This Guy Kills Me

by Anlyn Hansell

  *****

  Four hundred, forty seven dollars. Not even close. It didn’t matter. It was still enough for a security deposit, she thought as she stuffed the bills into the already overstuffed envelope. Grabbing a pen from the junk drawer, she wrote Brenda Patterson’s name on it after licking the adhesive strip and attempting to close it. It popped back open. She squeezed it together. No dice. There were just too many bills inside. Bills that had accumulated over the past year and a half. Bills that she could have used for her own needs but couldn’t. It just didn’t seem right to pay the rent with money you actually stole from your landlord. It was the principle of the thing.

  Her fingers fumbled through the drawer and grabbed a rubber band, winding it twice around the envelope before she headed toward the front door of her apartment. She opened it slowly, her head peeking out, eyes scanning the grimy hallway in both directions. All clear. She tiptoed to the Patterson’s door, bending and attempting to stuff the envelope under the door to no avail. It was just too big. She could place it in front of the door, knock and run. That’s it…Wait. What if she didn’t answer? What if one of her degenerate neighbors grabbed it instead? The distinct sound of footsteps on the stairs below caused her to hug the envelope to her as her head turned toward the stairwell. She quickly ran back to her apartment and closed the door as softly as possibly before leaning back on it. New plan. She would hide the money, but write Brenda a note, telling her where to find it. She would put the note under the door. That would fit.

  Where to hide it… Her feet flew through the apartment, back to the kitchen window. She practically tore down three flights, around the back of the building, in through the back door; down a flight of crumbling stairs to the laundry room tucked into corner of the basement. The lighting was basically a single bulb hanging from the ceiling casting a measly amount of light and even more shadows. She quickly wandered toward the dryer that had certainly seen better days and stuffed the envelope under the dented and distorted box.

  Running back up the stairs, she wondered about how much time she would have to compose the note and stuff it under the Patterson’s door before Steve came to and finally stumbled home. This whole scenario was so completely un-thought out and last minute, the logistics of it were confusing to say the least. Sweat dotted her brow as she stepped back into the cool night air, looking in all directions before jogging through the alley toward the fire escape. Something was there. Movement beyond the contorted set of steps. Another bum?

  Probably. Even so, her forward momentum ceased immediately as her entire body tensed. The figure was walking toward her. It was a man. That much she could ascertain as her own body took a step back in apprehension. He wasn’t stumbling or staggering, just walking completely upright with a sort of confidence that wasn’t normally seen from the inhabitants of this particular area.

  “Jane Hamilton?” a deep velvety male voice asked.

  “What?” She breathed out, taking another step back.

  “Are you Jane Hamilton?” He asked as he continued to walk up to her. His shoulders were broad; he wasn’t that tall, maybe a half foot taller than her 5 foot 5 inch frame but he commanded a certain sense of menacing presence nonetheless. Was he a cop? Oh Lord, it was impossible to tell if he was wearing a uniform.

  Stand your ground. Lie if you must…

  “N…No?”

  “No? Are you sure?”

  She couldn’t make out his features from the lack of light, but the tone of his voice insinuated a cocked eyebrow.

  “Positive.”

  “That’s strange. So, what is your name?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious.”

  This was surreal, standing in an alley, carrying on a conversation with a faceless stranger. Fear was the furthest thing from her mind, oddly enough. She had plans tonight and this newest diversion was completely unwelcome. It would probably be rude to tell the man to buzz off, especially if he was a cop.

  “Ah…Sally. Sally Sss…Simpson.” Sally Simpson? Where does this shit come from? That doesn’t sound fake at all…

  “Oh.” His response sounded as if he knew she was full of it.

  “Yeah, so excuse me…” She gave him a wide berth, careful to keep her eyes on him the entire time. The moonlight revealed his attire as normal street clothes, no uniform, thankfully. She backed away toward the fire escape steps, bypassing them and opting to walk toward the street. Probably wouldn’t be the best idea to climb the steps and show him exactly where she lived.

  “Hey, Jane?”

  “Yeah?” She asked automatically. “I mean, who? What?” her feet kept backing away before she bumped up against something hard, maybe a dumpster or a bum, whatever…

  “I’m looking for Rick Trayer. Have you seen him?” Apprehension mixed with anger at the sound of his name. ‘Rick the Prick’ as she so lovingly renamed him was the latest and greatest of her exes.

  “I haven’t seen that pri…that person. I don’t even know that person. Sorry.” Two more steps and she was on the sidewalk. Turning on her heel, she quickly walked to the front door of the building, opened it and stepped in. Luckily the light in the small foyer was burned out. She leaned against the wall, the sound of her heavy breathing overtaking the silence of the small space.

  So someone was looking for Rick. Not surprising. Maybe Rick owed him money too. Her ears listened for footsteps – anything that might indicate he followed her. Suddenly her head thumped back and hit the wall lightly. Her key. She didn’t have it. Didn’t really need it, since most of her entrances and exits during eviction notice time were usually done through the kitchen window…

  Damn. What were the chances that the dude in the alley had already left? Almost as good as the chances of the internal door to the staircase not being locked. One failed twist of the knob inside the small foyer confirmed it. Locked.

