I laughed when I read the part about how the young woman was standing at the corner waiting for the light. Newspaper half-truths. No one would give a crap if they had said the woman was a hooker looking for her next John. People would just say she was asking for something like that to happen.
The next day, I called Sean at his office.
“Dr. Killroy is in surgery.”
“When will he be out?”
“I don’t know. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Please tell him Fiona called.”
“Regarding what?”
“I need a new hymen.”
I figured that might pique Sean’s interest enough to call me back. He must have had a lot of hymen surgeries lined up. He didn’t call me until a day and half later.
“Don’t tell me your dad is making you get married again.”
“No, Sean. I just needed to talk to you. Have you read the news lately?”
“No, too busy. Why?”
“You’re on the front page. Sort of. Actually, the news isn’t really about you. It’s about the girl who got away.”
Sean was silent for a very long time. At last, he spoke.
“Aw shit, Fi.”
“Shit indeed, man.”
“Listen, uh, I gotta go. Can you come over later this evening?”
“Sure.”
Having his failure plastered over the front page of the Chronicle must have deflated Sean’s ego somewhat. All of a sudden, I became worthy company once again. The part of me half in fear of Sean warned me against going over to his apartment.
But the part of me half in love with Sean worried about him, what would happen if someone recognized him, what would happen if he was captured and convicted, what would happen to him in prison.
The latter part won out.
Around seven o’clock, I buzzed Sean’s apartment. Apartment 312. I wondered if he knew Dahmer’s notorious apartment had been number 213. Maybe. I myself hadn’t realized it until now.
Sean opened the door, not in his usual flamboyant, confident style, but more reserved and cautious. He peered down the hall to see if anyone else was watching.
“Fi, come in.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think Betty is watching.”
Sean said nothing for a minute as he swallowed a couple of times, running his fingers through his dark hair nervously.
“Oh, don’t worry. She isn’t.”
I ignored the ominous tone in his voice, trying to keep my attitude as light and upbeat as possible.
“So I take it you saw the sketch, then?”
“It doesn’t really look like me.”
“True. They should fire that sketch artist.”
“Apparently, he was good enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Sean walked over to his liquor tray and began fixing me a drink. He dropped several ice cubes onto the ground.
“Shit.”
Sean stooped over, picked up the ice and threw it back into the metal bucket.
“Sean, did someone recognize you?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Oh my God. Who?”
“Guess.”
Sean’s eyes twinkled, testing my astuteness. He dared me to read his mind, to prove that I was worthy to be his friend.
“No!”
“Yup.”
“Betty?”
“You are a smart girl, Fi.”
“Crap.”
“Ye of little faith.”
“What are you going to do, Sean? Oh God, nevermind. I don’t want to know.”
“Don’t you?”
“You already did it.” I spoke my realization aloud.
“What? You think I should have let the old gal run to the police?”
“Of course not, Sean. How did you know, anyway?”
“Believe it or not, she actually came over with the sketch in hand and accused me. Then she gloated about how she was going to tell the police.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Stupid old cow.”
“Never knew anyone to ask for it that much.”
I had to laugh. Betty would never do anything so stupid again. Ever. You never go over to a suspected killer’s place and brag about how you’re planning to turn him in to the police. Dumb.
I flopped down onto Sean’s couch, taking the drink he handed me without even caring what it was. I wrapped my hands around the cool glass and tried to focus. He had fixed me a scotch on the rocks. Suddenly, I wondered if he had added a sprinkle of roofies. I decided not to find out.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said, setting down my drink on the coffee table.
“Uh, the bathroom is backed up at the moment.” Sean blocked my way.
I looked at him.
Sean smiled and winked at me. Like he had done a million times before.
Betty.
I didn’t have to go into Sean’s bathroom to know that she was in there. Probably in the bathtub, waiting for him to dispose of her body at the first opportunity. The night was still young. Too many people out.
“I guess I don’t really have to go right now.”
“Good girl.”
“So what are your plans for the evening, Sean?”
“I’m planning to stay in for a while, but I might go out for a stroll by the water later on.”
“Cool. It’s a nice night out.”
“It is.”
He didn’t ask me to come along. The old times were just that. Old times. Things had changed now. He went over to his stereo system, put in a CD, and turned it on.
Nirvana. Cobain singing from the dead out of the speakers.
Load up on guns and bring your friends
“I like working to music.”
“Sean, I can’t drink this. Can I get some water instead?”
“Sure. Go help yourself in the kitchen. I need to go clean up in the bathroom anyway.”
I went into the kitchen and poured out the scotch. I turned on the faucet, rinsed out my glass a few times and filled it with tap water. That’s one of the greatest things about San Francisco. You can drink the water. It’s even good for you. It has fluoride in it, so your teeth don’t rot out of your mouth.
It’s fun to lose and to pretend
I was just about to leave the kitchen when I noticed the stove.
