This Guy Kills Me

by Anlyn Hansell

  “Like it?”

  “It goo.” She chewed vigorously before swallowing. “It’s good,” she corrected before taking another bite. Weird bread or not, she was ravenous and it would take every ounce of constraint not to annihilate this sandwich in front of him.

  Three bites in and her chewing slowed considerably – possibly due to the fact that he was still shirtless. Scars were scattered over his torso, some long and jagged, some small and puckered, six at least that she could see in the front. His body was still the picture of ripped male perfection, the scars only adding a sense of mystery to the man standing in front of her. Her eyes traveled down toward the white bandage.

  “See? Now you can’t say you never gave me anything, Jane. I’ll think fondly of you whenever I see it.” His words were a strange combination of sarcasm delivered in a frosty tone.

  Her eyes snapped back up to his face at his words.

  “This sucker is definitely going to scar,” he added in a bland tone.

  “Why don’t you go to the hospital?”

  “So you can escape? Sure. Sounds like a great idea -”

  “I’m just saying, I mean if it’s that deep -”

  “I’ve had worse. Keep eating. It’s after midnight you know. I need to put you to bed,” he stated more to himself than to her. Apparently show time was over as he grabbed his shirt from the counter and shrugged into it, fastening only three of the buttons.

  “What are you going to do with me? Why me? What did I ever do?” she fired off, unable to hold her tongue.

  “Are you kidding? You’re kidding right? What did you do? Are you really this dense or are you just playing with me? You know what you did.”

  Recognition lit her eyes. “Do you know Steve?”

  “Steve who?”

  “Mr. Patterson?”

  “And Steve Patterson is...?” he asked, his voice trailing off.

  Maybe he didn’t know. She took a bite of the sandwich and began chewing before she found herself shrugging under his steady gaze.

  “Nothing. No one…never mind,” she stated after swallowing.

  “That’s not the guy you beat up and robbed, is it?”

  His words caused her to pause, the blood rushing to her face, her nerves zinging and zapping within her body. The stare down lasted for a few moments before he broke the silence once again.

  “Do you do that often?”

  He was a cop. Wait. No, cops take you in for questioning. Cops don’t kidnap people, do they?

  “No?”

  “Are you asking me, Jane?

  “No,” she answered firmly.

  “Are you sure? Because if I were to take a guess, I would say you’ve done it before. The panty hose over the head was a nice touch, by the way.” His words caused a look of embarrassment to mar her features before she chewed her bottom lip.

  “Have you been following me?” she asked nervously.

  “When I have time. I’m a pretty busy guy. So how often do you roll drunks? Is that how you pay your bills? You certainly can’t hold a job…”

  He was following her.

  “It’s just him, and I don’t do it that often,” she answered honestly, her sandwich now completely forgotten.

  “Why Peterson?”

  “Patterson. He’s a piece of shit,” she corrected.

  “So…you beat him up and rob him -”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “I would love to hear how you justify that, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  She searched her brain for anything else she could have possibly done to get into this situation and came up with an absolute blank.

  “The drugs, Jane.” he supplied for her in a flat voice. The drugs? What drugs?

  “What drugs?”

  “The drugs you’ve been delivering for your boyfriend. Those drugs,” he stated with a scowl.

  Her eyes flitted down, to the side, anywhere but his face as she considered his words. During their brief relationship, she did make some deliveries for Rick as a favor. A paid favor, but office supplies, certainly not drugs…she hated drugs.

  “The office supplies?” she asked feebly.

  “Yeah, Jane. The office supplies. Is coke an office supply now? I wasn’t aware…”

  “What are you talking about? It was just boxes of paper, toner…office stuff. Not drugs. I can’t stand drugs,” she stated vehemently.

  “Right. How much did he pay you?” The tone of his voice confirmed his total lack of belief.

  “None of your business. I did not deliver drugs.”

  “I don’t believe for one second that you’re this naïve. You had to know,” he added.

