Alex Six

by Vince Taplin

  Vick… What a wonderful night! Don’t worry, our secret is safe. I washed and dried your clothes and made you some coffee. I had some early meetings today, so I won’t be back until lunch. Please, make yourself at home. If the coffee isn’t hot please make more. Oh, and take these with a full bottle of water right away to beat back a hangover. -Alex

  I poured two pills from the envelope and popped them in my mouth, then drowned them with the lukewarm coffee from the thermos. A check fell from the envelope, too. A check written to me for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in curly blue handwriting. I forgot about my headache. I lost my thoughts about Kraya and bail and Rob and the cum-stained towel. I forgot about sex with the heiress and misplaced my concern about my son for a full minute.

  I’ve never held this much money. Well, I’ve never held this much of my own money anyway. My legal issues with Kraya are solved. Business will grow again and I’ll be able to afford a divorce and a nice settlement from my deranged, heroin-addicted liar of a wife. Oh, Kraya, how did this happen? I dropped my towel in Alexa’s living room and slid into my clean clothes. Judging by the yellow, stapled tag on the buttonhole, they’d been dry cleaned.

  The coffee is cold so I take her advice and brew another pot. I sit at the bar while it brews, fixated on the check. A few pictures catch my eye, too. My weird mirrored clone, her ex-husband, stares back at me from a far wall with a goofy familiar grin. I checked out a few more photos on an adjacent wall. Alexa hugging him by the Leaning Tower. Another one laughing at a restaurant. We’re everywhere.

  I don’t feel regret about last night, not at all. There is something there though, some dread hiding in that warm spot in my stomach. Or maybe it’s that I regret not feeling regret. I poured out my old, cold coffee and replaced it with the new stuff. It’s piping hot and delicious. Gourmet hazelnut or something. I bet it’s more per gram than cocaine. I continued my tour of her place, looking at my doppelganger as I stroll. It’s an absolute mind fuck. I can’t stop snooping, walking room to room, looking at this dude. Here is one of him at the mall, laughing. Another with her at a museum. One over there at a pool, drinking martinis. He’s in good shape, which is nice because I’m complimenting a mirror. His swim trunks even look designer. I wonder how rich this guy was. I wondered… waited. What is that?

  I catch something. I pulled a frame from the wall, the nail dropping to the floor as a noisy casualty. I brushed the glass with my fingers and slid the picture under a nearby lamp. What the frig is this? No. It… it can’t be. I set it down under the light, quickly going back to the picture of the two of them at the ocean, yanking it from the wall, too. I placed them side by side under the lamp.

  My mug shattered on the tile. I’m shaking. He has my scar. My scar? How is this possible? My bullet wound in one photo, concealed poorly in the other. I stuffed the check into my pocket and ran for the door, opened it, jogged through it, and slammed it hard enough to echo. I repeatedly pressed the elevator call button. Click, click, click, click, click — C’mon, c’mon!

  The photo of Francis has a scar on his shoulder, the other picture does not. Instead, it has a blurred circle over the shoulder, blended well enough to be mostly unnoticeable. Those images aren’t her ex-husband. They are photos of me.

  C5apt5r Fi5ty-Thr33

  He’s beautiful when he sleeps. I couldn’t sleep a wink, not for even a moment. I lay there all night, watching the rise and fall of his chest with the smell of our sex still fresh in his pores. The things I’ve never noticed about him make him even more perfect now. I knew he mumbled in his sleep, but I never knew what he was saying. I’m able to lean in, ear nearly touching his blissful lips, and listen to his hushed, precious voice as he speaks.

  I counted the curly hairs in his armpit and pressed my body against his for hours. I figured he would wake up around eight or eight-thirty, his normal schedule, so I made coffee and a care package for him when he woke. It took a lot of willpower to leave him.

  I wait now, in room 9. I watch him in my room from the cameras and monitors. I watched him sleep and now I’m blessed to watch him start to wake up. Invigorating! Exciting! What a thrill! Yet pieces of the plan still remain. Focus on the prize.

