by Nolon King
“I think I do.” Another smile, the widest since Adam rang the bell.
He eyed her, imagined his hands around her neck, squeezing.
He saw her covered in blood, watched as the viscous fluid dribbled from a cut in her throat — shallow, so he had plenty of time to lick it up.
“Are you in the mood for chocolate?”
Adam was in the mood for exactly one thing. Chocolate wasn’t it.
“Yes! Chocolate sounds perfect. What do you suggest?”
A giant smile as she pointed. “That one!”
Adam looked. “Spicy chocolate. Why do you only recommend flavors that I feel like I’ll need a hipster card to even sample? I’m not nearly cool enough for any of these. When I was a kid, we thought cookies and cream was fancy.”
“You seem pretty cool to me, and if you like chocolate and you like spicy, then you really should love this.”
“I like both of those things, I’ve just never thought of them together.”
“Wanna give it a try?”
“Tell you what … why don’t you put whatever flavor you want to in a sundae, but I’m really in the mood for hot fudge. The ice cream is really just the hot fudge delivery vehicle, so you choose. Two scoops, and each one should be different.”
“Perfect,” she said, and went to work.
His jeans were already tenting as he watched her bend forward, fingers shifting on the handle of the scoop as she worked it into the frozen-stiff ice cream.
He’d been waiting for this all day.
Adam needed help, and there was only one person in the world who could aid him.
But Selena wasn’t available. It was her fault he’d gone this far, that he’d crossed the line from fantasizing to making contact with the woman he fantasized about. He felt completely out of control and unable to stop himself. It seemed as if the universe was conspiring with everything living inside him to shove him through these doors.
Now he might have to kill her.
“How is this?” She displayed his bowl, now filled with a pair of generous scoops.
“Perfect. Now remember, there’s no such thing as too much fudge. And I’m happy to pay extra!”
“I remember, and you know I’ll never make you pay extra.”
There might have been an ever-so-subtle glance at the tip jar, or maybe he’d imagined it. Then she started adding toppings, finishing with a liberal drizzling of fudge.
Adam watched. He imagined the syrup as blood and the scoops as her breasts. He thought of her body, naked and sticky. Nipples erect, before he suckled the blood off her skin.
Adam didn’t know if he wanted to fuck or kill her more, as she held his dessert out to him like a trophy.
“How is this?”
“Perfect,” he said.
“Great. I’ll ring you up.”
If he didn’t do something soon, then the worst was going to happen.
And it was going to happen to her.
This was how it started. He would picture someone dead, and then he would see himself killing them. If Selena didn’t help him to vent, eventually he would. Last night, seeing her with Dane, something about that had poured gasoline on the fire of his fantasies. The urges were growing more powerful, and Adam was no longer sure that he wanted to stop them.
She asked him for six dollars and seventeen cents, her red, red lips parted even in silence. Adam paid with a ten and told her to keep the change, still grateful for the counter between them. He didn’t dare to press up against it like his body was wanting him to, but he was glad it was a wall to hide his hard-on.
“Thank you, Adam.”
“Thank you, Poppy.”
He took the sundae, then spun around and strode to the door before she could witness his arousal. He made it safely to the other side, waved while looking over his shoulder — Adam had done this before — then crossed the street to his Porsche.
He dropped his ice cream in the garbage can next to his car, then got inside.
And he watched as Poppy reapplied her lipstick.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Then what did you do?” Selena looked at Adam, lying on her couch. It was all she could do not to hit him.
“I sat in the car for a few more minutes.”
“What was she doing?”
“She put on her lipstick, and then she did some cleaning up.”
“Did you relieve yourself?”
“Yes.”
“While watching her?”
“Yes.”
“And what were you thinking of?”
“Me and her and all the blood.”
Selena shifted in her seat. Yes, she was irritated, but this was more than that. She was upset. Adam was acting on his urges for the first time, unless he had not always been as forthcoming as she imagined. Throughout their history, he merely fetishized imagery. Same as anyone, except his colors were uglier. But this was a threat to their relationship.
She was a beautiful, successful woman. Yet her husband was sitting across from the ice cream shop, beating off to some sorority girl, in that little car that looked like a goddamned bathtub.
Why? Why was Adam doing this all of a sudden? What had changed? This felt like more than his usual need for attention. What if she had misjudged him?
What if he was a killer?
That would destroy her career and there would be no coming back from that.
“What did you do to try to control your impulses? Did you do any of our exercises?”
“No,” Adam admitted.
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want to.”
“You can’t not want to, Adam. We’re talking about murder.”
“Bloody murder.”
“Yes, bloody murder,” Selena repeated.
She was sure that Adam caught her irritation. But it didn’t make him frown, like it usually did. He looked smug, and that was frightening.