  “I did not deliver drugs!” she yelled forcefully.

  “You don’t think people can go to their local office supply store and pick up their own shit? You really think Rick’s running some legit office supply delivery business?” He placed both hands on the counter and leaned toward her. ”You don’t seem that dumb, Jane. Desperate maybe, but definitely not dumb.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m serious!” she added when one dark brow shot up indicating his level of belief in her words.

  “How much toner can a porn shop run through in a couple of weeks? They making mass amounts of copies or what? You were delivering to some rather shady businesses and you never once thought that was odd?”

  When he put it that way…yes, maybe it was a little odd, but the money was good…

  “No?”

  “Right. Not buying it.” He grabbed the sandwich and took a quick bite, his eyes still trained on her as he chewed.

  There was no way. Everything was packaged and securely closed as if it had come from the factory. Boxes of paper were secured with tight fitting plastic banding, boxes of toner were in the original packaging, pens and all other items were in the boxes one would see at a store. There was no way.

  “There’s no way…” she muttered, looking down at her half eaten sandwich.

  “I have to say, I am a little impressed. No one would ever think to look inside a toner container. That was really smart.”

  Toner container?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t. You probably helped him empty them out and refill them. Did he pay you for that too?”

  “I’m serious! All he ever had me do was pick up the supplies and deliver them, that’s it. I never touched anything, I swear.”

  “Where did you pick up the ‘supplies’ as you so call them? Same place every time, different places? Where?”

  “A couple of places.”

  “A couple?” The eyebrow shot up again.

  “Four.”

  “Four different places and you didn’t think that was weird,” he stated.

  She shrugged her shoulders, suddenly realizing how truly exhausted she was, both physically and mentally. The need to yawn was strong and she gave into it.

  “We’ll hit those places and all the places you delivered to.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean, you’re going to ask around, see if anyone has seen your squirrelly boyfriend. I’d do it, but no one would tell me, I’m sure. They might tell you, though.”

  “Ugh…I’m the last person you should probably ask to do that -”

  “And why is that, Jane?”

  Hmmm…how to answer that one…

  “I just…it’s like this…people…they don’t really…I mean, I’m not exactly…ahhh…” she stammered nervously.

  “What?”

  “Well, you see…I have this thing, right? And people…they just don’t…get it, maybe. No, no they don’t get it and I sort of…” she continued uncomfortably.

  “Jane! What!?” he barked out causing her to jolt.

  “They don’t like me! I ah…I’m not a people person. Does that make sense? I’m not…well liked. That’s it,” she added quickly before clamping her mouth shut.

  “I fi
nd that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true! Wait. Why do you find that hard to believe?”

  “Look at you.”

  “Look at me? What does that mean?”

  He sighed on a frustrated breath. “Jane, you’re …well, I guess I would call you a Stapelia Gigantea.”

  Confusion etched her features. “A who-what?”

  “Stapelia Gigantea. It’s a flower indigenous to Africa. It’s absolutely beautiful. It’s big and yellow with reddish strains, kind of fuzzy -”

  “I’m a hairy flower?” she muttered with a creased brow as he continued, “It draws you in and then you sniff it and it stinks like hell. Rotting flesh actually. It’s nicknamed the Carrion Flower, no shit.”

  He’s a horticulture buff, who knew? What a weirdo.

  She gave an involuntary sniff to herself.

  “I don’t smell…” She muttered. She took a shower for cryin’ out loud…

  “It’s a metaphor, Jane. You know what a metaphor is, don’t you?” he asked, waiting patiently for dawning to occur.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “So you get what I’m saying here…”

  “I’m a hairy flower that’s pretty but I smell like dead shit.”

  “Very good. That’s you.”

  “That’s me,” she stated dead-pan.

  “Yep.”

  She sat silently, examining his face before giving a slight head nod.

  “You’re a whacko,” she blurted.

