The Last Amen

by C. C. Jameson

  Checking the time on the kitchen wall, she wondered how long it had been already. Five, ten minutes?

  She returned to the living room, crashed on the couch, turned on the TV, and set it to a music channel. Halfway through the second song, she finally began to feel something other than pain and guilt.

  The corners of her lips lifted just as the weight on her shoulders faded away. Her thoughts fled to a land of happiness. Her surroundings suddenly began to look and feel different. Even the texture of the couch’s fabric was different. Softer, plusher.

  Music seemed to transcend space and enter her pores instead of just her ears. She got up and began to sway her hips, unable to resist the rhythm of the song. Amanda’s eyes were glued on the barely-dressed woman dancing on the screen in front of her, singing lyrics that made very little sense, when the sudden urge to eat came over her.

  She nearly ran to the kitchen. Opening the fridge door didn’t reveal anything particularly good, so she opened the pantry instead. The bag of salt and vinegar chips called out to her like she needed it to survive.

  She tore it open and her hand dove into the bag, scooping up a large handful which she stuffed down her mouth a second later.

  The salt was heavenly. The vinegar stung the insides of her cheeks with just the right bitterness.

  Then she spotted the wine bottle again and carried it back to the living room with her. Feeling happy for the first time in over a week, she wondered if taking the second edible would amplify her happiness. She craved more of it.

  Did he say I was supposed to take both at the same time?

  She went and grabbed her phone from her room and was debating if she should even bother with it. Deciding that it wasn’t worth the trouble of calling her friend to ask, she popped the other in her mouth.

  Tossing her phone on the coffee table, she returned her attention to the latest music video, this one more cinematographic, showing a young woman longing for her lover. The lyrical notes of the singer brought tears to Amanda’s eyes.

  Whether the edibles were to blame was debatable. The video had just reminded her of Lori. Her best friend who she’d no longer be able to see or talk to ever again.

  She crumbled onto the couch, her face buried in her hands, her eyes gushing tears faster than she thought possible when the doorbell buzzed.

  “What?” she asked aloud, surprised by the sound. It was late. She wasn’t expecting any company.

  After wiping her face with her hands, she mustered her strength and headed to the door.

  Maybe it was David…

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Amanda’s brown hair was a mess when she greeted him. Her lipstick stretched past the confines of where her lips ended, and crumbs specked her fitted shirt.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes puffy, watery, and red.

  “I thought you could use some company. Or something to get your mind off of her,” he said, lifting two tiny wine bottles up in the air.

  Her eyes darted to them, then she stepped aside to make room for him to enter. “Why the hell not?” she asked. “Oh! Sorry. I probably shouldn’t use that word around you.”

  “It’s all good. Don’t worry. I know young people use that term to sound cool.”

  He walked into the living room and noted another bottle of wine on the coffee table, but no glasses.

  “Young people. You don’t seem much older than me. But wait,” she said after closing the door. “How did you find my address?”

  “Remember that petition you signed? That info is now in the church’s database. Do you have glasses?” he asked.

  “Of course. Just… Just take a seat. I’ll bring some back.”

  Something felt a little off.

  He grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume a tad. He cringed, glancing at the singer exposing her body in such a shameful manner. She’s spreading evil thoughts. Then he decided to switch the channel to something else. Anything else.

  By the time Amanda came back with two wine glasses, he’d settled on a channel that aired classical music while displaying a slideshow of lovely landscapes.

  “How have you been?” he asked, accepting the glasses she offered before taking a seat on the couch.

  She exhaled loudly, then blinked several times. “To be bluntly honest, I’ve been better. I…” She shook her head, then tears began pouring out of her.

  He hesitated, unsure how to react. But then he realized it would be easier for him to cleanse her soul if she first trusted him. So he extended his arm and wrapped her shoulders, bringing her closer to his chest. Tapping her arm gently, he added, “There, there. Let it all out.”

  While she cried her little heart out, he analyzed his surroundings. No signs of a roommate, as he had guessed based on her Facebook posts. By the door hung only two jackets, which he’d seen on her before. Three pairs of shoes, all around the same size. No manly presence here. The photos spread around the living room only showed Amanda with some of her friends.

  “So, you don’t have anyone here with you to comfort you during this tough time?” he asked, just to double-check.

  She pulled herself away from him and he refrained from letting out a sigh of relief.

  “No. I…” She rubbed her face. “I’m feeling guilty. I didn’t want to be with other people.”