  Footsteps, a muttered curse, a bang against the external door; her heart was positively racing. She was trapped. She squeezed herself into the furthest corner of the small room and watched as the door opened inward slightly then flew open and banged against the wall next to it revealing...Oh god…Steve Patterson? His outline was clearly visible silhouetted against the street lights glowing from outside.

  He stumbled forward; unaware of her presence until he attempted to brace himself against the wall to fit his key in the slot. His beefy hand landed on her right breast and caused a squeak to emerge from her throat.

  “What the…what’re you…what…?

  She swatted his hand away quickly. “I forgot my key,” she stated as his face closed in on hers.

  “You owe me rent,” he growled, practically intoxicating her with his breath.

  “I know. I gave it to Brenda today,” she lied. Hopefully he would forget about it by the time he made it up three flights of stairs. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize the attire she was wearing…

  “’Bout time,” he breathed out and the distinct sound of metal scraping metal indicated his attempt to engage the lock.

  “Here, let me help you,” she stated as she practically ripped the keys from his flounder-like hands and easily stuck two of them into both slots before handing them back.

  “Here you go,” she breathed out before bypassing him through the door and bounding up the steps to the relative safety of her apartment.

  Grabbing the switchblade from her back pocket, she quickly flipped it open and lodged it between the door jamb and the door. Two wiggles and a twist and her door opened easily. The front door of the building was a dead bolt and practically impossible to open with a knife. Her apartment wasn’t quite as secure as evidenced by the few times she had done this exact thing. Her eyes fixed on the garish yellow note hanging on her door, most likely courtesy of Mrs. Patterson. Last week’s was white. Apparently Brenda was trying to channel her frustration by changing the color of her eviction notices. Next week’s would probably be red. Not that Jane was ever going to see it…

  Push
ing the door closed behind her and locking it from inside, she immediately wandered over to the small kitchenette. The paper bag was still perched on the counter next to the small plastic pharmacy bag. Without hesitation, she grabbed the bottle of aspirin and immediately went to work removing the plastic protective coating before pushing down and turning the lid. She set the opened bottle to the side and immediately made a grab for the bottle located within the confines of the crumpled bag. A cheap bottle of whiskey emerged and thudded on the cracked Formica counter. Deep breath. Wait…no don’t wait.

  Just do it.

  You can do this. Your life is crap anyway. Do it.

  She grabbed the bottle and shook a handful of aspirin into her palm before popping them in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the acrid taste as her hands fumbled to open the bottle of whiskey. She bounced from foot to foot as the taste became overwhelming and her eyes began to water. Finally, the cap clicked open and she immediately brought the bottle to her lips for a swig. The combination caused her to spew the contents of her mouth over every kitchen surface as she frantically tried to scrape her tongue with a napkin.

  “Ack…aghhh. PppttfPppttf…ack” Oh ma ga, tha nashy…” She exclaimed between swipes.

  All right, smaller quantities next time. Grabbing the bottle, she took another swig and quickly swallowed, regretting the action immediately. The liquid burned every surface it touched as it flowed from her mouth to her throat, down her esophagus before landing in her stomach.

  Tears flowed freely down her face as she coughed violently. She slammed the bottle back down on the counter out of sheer frustration before grabbing on to the edge and hanging her head. This was quite possibly the most comically inept, completely asinine attempt at suicide.

  “Sally, what are you doing in Jane Hamilton’s apartment?”

  Every ounce of blood in her body had to have dropped to her feet. That voice. It was irritatingly familiar. It should be, because she just heard it only minutes before. Her head snapped up and her entire body straightened and turned toward the sound.

  A man was leaning casually against the door from to her small bathroom to the rest of the open space.

  “What are you doing in Jane Hamilton’s apartment?” she questioned back, adrenalin surging as he pushed away from the frame and took two steps toward her.

  He was maybe not classically handsome, more like rugged and somewhat deadly with his dark hair and equally dark eyes. The shadow of stubble covered his jaw and his gaze was positively piercing.

  “Who are you?” she breathed out as her hands balled into fists.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Another step forward and her eyes darted toward the kitchen counter. Another step back and she could grab a knife from the cutlery set perched near the corner.

  “Don’t even think about it, Jane,” he stated coolly.

  “What the hell do you want?” she snapped.

  “I want to know where your boyfriend is -”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she responded in a flat voice as she took another step back.

  “No? Are you lying again, Jane?”

  “No! We broke up two months ago. I don’t know where he is and I don’t give a shit. Now get the hell out of my apartment!”

  “Can’t do that. I’m taking you with me.”

  “I don’t think so.” He wasn’t that big. Her chances of escape weren’t exactly zero percent, maybe some, certainly not none. Oh crap, he was walking towards her quickly. Stand and fight, stand and…oh hell…

  Her mind veered in an entirely different direction. “Yeah, Ok. Let’s go,” she breathed out and shrugged casually before wandering over to the kitchen window and sliding the splinter laden wood up far enough to climb through.