  “No doubt. But so are you, evidently.”

  “No. I’m actually not, in fact, I think for the most part that I am a rather good person, when you get to know me. I just have some…quirks.”

  “You are not a good person, Jane,” he stated with absolute conviction. How the hell would he know?

  “I am! You just don’t know me.”

  He pretended to contemplate, tapping his finger against his lips in a sarcastic gesture.

  “Hmmm let’s see…in the short amount of time I’ve basked in your acquaintance, I witnessed you beat up a guy and rob him, you lied to me – several times I might add, you helped Eddie – a convicted felon, by the way… you’ve been delivering drugs all over the greater Metro Detroit area and…Oh yeah! You stabbed me. You are right, Jane. You are a paragon of virtue. The veritable model of an upstanding citizen. A symbol of high moral integrity. In all, I would say you are a giant piece of shit all nicely encased in a gorgeous façade.”

  A few seconds passed as they sat regarding each other silently.

  “So…you think I’m gorgeous?”

  An eye roll, a snort and a head shake was the only response she received.

  Chapter 2

  He was regretting this already.

  He stood silently at the top of the steps, the light from the room below basking a subtle glow over the bed she was sleeping in. His bed. Her hands and feet bound enough to keep her from escaping but loose enough that she wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. He was making concessions. He never made concessions.

  Dark sable hair cascaded across the pillow and surrounded her face. She was arresting. So beautiful it was hard to look at her without thinking things better left un-thought. It seemed a shame to rid the world of something that was so nice to look at, sort of like mowing down a particularly pretty weed. But it was a weed, and a weed in a bed of good green grass would spread. And pretty soon that one weed would wreak havoc on a perfect lawn. And then the lawn would be ruined. All because of one particularly pretty weed.

  Heaving a sigh, he descended lightly down the steps. Not quite sure why he even walked up to check on her in the first place. She certainly wasn’t going anywhere. Honestly, he couldn’t ever recall being in this type of situation before. Unfortunately, he needed her. It seemed like the perfect opportunity at the time.

  He had absolutely no clue what she was trying to relay about her social skills or lack thereof. She seemed witty enough. Maybe a little creepy with the staring…but all in all, their earlier banter was somewhat amusing, definitely entertaining, certainly interesting. She was also the only one in Rick’s little network that no one would miss. No family, no friends, nothing to alert anyone she was missing. It seemed odd that something so beautiful should be so alone.

  Stop. Detach.

  He removed the shirt from his body as he stepped from the stairs and entered the living room, immediately dropping to the rug and executing who knew how many pushups before flipping to his back and attempting a sit up before his body protested. Jane’s little stab wound was still fresh. Sit ups were definitely not the schedule for tonight. Lying on his back, sweat glistened on his chest and rolled across his forehead as he placed one arm beneath his head and concentrated on the popping and crackling of the fire next to him.

  A moan.

  He heard it like a gunshot in a concrete bunker. So soft and subtle yet so alluring and intriguing.

  Not alluring. Not intriguing. She’s a weed. He reminded himself as he pushed up from the floor and wandered to the bathroom for a quick shower.

  *****

  She talks in her sleep.

  He pushed the glasses back up to the bridge of his nose as she held a one sided conversation with herself about tacos from the loft above.

  Maybe she was hungry? Maybe she was certifiable.

  He concentrated on the computer screen in front of him, his eyes looking upward every once in a while when she barked out something ridiculous then went back to mumbling. His search was netting sparse and somewhat sketchy information about the man whose name just appeared on his pager in code an hour before.

  Tomorrow night. Well, technically tonight. Checking the bottom right hand side of his screen, he noticed it was 2:26 am. He’d take care of him tonight. Unfortunately, he needed a plan for his new ‘guest’.

