This Guy Kills Me

by Anlyn Hansell

  This Guy Kills Me

  A Novel By

  Anlyn Hansell

  © 2015 Anlyn Hansell

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the Author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by jessicaecovers

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Absolute Zero Prologue

  Absolute Zero Chapter One

  Prologue

  Blind.

  I made myself blind?

  That wasn’t supposed to happen. Or maybe I’m dead?

  Her eyes scanned the darkness as her fogged and swirling brain tried desperately to root itself and anchor to something solid. No bright white tunnel. No pearly gates. So you just…die and that’s it? Total darkness? No offense, but the afterlife kind of sucks. Total darkness, really?

  Wait. Something just happened. A bump…a bump that made her head smack against something hard. Another bump…Stop that! What the heck is that? That hurts! Her mind yelled as it became glaringly obvious that she indeed was not dead. Attempting to reach up and touch the side of her head proved to be difficult at best. Not without bringing the other hand along for the trip. She wiggled her wrists, trying without success to focus in the darkness. They were bound together; at least it felt that way. Her ankles were in the same sorry state she noticed as she attempted to move her legs. Her body was constricted by the darkness, her limbs folded into the fetal position with her head resting on something scratchy? Scratchy with something hard underneath, evidenced by another bump that made her head bounce off of it yet again. Owww…

  Ok…head up. Keep your head up… She straightened her neck out, trying to suspend it in air only to feel dizzy and nauseous. Swallowing back the burning bile that threatened to spew forth at any second, she rested her aching head against the sandpaper once again. Her tongue tried desperately to move only to be hindered by something large, something dry; something that was tied around her head and stuffed in her mouth. Alarm overtook confusion as it became abundantly evident that she was tied up, gagged and bouncing around in what could only be a trunk as evidenced by the low hum reverberating from the surface her head rested against.

  Her brain tried to wrap itself around the situation she now found herself in. Tied up and gagged, bouncing around in a trunk. What the hell happened? Think…think…

  The day started out just like any other day. A new job. This one was a doozy. A press-on nails and panty hose kind of job. She was the counter girl at a posh car dealership, hired more for her looks than her skills – evidenced by the fact that her new boss kept checking on her every half hour or so. Each visit from the portly middle aged dude with thinning hair and beady eyes became progressively worse. Worse in that his invasion of her personal space would magnify each time he stepped up behind her. Hell, by the end of the day, he would have been dry humping her back if she had stayed that long. Sorry, if she would have been afforded the opportunity to stay that long. Of course, that didn’t happen.

  It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. There was only so much bobbing and weaving that could have been done to avoid him and still seem unaffected or oblivious to his actual intent. If it was this bad on Day One, imagine what the rest of the week would have held. Even so, she might have put up with it. She might have survived long enough to procure the funds she needed and resist the urge to donkey punch the perv.

  She was two months past due on her rent, a fact which Mrs. Patterson, her landlady would really like to discuss if she could only catch her. Luckily there was a right lovely fire escape that worked wonders for avoiding the old bat and her abusive, drunkard husband Steve.

  Two weeks, was that too much to ask? If she could hold on to this job for a measly two weeks she could have at least one month’s rent which would, of course, hold off the inevitable eviction. At least she could say she was making the effort. But no, she just had to let that snot-nosed piece of crap know that she knew. The preppy pretty boy that wandered up to the counter demanding a set of keys to another BMW loaner car was none other than the owner’s kid. Of course, she didn’t know that at the time. Would it have stopped her? Unfortunately, no. One look at him and her mouth spewed forth a litany of chastising comments on the fact that perhaps he shouldn’t drive while he was high. When you’re high, your reaction time is slow so when you try to navigate a turn at a high rate of speed with two of your stoner friends in the car, you may have a tendency to crash into objects…such as say…trees, for example. Because you’re high. And you shouldn’t drive while you’re HIGH.

  Stupid mouth. Stupid curse…

  He looked at her as if she sprouted another head, as if to say, “How do you know that?”

  They always did that.

  Fired from job number what? Who knew? That was it for the Percival Agency. Three strikes and you’re out. She would have to find another temp agency. Wait, no, she would have to move to some other area because of the five temp agencies in this particular town? Fired from all of the jobs they had sent her on. Why? Because life sucked, apparently.

  That was just the shit icing on the poop cake of life. Sacked from job number whatever, dumped months before by boyfriend number…hmm…too numerous to count. She had to be at the point where her ex-boyfriend tally had equaled or surpassed the amount of failed jobs she had during her 26 years of life. Of course, she brought that on herself. Most men couldn’t wait two months. Was two months too much to ask? Evidently the answer was a resounding ‘yes’. It was depressing to say the least. So depressing, in fact, today was the day.

  This was it, the end of the line. Something she had been thinking of doing for most of her adult existence and never had the courage to actually do.