She didn’t seem to be getting anywhere with him, and she wasn’t sure what to try next. This was frontier. And if she’d been wrong, if he was truly a serial killer, the things they’d done before wouldn’t work. She’d been able to guide him in the past because she understood how a blood fetish worked, and because he believed he needed her to control his desire.
Maybe his saying that he didn’t want to control it was his way of leveling up on his cries for attention. His way of saying, You’re going to keep ignoring me? Fine, I’ll show you.
She tested the theory by standing fast and snapping her red notebook shut. “If you’re not willing to do the exercises, I’m not sure why we’re bothering with this.”
He stared at her for a moment, mouth falling open again. “That’s it?”
“What else do you want?”
He shrugged, then swung his feet off the couch and stood in a violent lurch. “I don’t know. Maybe something more than the bare minimum.”
I knew it. This was just another way to whine for attention. Like a puppy who pees on the carpet because no one will play with it.
“I’m sorry if you think sitting here for an hour listening to you talk about waxing on and off in your car while looking at some Twinkie is fun for me. I’m sorry if seeing your redheaded homewrecker making a tent in your pants isn’t a thrill ride for me. And I’m sorry that I’m not dying to hear the same goddamned bloody fantasies that I’ve been listening to for the last twenty years!”
That last one might’ve gone too far — she hadn’t meant to suggest that she wanted him to stop playing at being a serial killer and actually become one. But honestly, she was so sick of playing the same game with him over and over, she’d blurted it without a thought.
He stared at her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
And sure enough, his cock was swollen.
Selena looked down, couldn’t help it.
He saw her do it and knew the look in her eyes.
She wanted to unzip him, pull him out, wrap her hands and then her lips around it.
She wanted him behind her, one hand on her neck, holding her down, the other exploring her wetness.
She wanted his tongue and then she wanted his cock.
Adam was snarling. Angry and aroused.
He was about to fuck her like an animal. They’d done that before. Plenty. But something about his eyes told her that this time would be different.
Selena knew she was right as he charged.
His hands were around her arm, squeezing as he marched her over to the desk.
He pushed her down, harder than usual, and this time he tore off her panties. His fingers were there just like she wanted, rougher than he’d ever been before. But she was wet enough to take it.
She lifted her head from the desk, ever so slightly, and Adam pushed it back down.
And then he filled her.
It was deep and seething and wonderful. She rocked her ass against him, moaning.
Selena groaned. “Are you thinking of her?”
Adam grunted. “Yes.”
“And all the blood?”
“So much blood …”
His pounding was relentless, piercing her through the eyes. She hated the thought of it stopping.
“What are you … thinking about … now …? Her … or me?”
“I’m thinking about both of you.” Grunt. “Fucking you and seeing her blood.”
That was new. He’d never made her part of the fantasy. She was surprised to find that the horror aroused her even more. She’d heard his fantasy so many times, she could easily imagine herself bent over a strange woman’s couch, Adam’s blood-smeared fingers digging into her hips as he celebrated his first real kill.
She’d known that fear could be an aphrodisiac, but she’d never experienced it.
“Do you want to hurt me?”
“No,” he said, pressing down harder on her body, roughly thrusting, though this pain was delicious.
“But you want to hurt her?”
Rapid panting, then, “Yes.”
This was exquisite — the ugly, the savage, the elegant, all of it flooding her mind.
“What are you … thinking about now?”
Heaves and grunts. Adam was close.
Selena was already gone. She vented an inhuman growl, low and guttural. “What are you thinking about, Adam?”
He made a sound like a charging hog, then panted, “Killing …”
And then he did something he’d never done before.
He wrapped his hands around her throat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Selena stepped closer to the one-way mirror as Detective Sharpe circled his suspect on the other side of it, making a full revolution around the metal table before he finally sat across from Ollie Harris. He leaned forward as he looked down at his pad full of notes. Again.
“So why were you going to check on Mrs. Wahlberg, if you didn’t have an appointment with her?”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
And so he did. The words were all different, they had been every time, but the underlying story still sounded like the truth. Ollie’s attention was all over the place, and he was clearly agitated. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Sharpe, at least not for longer than a few seconds at a time. The detective obviously didn’t trust him, but he had yet to catch the man in a lie.
Selena sighed and checked her phone again. She wanted to see this through, but so far there had been little to see. When they filmed the episode about Ollie as a suspect, they’d probably skip this part altogether and summarize Sharpe’s discoveries.
She turned back to the interrogation, curious to see what the detective would do next, because what were you supposed to do when holding such a shitty hand? Ollie’s link to the two families wasn’t strong enough to make a legitimate case.
But Almond Park was on edge, and in need of someone to blame. Ollie was an excellent candidate. Weird enough for his own wacky show. Selena wondered who would eventually play him.
Sharpe said, “Hey, I gotta joke. Wanna hear it?”
Ollie blinked four times and then his neck twitched. “Probably not.”