  He’d have to tie her up really well. She protested when he tied her to the bed earlier, her eyes actually welled with tears when he wound the fabric around her wrists. He almost grabbed some salve…almost. The skin around her wrists was so raw; it looked painful even to him. He simply reminded himself that she did that. She didn’t have to struggle. Apparently she thought she had a chance. She was feisty, he’d give her that.

  That was about all he was willing to give her.

  “No beans!” She yelled from above and a snort just sort of erupted from him before he caught himself and frowned at the screen.

  *****

  I can’t move my arms. What is that? That is not my wall. What the fu…

  Oh SHIT.

  That wasn’t a bad dream.

  Struggling against her constraints left a stinging sensation in her wrists and caused her to cease immediately. She lay completely still and listened for any sign of movement from the room below. It was morning, at the least the bright glow radiating from the floor below and illuminating the wood beam ceiling over her indicated that.

  Total silence.

  Should she yell something? Unless she wanted to stay tethered to a bed any longer, it appeared she would have to let him know she was awake.

  “Hello?” she asked and was greeted by more silence.

  What if he left? What if he just left her here and this was how she was going to die? Starved to death, tied to a bed, rigor mortis setting in as her body lay in a pile of her own waste, flies and other insects using her body as a receptacle for their eggs…

  “Ahhhh,” she never did catch his name last night. “Yo! Hey! Guy? Mr. Kidnapper…Guy?” she yelled nervously.

  More silence, well, no, not exactly. Birds were chirping outside; she could make out the faint sound as apprehension shot through her body.

  Left to her own devices, she brought her bound wrists to her mouth, her teeth sinking in and biting at the fabric. After a few minutes of futile activity, she stopped, resigned to the fact that she was going to have to wait.

  She turned her body to lie on her back then quickly turned to her side again. Sharp pain greeted her as soon as the surface of her back touched the mattre
ss, most likely due to her tumble into the creek last night. She settled herself on the comfortable bed, the mattress contorting to the shape of her body and cradling it. This was so much better than the floor. When was the last time she actually slept on a mattress? If this situation wasn’t so bizarre, she might actually relish the fact that she must have gotten one hell of a good night’s sleep. I need to get a job. I need to get a job so I can buy a mattress…I need to get myself out of this situation so I can live to get a job and buy a mattress…Shaking herself back to reality, she concentrated on the here and now.

  Where was she? Better question, where was he?

  Her mind replayed the entire conversation from last night; looking for any clues but only finding more questions. One thing that did pop out was the fact that he truly believed that she was Rick Trayer’s drug mule. Was she that dumb? Possibly. Fifty bucks per delivery, though. Six deliveries and that was rent. He still owed her for the last days’ worth of deliveries.

  The last delivery.

  The reason he dumped her so abruptly. He was absolutely furious with her. Apparently she delivered the goods to the correct building, just the wrong suite. He beeped her, their only real means for contacting each other – which, if one would care to think about it, was odd. She didn’t own a cellphone, couldn’t afford one. He gave her a beeper – maybe a bit antiquated, but it worked for her. He would beep; she would wander down the street to the Laundromat and call him back on the public phone. She absolutely refused his offer of a cell phone. She wasn’t a gold digger…it was the principle of the thing.

  As soon as he picked up, he was already slicing into her with his words, his voice barely controlled as it increased in decibels throughout his tirade. He hung up on her after he told her to ‘fuck off and die’. She remembered standing in the Laundromat, surrounded by bodies shuffling around aimlessly, staring at the receiver in her hand. Complete confusion set in as to why he should be that upset. How hard was it to simply pick up the supplies and deliver them to the correct suite? How hard was that? What was the big deal?

  If ‘Mr. Kidnapper Guy’ was correct, that was a big deal. It sort of made sense, unfortunately. She was dumb.

  Her eyes widened as the sound of scraping then squeaking filled the small cabin, then a thud and footsteps. They were beneath her, then further away, then they became louder and more pronounced as it appeared he was ascending the stairs to the loft. Her eyes focused on the landing, waiting for him to appear.