by Keri Lake
“Y’don’t have to do that, Simon.” I could call a cab, but that would cost money that I didn’t bother to bring and can’t really afford to blow.
“Would you prefer Shay drive you? I’ll understand if you do. I just don’t think you should drive yourself.”
Shay’s not much more sober than I am. And Dale has thrown back a few drinks, so I don’t know if he’s in any better shape. Simon is my best bet, and at least I know him slightly better than some random cab driver.
“You don’t mind driving me?”
“Not at all. Let me grab my coat.” He opens the door for me, and I glance back toward the sounds of hurling, to find Harv bent forward, puking beside the dumpster.
Shaking my head, I head back into the bar and wave to Dale from the door. Head tipped like he’s confused, he waves back, until I point to Simon, and Dale shakes his head, waving me over instead. Even when tipsy himself, the guy looks out for me. Through the crowd, I meet him halfway and catch the slight drunken sway when he stops before me.
“Where’ya goin’?” His brows are stern with concentration. Reminds me of my father when he’d get pissed at me for something.
“Simon’s driving me home.”
Eyes clamped, Dale shakes his head fervently. “Nah, that’s … lemme drive you home.”
Not a chance. The guy has clearly had as much as everyone else. “Thanks Dale, but you should really get a ride yourself. I’m sure Simon would drive you, too.”
He scoffs at that and glances away and back. “I’m fine. I’ll take you home. I’ll take care of you, Nola.” He’s not as drunk or obnoxious as Harv, but he’s starting to make me just as uncomfortable.
“Really, I’m just … just gonna catch a ride with Simon.”
His eye twitches, as he stares down at me, and tips back another sip of beer, lips tight when he swallows it back. “Think that’s a better idea?”
The back of my neck feels like it’s on fire, as I clear my throat and drop my gaze from his. “Yeah. I do.”
“Fine. Get a ride from Simon then,” he says, and walks back toward the table with the others.
Perhaps the strangest encounter I’ve ever had with Dale, though it occurs to me it’s the first time I’ve seen him intoxicated. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, in my own drunken state. He’s always been overprotective of me, after all.
A nudge at my arm draws my attention toward Simon, who tips his head toward the door. With his coat in hand, he leads me out to the parking lot, toward a silver Malibu parked two cars down from my Jeep.
Practically leaping ahead of me, he rushes to open my door, and sets a hand on my shoulder, as I slide into his passenger seat. The car has a crisp, lemon scent, and I glance up to see a yellow air freshener dangling from the rearview, along with two air fresheners clipped to the vents.
Guy likes lemons.
He falls into the driver’s seat and fires up the vehicle, turning the heater up. “Feel free to make it warmer, if you’d like. Kind of a chilly night.”
“Simon, thank you for this. I know I don’t talk to you much, but … I’m just … not a real sociable person.”
“I understand. You, um … mentioned that earlier.” His comment draws my mind to a vague conversation from earlier, and I rub my temples, my sudden embarrassment only adding to the warm flush of my cheeks.
He stops the vehicle at the entrance of the bar and waits. “Where to?”
“Newland Avenue. Know where that is?”
“I think so. I suppose, if I get lost, that’s what GPS is for, right?”
I chuckle at that, setting my attention on the passing buildings, as he drives us toward my house. “Thanks for what you did back there. Harv is such a dick.”
“He really is. But don’t tell Bethany I said that.”
“He makes my skin crawl. Guys like that are just …”
“It infuriates me to see a man treat a woman so … poorly. My mother suffered abuse from my father when I was a child. It’s a … sensitive topic for me.”
“My mother ignored my father. He did everything for her.” It’s the alcohol talking, because no way in hell I’d have admitted that aloud, otherwise. “I’m sorry, my mind is on autopilot right now.”
“It’s okay. I don’t judge anyone.”
“You’re a nice guy, you know that? Don’t ever change, because … there just aren’t enough nice men in the world, anymore.”
“I don’t plan on changing anytime soon.”
Rubbing my forehead, I mentally tamp down the urge to cry over what happened in the alley, but the note pops into my head again, stirring anger, instead. “Harv … he left a note on my car. Said … would you rather be strangled, or raped?”
“Did you report it?”
“I should’ve, but not yet. I wanted to give him a chance to confess to it.”
“Did he?”
“Of course not. Just like he was only playin’ back in the alley.”
“Somebody needs to set him straight. To show him how to treat a woman.”
I huff staring down at my hands, folded in my lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you have a thing for Bethany?”
“Bethany? No. Uh … she’s married.”
“If you call it that. I mean, most married couples I know have vows.”
Hands set at ten and two on the steering wheel, he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t mess with married women. It’s not right.”
“My house is the one on the right, ahead,” I say, pointing through the windshield. “Well, if you ever decide to get married, you’re going to make one hell of a husband.” Patting him on the shoulder, I wait until he brings the car to a stop at the curb and set my hand on the door.
“I appreciate that. Would you like me to walk you to the door?”
“No, I got it from here. Thanks for the ride, Simon.”
Lips tight, he gives a nod. “Anytime. Take care.”