“How do you keep the neighbor kids from playing in your yard?” A long uncomfortable moment, then, “You fuck one of them.”
Sharpe laughed, but Ollie didn’t.
The detective finished laughing, and then loudly exhaled. “You do know what people say about you, don’t you, Harris?”
Of course he did. He ignored them, because what else could he do? Protesting just made you look guiltier. Selena doubted that Sharpe was going to break Ollie by repeating rumors he’d probably been living with for years.
Ollie’s words, his mannerisms, his tics, all of them broadcast that something was wrong with him. He was downright unsocial, too. When Selena had first invited the Harris family over for dinner, Ollie declined, saying that he had deipnophobia, or a morbid fear of dinner parties.
Her gut said that he was the killer, even though he wasn’t displaying any of the typical signs. There was a certain magnetism to his personality, despite his quirks. If only she could put her finger on why he seemed so off.
Not just to stop the killings. It would also be a coup for her career. She was desperate for any sort of real life success that wasn’t dependent on her research with Adam, and Fate had put this in her yard. That had to mean something, didn’t it?
The interview ended with nothing conclusive. Selena stayed behind the glass until Sharpe returned for her thoughts.
“I don’t know,” Selena admitted.
The detective slowly nodded, thinking.
They promised to keep in touch, then Selena went out to her car.
When she’d first tipped him off about Ollie, his manner was skeptical or condescending or suspicious or something. He didn’t seem all that impressed now, either. She might be losing her chance to participate in the investigation. And if the cops caught someone other than whoever she thought it might be, her credibility would take an unfortunate hit.
She drove home, thinking about Almond Park, and how much their city was changing. This would put it on the map. Give it an identity. Before it was just a place, one of the few in California where the opportunity hadn’t mostly been snatched. But now it was the place where that thing happened. And everyone would know that Selena Nash called it home.
She tried to keep her thoughts in that lane as she drove, thinking about the inevitable book or film or television adaptation that would one day follow this story. The elements were too good, and having an expert mere inches from the killing lent the whole thing a Hollywood air.
Selena wondered who might play her. Connie Britton would be perfect.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When Selena arrived at home, dinner was on the table. It was Adam’s night to cook. Usually, he’d “cook” by taking the family out or bringing home takeout. But a few months ago, he’d subscribed to BistroBox, and he’d been experimenting with making gourmet meals with the pre-measured ingredients. Of course, Adam acted like he invented the recipes.
Selena and the rest of the family went along with it, mostly because they thought it was funny. But tonight, she had to make an effort.
“These are delicious,” she said, biting into her Cajun shrimp taco.
“Thanks. It has paprika, ground yellow mustard, marinated peppers and tomatoes, oregano, with fresh carrot and celery slaw.” Adam grinned, enjoying the role of gourmet chef. He turned to Levi. “Do you like it?”
“It’s great, Dad. Thanks.”
Adam looked at Corban, who said, “Congratulations, you’re really great at reading the ingredients and following the directions on the box.”
“Corban …” Selena said.
He didn’t say sorry, or anything.
Levi broke the awkward silence. “Hey Corban, if you’re not too busy being a loser, would you mind passing the tortillas?”
And there it was again.
“Knock it off, Levi …” It sounded
like Adam was going to say more, but he trailed off into the same uncomfortable silence that had been hovering over the table.
Levi rolled his eyes and went back to eating. Corban looked a million miles away. He’d been alternating between sullen and despondent since Ollie had been identified as a suspect.
And, Selena thought, as something gnarled part of her into knots, it’s about to get a lot harder. For his family, and for Corban.
She took the last bite of her taco, then wiped her hands and mouth as she looked around the table. “Why don’t we have a little get-together this weekend? A small one?”
They all wore the same dubious expression for completely different reasons.
But at least they were listening.
“Not like the barbecue. Nothing like that.” She waited a beat, then finished, “We could have Kari’s family over.”
The silence was heavy.
Corban looked down at his plate as he loudly swallowed. “Her dad has deipnophobia.”
“What’s that?” Adam asked.
“A morbid fear of dinner parties,” he answered.
Adam looked at Selena. “He doesn’t really have that, does he?”
“I don’t think so.”
Corban snorted. “And you know because …?”
Selena shrugged, focused on Adam as the potentially reasonable one. “Kari is important to Corban and Levi, so that makes her family important to us. We can show a little solidarity.”
“I’ll double up the next BistroBox order.” Adam turned to Corban. “But only if this sounds good to you.”
Corban nodded, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Levi looked suspicious.
But Adam smiled at her. She could read the thoughts in his eyes. He was pleased with her, for wanting to spend more time with the family and for trying to do something nice for Corban.
Guilt gobbled at her insides. If he knew that she’d suggested it to get deeper insight into Ollie, in an informal environment where his guard might come down …
He’d hate her for it. They all would.
Chapter Twenty-Nine