  I should shower, but the thought of evacuating his seed is a felony. His sweat and fluids are still on me and inside me. I don’t think I’ll ever shower again. Will I ever shower again? Seriously, can I bring myself to wipe him from my orifices and skin? Shit, I didn’t think this part through. How can I ever get clean again and keep his scent fresh on my skin? Focus… focus.

  He’s awake now, enjoying his coffee in my apartment. This is the way it should be. He should wake up here every day. He looks happy and content. He looks like he is in love. After last night, I can’t imagine he isn’t! The check is a nice touch, too. I need to keep him happy, and keep him on his toes. I need him to associate my body with pleasure and wealth and happiness. The plan is working. I’m rewiring his mind. Soon, love, soon you’ll be mine forever, just like we planned.

  What is this feeling in my tummy? How can I feel off when my Vick is walking around the apartment? Snooping is such a terrible word, especially when you love someone. Is learning a better word? Yes. He is learning more about me through my possessions. Perhaps he’s nesting and making himself at home. Is he making plans to marry me and spend a life here?

  What are you doing now, my curious bunny? What could you possibly be doing taking that picture off the wall? He must be looking at my bikini. I picked that swimsuit just for you, love. I picked that one over the green and gold one-piece they told me looked “fabulous.” I hope you enjoy it… Wait, what’s wrong, honey? What are you doing?

  The video feed from just outside the door shows him pacing, angrily looking back and forth between photos. What is it, baby? What is wrong? His coffee hits the floor. Shit, shit, shit! I want to leave this room so badly and hug him and kiss him and snuggle him and hold him and tell him it’s okay, whatever it is, it’s going to be fine! My heart explodes with irregular beats.

  He bolts from sight. I follow him on the cameras to the elevator. He’s leaving? Where is he going? I need to know!

  I unlock room 9 from the inside and run to the elevator. I see a collapsing orange light as the doors squeeze shut. Damn! I didn’t catch him! I push the call button frantically and I wait. And I wait. I wait for-fucking-ever! Where is he going? I grab my phone and open the tracking app. It says he is in the apartment. Shit, did he leave his phone?

  Finally, the elevator door opens and I hustle in, blasting the button with a painted pointer. I need to get to my car on the third floor garage before he leaves. I need to follow him using his car’s GPS, not his phone. Damn, what is it?

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Why would she have doctored images of me in her apartment? It’s too much for my hungover mind to decode this early in the morning. Before I decode this Alexa-picture-shit-storm thing, I needed to check in with Rob and the babysitter. It’s going to be a busy morning trying to figure out what to do with my jailbird wife.

  After patting my pocket I realized it was empty. Like a panicked ninja I checked my other pockets. Nothing. Shit, I left it at her place. I turned back down the hall and caught the next elevator up. It’s busy, but it eventually lands and picks me up. I press her floor and enter one-one-three-zero. Jackpot! She hasn’t changed it. Will I ever have to explain why I broke a coffee mug on her floor and left?

  The aroma of naked bodies, coffee, and ass lingered. I jogged down the hall to her bedroom and retrieved the phone.

  As I reached the front door, something caught my eye. The small room, off to the side, was open. It’d never been open. I paused midstride, hand still on the doorknob. I let go and walked to the door with the number six on the face and opened it wider. There wasn’t a ray of natural light in there, so my eyes took a moment to adjust. My fingers fumbled to find the light switch to flick it on.

  Countless screens were mounted on the far wall. Every one of ’em sh
owing a different view on split screens. It looked like a bizarre, cluttered command center. I cocked my head and recognized what they were watching. My house. My garage. My bathroom. Everything. Literally, every perceivable view in my home was under surveillance from this odd little room. I snagged one of many mice on the desk to navigate through the camera screens. My rentals were bugged, too. She’d been watching my tenants?

  My hands trembled and I dropped the mouse. The opposing wall covered, floor to ceiling, with photos. Images of me. Pictures of me walking across the street, laughing, sleeping, in class, in high school, at the gym. Naked. Clothed. Hundreds of pictures. Others, too, with Kraya, crossed off with a manic, hand-carved X on her face. Many dozens, maybe even one hundred or so.