  She stopped at the liquor store, dropped by the local pharmacy; used what little she had left on her credit card to buy the necessary items, knowing she would never pay the bill anyway…

  Up three flights of rickety, rusted metal steps in her thrift store-one size too small-toe numbing- death pumps, up and in through the window to her 1970’s throwback apartment complete with paneling, appliances and furniture that was so tacky even using the word retro to describe it was completely wrong. Cheap or free, yes. Retro? Not so much. At least it was clean. She dropped the bags on the counter and took two steps before wincing.

  First order of business: remove the constricting, torture-inducing manacles of doom from her aching feet. Without a thought, she tossed the first one out of the window she just shimmied through. Second shoe? Might as well follow the first…she felt a small sense of satisfaction as she chucked it out the window to fall in the filthy alley below. She wouldn’t need them anymore anyway. Why keep them?

  “OWWW!”

  The sound echoed up the narrow space between her building and the equally decrepit structure next to it.

  She immediately leaned out of the window to see a rather haggard looking bum holding his head, his face angled up, their eyes connecting a split second before his arm reached up and his middle finger exten
ded in a not so subtle salute. She promptly returned the gesture before slamming the window down, but not hard enough to attract the ever pricked ears of Mrs. Patterson.

  Wandering over to the scarred wood chest of drawers on the other side of the small studio apartment, she pulled out some well-worn pajama bottoms and a perused the selection of T-shirts and tank tops all emblazoned with some form of advertising, the screen print cracked from years of use and washing – some of those years hers and some from unknown owners previous to her. Her hand stilled on the green boys’ shirt adorned with what was probably some type of cartoon character at one point but was now so cracked and faded it was impossible to tell. No…totally inappropriate for tonight’s activities and subsequent discovery at some point in the near future. Hopefully not too far in the future. That would be gross. She wouldn’t think about that…

  She grabbed a form fitting but comfortable T Shirt advertising beer – a freebie from a previous ‘job’ if you could call it that. Paid to wander around in a bar, wearing this particular shirt, flirt with men; get them to try this particular brand of beer. She lasted two hours. Her mouth…

  After removing her skirt, she sat on the floor; or rather, her make shift bed: a collection of old comforters piled on top of each other in one corner of the room. Due to her woefully slim financial resources, she bought everything second hand. She drew the line at used mattresses, though. That was nasty. Why would anyone get rid of a mattress? To buy a new one that wasn’t so nasty, duh. Lying in someone else’s stink was not appealing in the least. It was the principle of the thing.

  The nylons were about halfway down her legs before she heard the first crash from next door. Then the yelling, then another crash – this one opposite the wall she sat next to. Stilling her hands, she sat and waited for the next one, there would probably be a few more before the door of the apartment next to hers slammed and angry feet would stomp past. The next crash made her flinch, but only slightly. The amount of abuse Brenda Patterson could withstand was staggering. Had it been her, she would have easily beat the daylights out of Steve years ago.

  Brenda Patterson was a mean old witch. She was rotten and surly, rude and contemptuous, but even she didn’t deserve to be treated like someone else’s personal punching bag.

  Sure enough, after a few more crashes, the front door slammed and Steve was off to the bar. Good for Steve. Hopefully he would wander in front of a speeding city bus in his future inebriated state…

  Removing the last portion of panty hose from her feet she made a decision.

  Tonight. Why not? What did she have to lose? It wouldn’t be the first time she did it and it always gave her a smug sense of satisfaction. A little more in the coffers wouldn’t hurt, not that Brenda would thank her for it or anything. It would be her last noble deed. One last defining example of a life not fully wasted; a life that may not have been stellar, but somewhat meaningful. At least Brenda might think so. Or then again, considering Brenda? Maybe not. Besides, bonehead Steve deserved a taste of his own medicine.

  Turning the bunched nylons in her hands, a small smile played across her sculpted lips. Opting for tattered jeans and a bulky hoodie embellished with an image of cracked and faded Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; she pushed up from the floor, grabbed the intended garments from her drawers and donned them quickly. The discarded nylons were once again grabbed up and taken to the small kitchenette for surgery. They had a small run in them anyway, somewhere between her ass and mid- thigh on the back side, cleverly coated with hot pink nail polish to cease further travel. She wouldn’t need them anymore anyway, right? Pulling the scissors from her junk drawer, she carefully clipped the nylons and stuffed a smaller piece in her pocket before opening the window and slipping through. Her eyes scanned the alley in the fading light of day, looking for a homeless man sporting a heel mark on his forehead. Nothing, not a soul actually, which was uncommon for this particular alley. Her feet practically flew down the rickety steps before she forced herself to calmly descend the rest of them. Wouldn’t want to run the risk of breaking her neck, because that would be painful… and who wanted to be found dead in a dirty alley?

  She jumped the last few feet to the ground below, her body aimed in the direction she knew he took minutes before.

  Remy’s was one of those bars that opened back in the 40’s to accommodate the autoworkers from the plant that used to operate across the street. It had since been abandoned sometime in the early sixties but the structure still stood, albeit grudgingly. Weeds and rust overtook what was once a bustling, belching environmental disaster that sat dormant and would probably remain that way until nature turned it into a permanent part of the ecosystem.