Despite all the modern gadgets in his apartment, Sean still had a gas stove. Gas is a practical choice, especially for San Francisco. You could cook if the electricity went out during an earthquake. You’d starve if you had an electric stove.
Thank goodness for natural gas.
She’s over-bored and self-assured
“Timing and opportunity,” Sean had said.
And I had both.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN THE MOMENT IS RIGHT and opportunity presents itself, you have to recognize it, seize it, and jump on it with the full weight of your being.
Like at Don’s house.
And in Jack’s office.
You have to grab on tight, lest it slip through your fingers.
Sean had spiraled out of control. I had no idea whether he was evolving or devolving, but I knew Betty’s disappearance would not be easily dismissed by anyone, let alone the police. She wasn’t some whore on a corner.
Little old ladies, even nosy, obnoxious ones, garner sympathy from authorities. They represent the helpless in our society. They are upstanding citizens who pay taxes and deserve the attention of the police who are supposed to protect them from predators like Sean.
Not like the young woman who hung around on dark street corners in the middle of the night in a spangled mini skirt and platform stilettos selling her good virtues to the good residents of San Francisco.
Betty’s absence would bring the police. Right to Sean’s door. She would be one victim too many.
Sean went into a small storage closet and pulled out a handsaw.
I watched as he walked into the bathroom with the saw in one hand and a plastic apron in the other.
“There’s food in the fridge, Fi. Help yourself,” he called out before closing the door behind him.
“Thanks, I will.”
I stared at the stove again.
That day Sean set Stephanie’s head on fire, he didn’t run. He stood there as she screamed, writhing in pain from the flames. He stood there and watched while Sister Maria and Sister Carmen came running to Stephanie’s rescue with a fire extinguisher and blankets. But he made no attempts to escape or to avoid punishment.
“I’ll have to pay for this, so I might as well enjoy the show,” Sean said to me in the chapel.
Sister Maria made him sit in front of the life-sized crucifix while she called the ambulance and police. She wanted Sean to tell Jesus how much he had hurt Him by setting Stephanie ablaze.
I volunteered to watch Sean.
“Don’t worry, Sister. You already took away his Zippo. And there are no candles in the chapel.”
“Okay, Fiona. But if he tries to hurt you, scream.”
Duh.
“Crap, Sean. Now you’re in big trouble.”
“No worries, Fi. Too young. They’ll just send me to juvie.”
I started sniffling.
“What’s wrong with you, Fi?”
“Who’s going to help me thump Jeremy now?”
“No one helped you thump him. You did that on your own.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“No.”
“But the police, Sean.”
“They don’t execute kids. And Stephanie’s not dead, you know. Can’t you hear her screaming?”
Stephanie’s cries echoed down the hall all the way from the makeshift infirmary. The ambulance hadn’t arrived yet.
“I’m going to miss you, Sean.”
“Don’t be a crybaby, Fi. I hate crybabies.”
So I stopped blubbering. Sean hated weakness. He hated fear and tears. And I didn’t want him to hate me.
I knew they wouldn’t let Sean off with a dozen Hail Marys or fifty Our Fathers. Not even if he meant every word.
Not even Jesus could change that.
“But we won’t get to hang out anymore,” I told him.
“Guess you’ll have to make new friends.”
“Your dad...”
“What’s he going to do? Come beat me at juvie?”
Then the police came and took Sean away. And I didn’t see him again until I walked into his office to get a hymen.
BUT SEAN WAS TOO OLD for juvie now. He was destined for Death Row. He didn’t seem to care much though.
I poured out my water, washed the glass and placed it on the dish rack after wiping it clean of my prints with a towel. Then I walked over to the stove and stared hard at the dials.
There would be no crappy prison food.
No bright orange jumper.
No sadistic guards.
No unwanted butt sex.
Not for Sean, the love of my life. I would spare him all that cruelty. All that ugliness. All that indignity. Or at least that was what I told myself.
With the lights out, it’s less dangerous
Careful not to leave my prints on the knob, I turned on the gas.
Thanks to Darrell and the pencil he shoved up Sean’s nose, Sean would never smell a thing.
Good.
And for this gift I feel blessed
The gas hissed out quietly, filling the apartment. I walked around to check the windows. Sean had already closed them and drawn the curtains. He didn’t want to disturb the neighbors.
Always thinking of others, Sean was.
Hello, hello, hello, how low?
“Fi?”
Sean poked his head out of the half-closed bathroom door. “Can you check if I have any cigarettes left? Look on the coffee table.”
My heart skipped a beat. Cigarettes and gas do not go well together. Fate and karma were colliding through me. Perhaps Sean had been asking for it after all.
“Sean, are you going to smoke? I have asthma.”
“Not now. When you leave. After I’m done in here.”
“Oh, okay.”
I went into the living room. Sure enough, a pack of Dunhills lay on the coffee table. I carefully removed one and slipped it into my pocket.
“Yeah, you’ve got plenty, Sean.”