  A mannequin stood bearing a printout of my face taped crudely to his head. My old leather jacket, watch, and t-shirt slung on his plastic body. The Rolex she gave me was there, too. A collection of my old drivers licenses, handwritten notes, condoms, and other things I recognized were also there, brightly lit in cases on pedestals. These are mine. All of these things are mine. I sold these online last year. Alexa fucking bought them.

  A few chairs and a mattress were in there, too, tucked in a corner next to a table. The bed had stained, shiny sheets and the chairs were adorned with slashes and burn marks. On the table, dildos. Too many to count. Big ones, small ones, black, red, and white. Next to the box of dicks was a box of medications. Drugs in various orange bottles. Creams, pills, liquids, and sprays. Painkillers and antidepressants and stimulants, oh my. I picked up a familiar-looking dial of pills and opened it. A prescription pill pack for birth control. Every day missing from the circular dial except yesterday and today. I flip it over and see Alexa’s name on the package.

  I’m lightheaded. I’ve gotta get out of here. I looked at the monitors one final time on my way out. On the far screen I saw someone. Someone standing. No, no, not standing, waiting. Someone is waiting with crossed arms. Where is it? A rental? No. It’s not. It’s not my rental property or my home. I recognize it now. It’s Alexa. Alexa Livingston is standing outside this very room.

  She is waiting for me.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  “We should talk, Professor,” Alex says.

  “You don’t need to explain, Alex. I’m going to leave and pretend I, ah… pretend I never saw any of this.” I feel like someone is turning down the lights in my skull. I need to get the fuck out of here. Who are you, Alexa? Who the fuck are you? What is that shrine room of yours? My legs wobble as I walk, backing away from her into the kitchen.

  “It’s not that simple now, Vick.”

  She smiles and tells me to sit down. That she’ll explain it all to me. I move through the kitchen and I grab the biggest, baddest knife from her block and hold it out. “Something is wrong with you, Alex. Something is wrong. You need help, Alex!”

  “Help? Like a therapist? Ha! Don’t ever tell me to see her again — honey.” A short burst of unexpected laughter mid-sentence — “…sorry, love. But that hurts my feelings.”

  I shake my head, not to agree, but because it’s clear she’s a few sheets shy of a ream.

  “Put that down and let’s talk,” Alex said, pointing to the counter.

  Nope. Not happening. I walk behind her, making my dash to the door. She isn’t scared, not in the least.

  “I’ll fuckin’ stab you if you get closer, Alex. I’m serious. I’m leaving…”

  “Oh, come now, Professor…” She shifts in front of me and got closer, and closer, and closer with that smile. “We have so much to talk about.”

  Smiling. Always smiling…

  C5apte6 5ifty-6ix

  I was able to grab the knife but he fell too fast and too hard for me to break his fall. I feel awful. His head hit the ground so hard when I tazed him. Do you know how hard I’ve worked for this? Do you? Do you, Vick? Stop fidgeting. Stop. Stop this. The plan is fucked! Fucked! Maybe not. Maybe I can fix this. Stop fidgeting. He is right here! The one you’ve tried so hard to get is in front of you… and you’re telling me the plan is fucked? What are you talking about? It’s perfect.

  I am strong enough to drag him to the bed and tend to the bump on his head. Thank goodness for Pilates and leg workouts. “I’m here now, honey. Shhhhhh. I’m here. You’ll wake up and be all better.” I use ice packs and bandages to keep the swelling down.

  His veins are perfect for needles. I bounce my finger on a big juicy one in his forearm and plunge the needle into his vein. It’s only morphine, just enough to make him feel better —happier and more relaxed, too. Just what he needs right now.

  It took 20 minutes for him to wake up. His eyes aren’t scared and alert anymore. They’re soft and gentle, like his mind. Good, Vick. Enjoy the drugs. It’ll make you feel all better.

  “Whaaa… what happened?” he said.

  “You fell. All the excitement maybe? You were quite flustered.”

  “I was? Wait… I remem… what are you doing to me?” He pulls against the restraints on his arms and legs. I used common hospital restraints, the light brown leather type. I ordered them years ago for a different purpose. They’re working just as well as they did then. Good as new.

