides, I told you, we somehow switched lives at some point. Married to a cheating piece of shit, me. Domestic life with the quality partner and kid, you. Not sure what happened there.”

  “Thi
s is a very deep conversation before we’ve even ordered lunch.”

  “It’s what we do. You look great though, Em. You look, I don’t know…happier, less stressed.”

  “I am, I think. I’ve made peace with it. I’m not trying to force things anymore. Maybe I won’t find someone. Maybe I won’t have a family.”

  “Don’t say that. It’s not like you’re fifty years old.”

  “No, maybe it’s okay though. I don’t need those things to have a happy life.”

  “Wow, you’re like the fucking Dali Lama all of a sudden.”

  “I have found enlightenment.”

  In murder.

  “You got a new car. How is it?”

  “I love it.”

  “I liked the picture you sent. Must be nice not to be so broke anymore.”

  “Oh my God, to not have to agonize over how I’m going to scrape up the money for all the bills. So nice!”

  Plus, I needed to sell that rolling crime scene as fast as possible.

  “One day I’ll have to even ride in it. You know, when we actually hang out again.”

  “We’re hanging out right now, Ronnie.”

  “Yeah, whatever. So what are you up to the rest of the weekend?”

  As soon as I leave here, I am going to go through all these messages on my fake dating profile and select a victim. I am going to spend some time leading him on until he’s ready to meet me. Then I’m going to find some way to kill him without getting caught. Then I’m going to go for a hike.

  “I think I’m going to go for a run tonight. Then relax on the couch tomorrow. Then I’m hoping to go for another long hike.”

  “What is up with all this hiking? I thought the running was intense, but this is next level.”

  I have to get rid of the bodies.

  “I like the hiking. It’s peaceful to be by myself, conquering the trail, pushing myself farther than the previous time. It gives me a lot of time to sort out my brain.”

  “Is that where you found this enlightenment?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Whatever is making you happier, I’m glad. Keep doing it. I have missed this Emma.”

  “What’s different about me now?”

  “You look like you again, not so weighted down by Justin or what he did or trying to fix what he did. It looks like you’re actually living again.”

  “It is good to feel like myself. I don’t think I have since we were young. Like super young. When we were stupid and reckless and thought we could get away with anything.”

  “Back before you needed to be someone else for Justin. It’s better you’re out of the game anyway. That Don Juan killer is still out there.”

  “You and this Don Juan killer thing.”

  “Hey, my best friend is out on the wilds of the internet, dating strange douchebags while this guy is luring women through online dating and killing them. Plus, I’m all hopped up on momma bear hormones. Yeah, I’m going to worry, and obsessively read about him on the internet.”

  “So I’m confused. If he’s doing this all online, how is he getting away with it? Can’t his profile and all that be traced?”

  “Yeah, it totally can. Like if I created a profile at home and messaged all these people, my IP address and all that would be all over it. Cops could trace it. They figure he’s some kind of tech guy, probably works in computers. He’s either using public internet, burner phones, or he’s managing to ghost his IP address.”

  “He’s smart.”

  “Oh yeah, quite the catch. Brilliant, but will strangle you by the end of the date.”

  “Is that how he does it?”

  “Yeah, piano wire or something. He strangles them and leaves the body.”

  “Leaves the body?”

  “Yep, he’s confident. He hunts openly online, leaves the body to be discovered.”

  Brave guy. That must be so much less work.

  “At least he’s not a rapist.”

  “No, he offs them before that stage in the date. I guess it could be worse.”

  “So what have you been up to while I’ve been off finding myself again?”

  “Terrence has had this big project at work.”

  “Yeah, he had to bail on the last movie we planned.”

  “That stupid comedy? What a tragedy.”

  “This is why we don’t take you.”

  “Anyway. He’s been having to put in extra hours with your good friend Timmy. It’s been a lot of time with me and Josiah.”

  “Ah, Timmy. How is he?”

  “Married now.”

  “Of course he is.”

  “Hey, he was actually a good guy.”

  “Yeah, I guess he deserves it. Are you pulling your hair out being full time mommy?”

  “Of course I am. You know I am. I mean, Josiah is awesome. He’s getting to be more fun the more stuff he can do, but he’s also an exhausting amount of mischief. Sometimes at the end of the day, I want to shower, put on real clothes, and talk to other adults like a human.”

  “The burdens of working from home.”