I exit the vehicle, proud of myself for being an adult and trusting someone to drive me home, when I sure as hell wouldn’t have done such a hot job myself. Stumbling up to the front door, I turn to see he’s still waiting at the curb, and it’s only when I take a step inside the house that I see the car roll forward. With a wave, I close him out and peek through the peephole to see his car driving off down the street.
Well, that was … nice.
As I turn away from the door, a thought hits me. I’ll have to have someone drive me to get my Jeep tomorrow morning before I have to pick up Oli.
Shit.
9
The Sandman
One week ago …
The Loop was the perfect place to pick up a woman. Everyone was transient, looking for a party and a quick hookup. The streets were packed most evenings with young, twenty-and-thirty-something socialites, who made up most of the demographic. Loud, obnoxious girls who stumbled along from place to place, getting more intoxicated by the hour. Insolent bitches in their fuck-me clothes. Even in the winter months, they frequented the bars in slinky skirts and crop tops, or skimpy dresses that showed off their bodies.
Little whores craving attention.
And stupid, too.
Had they watched the news, they might’ve known not to parade around like drunken vermin, practically begging to be snatched up by a cunning predator. In the last year, three girls had gone missing from Chicago, their bodies discarded miles away, eyeballs removed and filled with sand, a signature that gave the killer his moniker: The Sandman.
A name that’d grown on him.
He sat at a small round table, where heaters kept the forty-degree chill off him, as he waited for the perfect subject. Most of the girls sported small breasts and tiny waists—practically birds without any real meat.
No, he liked the curves best, and big sloppy breasts that bounced when they moved. Made him hard just thinking about a woman lying sprawled out before him, eyes rolled back into her head.
&nbs
p; Teeth gritting, he squeezed the napkin in his hand, willing away the disgust creeping up his throat at the visual.
A busty blonde squeezed through a crowd, not even sparing him a glance as she passed his table. Strange how human beings, the highest functioning organisms on the planet, with all their acute means of perception and cognizance, could be so blind to what lay in their periphery. The woman didn’t seem to have any idea that she’d seen him before, just two nights back, in fact, when he’d followed her into a restaurant, where she met up with friends for dinner. She’d offered no more than a passing glance on her way to the loudest table there. Perhaps she had no idea that he’d watched her at work all week long, passed her on the street, as she hustled to grab a coffee before her staff meeting. That he’d witnessed her taking home a stranger from the bar the weekend before and fucking him in the backseat of his SUV before they’d even arrived.
She didn’t seem to recall seeing the terrifying entity everyone called The Sandman, watching her every move for nearly two weeks. Because surely, if she had, she wouldn’t have ventured out on the one-month anniversary of his previous kill. Unfortunately, the police wouldn’t yet be privy to such a pattern, since the one before last had been dumped three months earlier. The one before that?
Six.
No, she was as flagrantly obtuse as the rest of them. Nothing but a filthy young sow, whose only purpose in life was to breed more of her kind. As if he’d sit by and allow such a thing.
The Sandman lifted his glass from the table, using the balled up napkins to wipe where condensation had gathered. He tossed the used napkin into the overflowing trash bin on his way to where she stood checking her watch.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, setting his glass on the bar beside her.
A quick once-over, and she feigned the kind of smile that set his teeth on edge. The kind that told others around them she was just being polite for face. He clearly wasn’t her type, evident in the brawny rich men she’d often let fuck her like a bitch in heat.
That was the beauty of masks. Essentially, everyone wore them. All of them hiding what truly lay beneath all that makeup and mannerisms. If each person could be seen for what they were, she’d be just as ugly as he was.
“No, thank you. I’m just waiting for some friends.” She didn’t even bother to mention she’d seen him around. Why would she? Women like her only saw what they wanted to see. Everything else merely served as a prop. Nothing but background noise to their perfect little existence.
Of course she wasn’t interested—whores like her only went for the beefy and dim-witted, the ignorant twits who got every piece of ass at The Loop because they spent most of their lives building their biceps instead of their brains. The ones who flaunted their money like a calling card for the equally rich and haughty.
The Sandman gave a nod and lifted his drink, grabbing another napkin to wipe the condensation left there.
His eye twitched with the thunderstorm of anger rolling through him, while he made his way toward the exit, tossing the glass and another balled up napkin into the trash. Not that he’d expected her to say anything different.
Dirty sluts rarely went for the highly-educated, much more worldly men.
Hands balling into tight fists, The Sandman made his way through the tightly woven crowd, knocking into a shoulder as he passed a group standing around.
A woman’s cranberry colored drink splashed over the glass and she scowled back at him. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
Like the response of a robot, her words spun him around, and his eyes locked on her short auburn trusses, neatly pulled back into a stunted ponytail. As he took a moment to assess her features, a larger male blocked his view.
“’The fuck you looking at, man?” Standing nearly a foot taller, the other male towered over The Sandman, and just like that, his interest in the woman waned. He turned back along his path, out of the bar, and down the street to the parking garage, where the blonde had parked earlier.
Where she parked every week, at around the same time, when she came out to have drinks with friends.