  “Shhh, Vick, relax,” I said. “You need rest.”

  “How can I fucking relax when I’m tied to your bed? What are you doing?” He flails uselessly with the look of panic on his brow again. It’s painful to see someone you love like this.

  “Victor Miller, calm down…” Why am I scolding him? My love, forgive me? “You’ll need more if we’re going to have a civil conversation.” I pop off the syringe cap with my teeth. He squirms a bit, but I find a vein easily enough. I push more juice into his bloodstream. Whipping, anxious arms slow and his eyes squint. He’s stoned, calm, and cool. “All right now, Vick. We need to talk. Don’t you agree?”

  “Ummm, yeah. Mmmmgmmm.”

  I feel happiness creeping along the folds of my face. Good — he’s conscious and can speak, but has the mumbles, a sure sign he’s had enough of this stuff. I set down the needle and slide it back into the drawer.

  “Vick? Baby… You know almost everything now.” I tilt my head shyly. “It’s early, but we’ll make do. You weren’t supposed to find out like this. It was supposed to be different. But. But! We can improvise, can’t we?” He nods. He closes his eyes for a moment and reopens them.

  “We… well…” I pause. I can’t believe the time has come. We’re here! “I’ll just say it. We’re meant to be together, Vick! The sun and the moon, the gods, everything points to us being together. Every fabric of my being is drawn to you. It’s the highest form of flattery, you know?”

  “Mmm — flattered,” Vick says.

  He blinks. Was that sarcasm? You’re so funny! “You have a few options, Vick. One, go back to your normal life. Pretend like this never happened, or…” I can hardly contain the glee and anticipation. “…you can choose to be with me. You’ve shared my body and we have secrets and trust. We’re perfect, Vick.”

  “I donn… I dunno though. I… I… I wanna… mmmgmmm.”

  “What do you need? What do you want to know? I’m all yours.”

  “Everythinggg else…” He smiled. “…and lemme free.”

  Was that the drugs? Or is he seeing things clearly now. He is seeing me clearly. He must. Holy hell, he is coming around. “Everything else? Can you be specific?”

  Vick passed out. My sweet, sweet sleepyhead. I sing to him and pet his forehead. “Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are.”

  Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be here when you wake up.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  When I open my eyes, Alex is lying next to me, grinning ear to ear. I feel like I’m the butt end of a shitty joke and… I’m foggy — forgetful maybe. Dammit, I remember now. She dosed me. It’s a struggle to stay in reality. My mind drifts back and forth, to and from the room, from the bed, into the clouds and back to the bed again. Fucking drugs. I can’t tell if it’s amazi
ng or terrifying. Maybe both? Definitely both.

  “Good morning again, sleepyhead,” Alex whispers.

  My hands are still bound. Leather restraints, the kind I’ve seen in places for crazy folks. Or maybe I saw it in a movie. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a good movie. I saw a preview the other day for that action flick with, shit, what’s that actor’s name? Kenneth? Keith? Gosh, he has a great voice… Fuck, I need to think and keep my wits about me. These drugs are strong.

  “Good morning. What happened? I’m having a hard time remembering.” Gotta get her talking. Distracted.

  “You wanted to know everything. Well…” She opens her arms wide and grins like a schoolgirl. “I’m an open book. I’m all yours. What do you want to know?”

  “Start from the beginning. How did this all start?” I slowly tug against my wrists. There is some play in the leather. It might be enough slack to slide my hand out. But what then? She’ll get to me before I can free the other hand. Then more drugs? Back into the clouds until I wake up again?

  “From the moment I saw you, I loved you. Not just love, Vick, a deep, passionate understanding of love. I desire you. I yearn for you. I obsess over your very name. But all my attempts failed. I tried to get your attention but that cunt wife…” She stops, putting her hand over her mouth and continues “…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you, but your cunt of a wife got in the way. You were supposed to run into me. We were supposed to fall in love; it was never supposed to be her.”

  Are my eyes crossed? I’m trying to pay attention to her words. She rambles about Kraya for a few minutes. Called her a bitch and a peasant. Though I’m not happy with her either, it pisses me off to hear someone else say it.