  Both hands grabbed the window ledge with the intent of springing out of the window as quickly as possible before he could get to her. She would fly down the first set of steps and jump over the second. She would run to the end of the block and hide behind Carmine’s garage. There was so much junk strewn behind that building, he’d never find her. Hopefully he was slow. It was hard to tell…

  Her foot almost made it over the threshold before being gripped and yanked back. Her other foot pushed off, folded into her chest and pushed out immediately making contact with some part of his body causing a loud grunt but no loosening of his grip unfortunately. She was being pulled back by her hoodie; the back of her head slamming against the window sill as she squirmed and continued to strain toward the window to no avail. This guy was strong and he easily overpowered her. His arm shot out and gripped her neck in a choke hold as he dragged her back into the kitchen. Something slammed against her face, her mouth; the pungent smell and taste were completely unfamiliar. A muffled groan escaped her throat as stars overtook her vision, then blackness, then…calm.

  Chapter 1

  Pothole. Owww.

  She placed her bound wrists under her head only causing her head to bounce off her hands instead. Where the hell am I? She thought frantically. It felt as if the car was slowing, the dips were becoming more and more gentle yet increasing in number. Were they still in Detroit or had they traveled to one of the many suburban areas sprawled out around the once great city? From the sound of gravel crunching beneath her head, it was hard to tell. The car stopped abruptly, causing her to roll and hit the back of the trunk. She rolled her body back toward the front of the trunk, her bound hands feeling along the inside for the emergency pull. Maybe one of those fluorescent plastic latches that some cars were equipped with nowadays. Nothing. Apparently this model wasn’t equipped, or perhaps the asshole driving removed it at some point.

  A door slammed and shook the car for a moment before footsteps could be heard next to her then around the back of the vehicle. Her body turned, her hands feeling around for anything she could use as a weapon. The scratchy fabric of the trunk wasn’t yielding anything but more irritation to her skin as she felt around, scooching closer and closer to the back of the trunk as she continued her probe. Any second, she was expecting the trunk lid to open and she needed a plan. At least he tied her hands in front of her body. He underestimated her and that was a mistake he would regret.

  Her search was momentarily forgotten as the fabric in her mouth hindered a swallow. Her hands immediately flew up and her fingers tried to curl under the tight binding, pulling and prying the fabric from between her lips. He tied the gag so tight, it was digging in to her jaw and her efforts seemed completely futile with the limited mobility of her hands. Tears of frustration burned the backs of her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. Bawling like a baby wouldn’t serve to save her. She needed a plan. She needed a weapon. She needed some light. And…nothing.

  She had absolutely nothing.

  Moisture collected and finally began to crawl down both sides of her temples. What were the chances she would make it out alive? He said he wanted to find Rick. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s all he wanted, and when he found him he would let her go? Maybe that was completely naïve and wishful thinking. She saw his face. It was highly unlikely they would just congenially part ways after this ordeal. How ironic. To think that only today she was so certain she wanted her life to end, but not like this. This was going to be painful. One look at his cold, impenetrable gaze and she knew.

  He was soulless.

  And this wasn’t going to end well.

  Her internal thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gravel crunching yet again before the trunk lid popped and her entire body braced. A streetlight shining above illuminated the silhouette of not one body, but two now, before one of the bodies was clearly hefted up and into the trunk, directly on top of her. It was a big body, fleshy, heavy. It knocked what little wind she had out of her and a muffled ‘Ooof’ escaped her throat at the contact. The light disappeared as the trunk lid hit something and bounced back up. The entire car shook as another dull thud sounded and a heavy sigh emerged from what she assumed was their captor. The body above hers was being repositioned and manipulated
to fit better in the confined space. Twisting to the side, she moved her body as far as she could go to make room for the other unfortunate soul. She tried desperately to yell out something, anything, but her throat was so dry all that emerged was a raspy croak before the trunk slammed and clicked leaving her once again emerged in total blackness. Except this time, she was not alone.

  The car started again and she rolled into the much larger body stuffed in next to her.

  “Ugh…”

  No response.

  “Aghhhh…UGHHH!”

  Nothing. Her bound hands struggled to make their way up and between their bodies, fingers crawling up what she though was his back. His hands were bound behind him. Sexist pig captor must have thought this guy posed a bigger risk than she did…

  Her hands fumbled with the thickly bound twine holding his wrists together, searching for the ends. Her own wrists were burning, she noticed but she chose to ignore the pain.

  “Ugh.”

  Her ears pricked at the sound.

  “Ugh?” she answered back.

  “Aghhhh…ugghhh, ah…uh uh,” she heard grunted in front of her.

  “Ugh?”

  “AGHHHH, Ugh, ah UHHHH!” Ok, apparently he was trying to tell her something.

  This was ridiculous. Her hands immediately pushed up between them and immediately went to work fumbling at the knot behind his head. Minutes passed like hours as she worked to loosen the tie, her head bouncing off the bottom of the trunk constantly. Finally, the binding gave way and she gave a huge sigh of relief although her fingertips were burning from the effort.

  “Get my hands. Hurry up,” a gruff voice commanded.

  You’re very welcome, jerkoff…