  Pulling the hood over her head, she tucked the ends of her long brown ponytail within the confines of the fabric. Her feet carried her to the end of the alley, eyes ever watchful for the occasional drunk or miscreant or more importantly – the rare and seldom seen normal contributor to society. Let’s face it, if you lived in this neighborhood, you were either a drunk or a miscreant, and that was a good thing. They typically made terrible witnesses.

  *****

  Two hours later and he still had as of yet to make his appearance. It should be any time now. Hopefully he didn’t blow all of his money…

  “Hey.”

  She ignored the male voice as it became evident someone was approaching her in the now darkened alley.

  “Hey buddy, you got a shigarette?” She could hear the slurred words but refused to turn her head.

  “No. Go away.” She used her deepest voice which was comical. Her deepest voice sounded like a woman trying to sound like a man.

  “Got any money?”

  “Nope. Do you?” she answered quickly, her eyes still trained on the sidewalk at the end of the alley. Should be anytime now…

  “Let me shee -” A touch to her arm, or rather a match to her very short fuse.

  Her right arm shot out, grabbing the scraggly man by the throat as she hopped off the garbage can and pushed him back as she walked further into the alley. A small choking sound echoed off the crumbling brick as she continued pushing him back. He was small, he smelled –no, reeked was a better word, and he was quite easy to manipulate in his drunken state.

  Pulling the small switchblade from her back pocket, she flung it open with her left hand and pressed it near his jugular.

  “Turn around. Walk away.” Her fake man voice was calm, flat, somewhat menacing.

  Both arms shot up immediately as his bulging eyes registered fear.

  “Ok. Ok, man,” he wheezed out before she gave him a final push. He scampered away, bumping into a dumpster and righting himself somewhat as he staggered toward the opposite end of the alley before disappearing into the darkness.

  She retracted the blade with a click, tucking it back into the pocket of her jeans before wandering to the end of the alley. A quick scan of the street confirmed that she hadn’t missed Steve. He would walk four blocks to the apartment building down this street and in his drunken state; he would practically bounce off of every object in his path on the way to his final destination. He was so predictable.

  “Hurry up, asshole.” She huffed as her back flopped against the side of Remy’s building. Her arms automatically folded over her chest tightly, her mouth suddenly pursing in frustration. She had plans tonight. They hadn’t originally included dealing with this jerk. He was seriously starting to piss her off. A few minutes later and she was ready to call off the night’s extracurricular activities. It just wasn’t worth it.

  The front door squeaked and a loud bang could be heard as it slammed against the door frame. A muttered curse, a brief moment of silence, some sort of scuffling and another colorful expletive emerged. Definitely Steve. Hopefully only Steve, but it usually was. Anticipation rolled throughout her body as the sound of shuffling feet became louder and more pronounced. Grabbing the wad of nylon in her hoodie pocket, she pulled it over her head, tucking the ponytail up and inside the constricting f
abric before pulling the hood over her head once again. She blinked almost violently to clear her vision marred by mascara laden lashes from her earlier stint. The nylons were tight – tighter than the last pair. Note to self: buy queen size next time. Oh wait; there wouldn’t be a next time…

  Finally he entered her line of ‘sight’.

  “Hey buddy,” she stated in her ‘man’ voice as she pushed away from the wall and marched up to him quickly.

  Steve’s slovenly body went ridged.

  “Got a shigarette?” she added a la drunk dude from only moments before.

  Steve’s head whipped around, searching the shadows, his eyes trying but not entirely succeeding in his current state.

  “Leave me ‘lone,” he slurred attempting to back away before her arm reached out and swung the much larger, much heavier man into the alley.

  “Can’t do that, buddy,” she stated lightly before landing a kick to his lower back that sent him launching toward the ground before he landed face first with a thud.

  “Why’re you picking on me?” he stated in a mumbled whine. Clearly he recognized the voice if not the situation.

  “Because you pick on everyone else, you piece of shit,” she stated through gritted teeth as she dug her knee into his back and fumbled through his pockets.

  He was so easy to subdue when he was drunk. If he were sober, she would have absolutely no luck seeing as he was twice, if not close to three times her size. Her fingers found and clasped the wallet in his back pocket as his arms attempted to push up from the ground. A quick punch to the back of his greasy head caused his face to ricochet off the concrete and his body stilled immediately. She calmly opened the wallet, pulled the crumpled bills from the center section and dropped the cracked leather to the ground next to his head.

  After stuffing the bills in her hoodie pocket, she calmly reached up, pushed the hood away and pulled the tight fabric up and over her head before standing up. Her foot automatically swung back and forward quickly connecting with his fleshy torso. That’s for Brenda, she thought before backing away, her watchful eyes scanning the area quickly before she walked to the end of the alley, turned the corner and wandered down the street, just another miscreant blending in with the other miscreants on a crisp autumn evening.