“Great.”
Sean retreated back behind the bathroom door and continued with his work. I looked around at the apartment which was quickly filling up with gas. I coughed twice into my sleeve from the foul smell.
It was time to go.
I looked at the bathroom door and thought about Sean behind it, working diligently. The handsome boy who had prodded me into thumping Jeremy. Who gave me the strength to protect myself from the Jacks and Dons of the world.
For a moment, I wondered what he would look like dead. His eyes, his expression, his cold sneer. Oh well.
And always will until the end
“Don’t be a crybaby.” That was what Sean had said.
“Sean?” I called his name for the last time.
He cracked the door open again. He had a bit of blood splattered on his cheek, but I didn’t say anything. The color suited his complexion.
“Yeah?”
“I need to go back to the office. I have to get a couple of agreements together for Doreen first thing in the morning.”
Work.
I never thought it would save my life.
“Okay, see you later, Fi. Let yourself out.”
And cut down on the smoking. It’ll kill you, Sean.
Oh well, whatever, nevermind
But like he always said, everyone has to die.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
SIXTY-THREE PERCENT OF FEMALE Chinese mantids’ diet consists of male Chinese mantids. She devours him after mating if he’s too weak to escape from her clutches. So he can’t go and mate with other females and pass on his sissy DNA.
It’s a part of the natural selection process. Good old-fashioned Darwinism, sexual evolution. Not to mention the extra nutrition provided.
Someone needs to tell Hello Kitty.
Most people think only black widow spiders eat their mates, but it’s not true. Sexual cannibalism is common in many families of spiders, scorpions, and praying mantids. Species that have managed to survive for millions of years. That outlasted the dinosaurs and that will probably still be here when we’re gone.
But it’s less common among human beings. So when it happens, people freak out a little.
Just look at Dahmer.
He didn’t even do it for natural selection or nutrition. He just wanted his victims to stay with him forever and ever. And everyone called him a sick freak and threw him in jail.
But Dahmer was right.
Consuming the one you love ensures he’ll never leave you. You take a little part of him into yourself, making him a part of you. Forever.
Wherever you go, he’ll be with you. Walking down the sidewalk, sitting in a tub of dirty bathwater, working in an office fifteen hours a day. More portable than an iPod Nano, and even better.
Portability is more important than ever now. The airlines are charging fifteen to twenty-five dollars for each piece of checked luggage. A girl’s gotta travel light. Can’t get weighed down in the modern world. Can’t risk leaving something behind on the baggage carousel. Or on a sailboat. Or on a schoolyard. Ever.
Nothing gets left behind. That’s all Dahmer wanted to avoid. Being left behind.
Oh well.
The next morning, I left home an hour earlier than usual, citing an early morning meeting. But instead, I went to Walgreen’s, where you can get anything from condoms to ear medicine to wine bottle openers, all at a low, reasonable price. I purchased a ninety-nine-cent lighter, one of those cheap ones stocked next to the cash register.
Then I walked over to the remains of Sean’s apartment on Russian Hill. I ha
d heard the fire engines screaming last night towards Sean’s place. I smelled the smoke, heard the boom, turned over and went to sleep.
But now I stood on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building, looking up at the large, gaping black hole which used to be his living room window. Bits of charred debris littered the ground, along with glass, plaster, and evidence of the firefighters’ efforts of rescue.
I pulled out my cheap lighter and the Dunhill cigarette I took from Sean from my coat pocket. And lit it.
I put the cigarette to my lips and inhaled. The hot, rich smoke burned my throat, making me cough violently. But undaunted, I tried it again. It was better the second time and the third. Asthma be damned. Everyone has to die.
I stood there looking up at the remains of Sean’s apartment, smoking Sean’s cigarette and recalling the conversation we had on The Countess that day we sailed to Angel Island. I thought about what he had said about his ashes and what he wanted. And then I took a deep breath, telling myself that that was what Sean would have wanted. That’s what people always tell themselves.
And then I took another.
And another.
I was inhaling Sean’s ashes, essence, spirit, whatever was left of him in the air around me. It was better than consuming his flesh, his genitals, his body parts. Lower risk of contracting a disease. No risk of someone calling me a freak.
A mulatto, an albino
But it’s very much the same thing, whether it goes through the nose or the mouth. All those little tiny particles, like mini ticks and fleas.
A mosquito, my libido
With my lungs full of Sean, I went to work.
“Good morning, Doreen.”
And it truly was a good morning.
“Fiona, have you been smoking?”
“No, Doreen, I don’t smoke. But I was walking down the street behind someone who was puffing away.”
“How inconsiderate. I hope you said something.”
“Nah, you never know. He could be one of those nutters who’ll punch you in the face for saying something.”
“True.”
Doreen knew the City too.
I turned on my computer, checking the local news online. I didn’t even have to search for the story. It was under the Breaking News section.
Hello Kitty Must Die Page 18