Slumped in the driver’s seat of his own vehicle, he kept his eyes on the fancy Lexus sedan parked across from him. Hours passed, and he watched others come and go. He checked his watch. She’d be leaving soon, possibly with another man.
He’d taken that into account, as well.
Nabbing a leather case from beside him, he exited his vehicle, and looking around the dimly lit garage, so as not to be taken by surprise, he made his way to the Lexus. With gloved hands, he slipped a small piece of paper onto the windshield of the vehicle.
On the car door keypad, he punched the code he’d watched her use a few times, when she’d mindlessly locked her keys inside, and crouched low in the backseat.
Waiting.
It wasn’t long before the first sounds of her familiar voice reached his ears where he lay across the rear foot well.
“I’m good. Catch you guys next week! Randy, don’t let that bitch drive. Way too many grapefruit crushes!”
A male responded with something incoherent, his voice growing distant.
The thump of her wipers told him she’d pulled the note from the windshield. Through the driver’s window, he could see her looking around the garage, as if she might catch a glimpse of who’d left it. With the paper held to her face, he could see her eyes move back and forth, reading his proposition, and a smile stretched across his face when her brows pinched together. The note fluttered out of her hand, and she bent forward, the scratch of the door telling him her hands were unsteady, likely trembling, as she tried to fit the key.
Her hands slid over the keypad, instead, and the vehicle lock popped. Discarding her bag on the seat beside her, she fell into the driver’s seat, the sound of her shaky breaths only goading his excitement. A strong, berry scent filled the car, gagging him where he lay. Floral scents were one thing, but sweet smells sickened him.
Shaky hands fumbled over the steering wheel to the ignition, in a futile attempt to start the car. To get away. Almost laughable, but he remained silent as he sat up and plunged the needle into her neck, watching her wide eyes droop with sleepiness while the tranquilizer took over. Gently cupping the side of her head, he lowered her across the console and stared down at her.
Blue eyes shifted back and forth, and warm pants of breath fanned his cheek.
If she could talk, she’d tell him sorry, for how she’d treated him earlier. She’d beg for her life and to be spared out of mercy. She might even give him the answer to his question, unflinchingly choosing to fuck him.
But it was too late for all that. He already knew what mask he’d make her wear. How he’d tuck her hair inside of it, just so. The color crimson he’d paint on her lips.
She would be his doll, his plaything, to do with as he wished. She’d never reject him again.
He’d make her virtuous and obedient. Gracious as a flower.
His Queen of the Night flower.
And in the morning, she would wilt away.
Just like the others.
10
Voss
I’m just stepping out of the shower when a knock at the door stops me in my tracks. After nabbing my gun set from the nightstand, I slink toward the bedroom window and, peering out, see Nola at the front door, biting her nails. A quick scan of the yard and driveway confirms there’s no one else, and I set my gun back where it was, before making my way to the door in nothing but a towel wrapped around my lower half.
Not that I mind the chick, , hell, she made a kids food-stained Star Wars T-shirt look like a wet dream, but I hope this isn’t going to be the same routine every day. I’m here to watch and observe her, not play some friendly game of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.
When I throw back the door, her eyeballs look as if they might pop out of her head. Decked out in a red flannel shirt, ripped up jeans, and Sherpa coat, with her hair twisted up in a red bandana, she looks like a woman who belongs in a ca
bin in the woods, on the cover of an Outdoor Living magazine.
Painfully attractive, in spite of being fully clothed.
“I’m … sorry. I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. Again.” Head tilted away, it’s obvious she’s trying not to look at my towel. “My car is parked at the bar, and I just wondered if you could give me a ride. I have to pick up my son in an hour.”
This is turning into exactly what I don’t need. “I’m supposed to be somewhere this morning, too. What about a cab?”
“Look, I wouldn’t ask, asking isn’t something I do, but I made a mistake last night. One I don’t intend to make again. If you can’t give me a ride, I’m happy to walk. I just thought I’d try first.”
“How far is the bar?”
“About five miles. Just up Grand Avenue. A straight shot.”
“It’ll take you an hour just to walk there.” Striding back into the bedroom, I nab a fifty from my wallet and return to where she’s still standing outside the door. “For a cab.”
Brows furrowed, she stares down at the cash, and when her eyes find me again, they carry sadness, more than anything else. “Never mind. Thanks, anyway.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, that I decided to cut loose a little bit last night. Which is a first for me. But see, fate doesn’t like when I do anything outside of busting my ass, so now I’m having to figure my shit out the next day.” With a huff, she shakes her head. “It’s not your problem, and I’m thoroughly embarrassed for having asked you. I’m sorry, you must think I’m some crazy helicopter landlord.”
“I’m starting to wonder.”
Her lips crack with a slight smirk, as her eyes shy away from mine. “Thanks for the offer. The cab. But it’s not that far. Have a … good day.”
“Why don’t you do yourself a favor and take the cash? It’ll save you some time.”
“Really, I’ll just walk. I probably need to walk off this hangover, anyway. Thanks, though.” Backing away from the door, she shuffles back down the stairs and off toward the sidewalk, like she’s really going to make that five-mile hike to get her car.