  “I know I shouldn’t complain. We don’t have to pay for daycare. I know I will miss these times with him when he’s older. I’ll be glad I had all this time with him, but sometimes, I honestly feel like I’m suffocating. Or like I don’t exist anymore. There’s no more Ronnie, only Mommy here to feed you and change you and answer your every vexing whim.”

  “Ronnie, you couldn’t cease to exist if you tried. There is way too much you in there for that. You would burn the place down before you let that happen.”

  “True enough. I just have to make it through this patch with Terrence’s work, then I can call in my time off. Let him make up his shifts.”

  “Why don’t you let me take Josiah? I can watch him for a few hours, and you can go do something to make you feel like you.”

  “That would actually be great, as long as you don’t take him hiking.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Ronnie hugged Emma tightly as they stood on the pavement in front of the café. Ronnie clutched her firmly, and Emma noticed she did feel like she did when they were younger, when she did not feel the desperate push of depression clinging to the embrace.

  As Emma turned the corner away from Ronnie, she let Deidra climb back into the swing of her hips, that sly smile slithering back onto her face, somehow feeling at home.

  ***

  Deidra was definitely popular on the site. When Emma checked the trick line phone, the notification counter on the site was high—winks, likes, and messages. The fish were biting furiously. Emma grinned anxiously, trying to decide where to start.

  The small phone screen was infuriating. Even with the dating app downloaded under her phony email created at the library to establish her profile, she longed to pull the site up on her laptop. But her internet activity could be traced on her router, if it ever came to that.

  She thought about the Don Juan killer who had Ronnie so fiercely fixated. She had to be smart like him. If he could fish online without being traced, if he could let the bodies get found, she could do this. She would take it one step farther. She would hunt outside her city to reduce the chances of being recognized or identified on the date.

  She scrolled through the barrage of messages.

  TNBoy80 said,

  Hey gorgeous! Your profile really caught my eye. You look like such an interesting person. I bet we could have a lot of fun together. Message me back!

  Emma rolled her eyes and kept scrolling.

  NateDawg$ said,

  Hey girl, do you think you can handle me? I guarantee I’m more man than the last guy who sent you here. Give me the chance to show you what you’ve been missing.

  “Bingo,” Emma said. “Hello, douchebag.”

  “Deidra” tapped at the touch keyboard.

  I’m sure I can handle you. What do you have to offer?

  Before she could even open another message, a picture of NateDawg$’s penis popped up
in her inbox. Emma nearly choked on her wine when she opened the message to be greeted by a full bush of dark pubic hair bristling along an aroused yet largely unimpressive shaft.

  “Oh my God,” she giggled. “He did not lead with a dick pic.”

  Emma sat stunned with the phone frozen in her palm for a moment. How do you respond to a dick picture? Deidra was not a straight up slut. He was going to have to work harder than that.

  She typed, snickering,

  Calm down, big boy.How about we start with drinks?

  NateDawg$ messaged Deidra both immediately and incessantly. He made it too easy. Emma constantly steered NateDawg$ away from phallic images and direct sexual references, asking him the canned litany of pre-date questions. He said he had never been married and was undecided about children. He was looking for a partner to travel with and just have fun. All his answers sounded hollow.

  The next day after her morning run, Emma wandered the aisles of her local grocery store. The trick line vibrated in her pocket. She lifted up the phone and gasped, somehow surprised again. NateDawg$’s penis again consumed her screen, this time at an alternate angle in different lighting. The picture must have been snapped in another bathroom.

  Her face flushed, she slammed the phone screen into her chest. Gripping her basket with her other hand, she glanced around to make sure no other customers had glimpsed the graphic anatomy on her screen.

  What in the hell was wrong with this guy? Why would he think a dick picture would be enticing? It was gross.

  From the privacy of her car in the parking lot, Deidra calmly replied to confirm the time and the bar they would meet at that night.

  Over the course of the day, Emma slipped into Deidra’s skin by degrees. When she responded to NateDawg$’s messages, she began to think like Deidra. She left Emma behind—the divorcee, the depressed single girl, the woman who tried to please all these men who left her—and crawled into the fierceness of a huntress. NateDawg$ was her prey; he just did not know it.

  She assembled her costume meticulously. She tugged on the tight pants, feeling them squeeze against her legs. She pulled the shirt over her head and adjusted it until her breasts peered out appropriately. Then she dangled a necklace into her cleavage and painted her face in the practiced, contoured lines. She colored until her eyes contrasted brighter, until her blemishes vanished. She placed and replaced the wig until it could be mistaken as natural hair.