  “Not even your friend David?” he asked, reaching for one of the small bottles he’d brought.

  “Why don’t we finish off the bottle I’ve already started?”

  He felt his left eye twitch as the first part of his plan got slightly derailed, but knew she was right. He grabbed the other bottle and pulled on the barely re-inserted cork.

  “Did you want to talk about her? Or would you like us to pray together?” He poured wine into each of the glasses as he spoke.

  She exhaled loudly, then grabbed the bag of chips. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want.”

  Anger and impatience spread in his chest like a virus. He didn’t have all day. Twisting thoughts in his mind, he finally settled on something that could get her out of the room so he could resume his plan. “Do you have a photo of you and Lori together?” he asked.

  “Yes, in my bedroom.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  She paused and frowned at him. “I don’t want to take you to my bedroom.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant! Obviously, I’m not that kind of a man.” He placed his hand on the crucifix that hung around his neck. “Could you bring it here?”

  Her brows furrowed some more as she tilted her head left and right, then left. Something appeared off with her.

  Then she finally nodded and got up. “Be right back,” she said.

  Digging into his sleeve, he retrieved the tiny vial and dumped its contents into the glass that was closest to where she’d sat, then he added just a bit more wine to both glasses to mix his cleansing medicine.

  She returned just as he put the bottle down.

  “What did you do? Did you drink some while I was away, then topped your glass back up?”

  He smiled and shook his head, all the while thinking this wasn’t going well at all. “No, I just thought I’d try to finish that bottle off. There was very little left in it,” he said.

  “Here you go.” She handed him a small frame that showed the two women wearing fancy red dresses and grinning at the camera.

  “When was it taken?”

  “High school graduation,” she said, once again digging her hand into the bag of chips. “Want some?” she offered, holding the bag toward him.

  “No, thank you. Shall we toast in memory of your friend?” he suggested, grabbing his own glass.

  “Or just get wasted and forget all of this ever happened,” she said, reaching for her glass, clinking it against his so suddenly that some of its content splashed into his own glass, then she downed it all in one go.

  He didn’t dare drink from his own glass now, but he pretended, bringing the glass up and tilting
the glass so its contents barely touched his closed lips.

  She brought down her glass so hard it nearly broke, then she grimaced. “Argh! Wine doesn’t go well with salt and vinegar! I need to wash this down with something.” She got up, nearly tumbling over herself and headed to the kitchen.

  She came back a minute later, her face pale, holding a tall glass of water.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she said, wavering as she made her way back toward him.

  He watched her grab ahold of the wall.

  “What’s WRROONNG with me?” she yelled.

  “Shhh! Quiet! Everything’s good,” he whispered.

  “No! I’m NOOOTTT good!”

  He prayed that her walls were well insulated, that nobody had heard her, that his medicine would soon kick in and silence her.

  And it finally did, just as she crumbled to the floor, her glass shooting out of her grasp and landing in a loud crash, a few feet away on the kitchen floor.

  He fumed, annoyed beyond belief.

  Then three consecutive bangs echoed from underneath the floor.

  “Are you all right?” a man’s muffled voice shouted from below.

  He considered his options. Staying was risky. But then again, she was now passed out, she wouldn’t air a peep anymore. If he didn’t act now, he may never have the chance to do it again. She would not let him into her home another time.

  Should he clean up his prints? He began wiping the coffee table and thought about bringing the glasses to the sink, then realized there was no time for that.

  Plus he hadn’t really done anything that could get him in trouble. Yet. Someone banged on the door.

  His fast pulse echoed in his head. He fidgeted, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against each other. He needed to give himself a reason for being here. He knew she’d forget a big chunk of time when she awoke, but he wasn’t sure how much she’d still recall.

  Seeing her cellphone on the table, he grabbed it to dial his own number. He had left his phone behind, in case he ever was suspected. He knew that GPS tracking could end his holy mission.

  But now, since he hadn’t saved her, he’d just cover his tracks.

  The banging on the door repeated. “Amanda! Open up!”

  He grabbed his unopened bottles of wine, hid them back into this pants pockets then headed to the door to meet an angry-looking man. The man stood in front of him, his fist up in the air, as though he was about to bang on the door again.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Los Angeles, California

  Tuesday, June 26th, 2018

  What Pixie had seen on TV wouldn’t leave her mind, so she scoured the Internet looking for more information.

  Online papers and video snippets from TV channels only offered a handful of details, the police likely keeping the rest away from the public while the investigation was still ongoing.

  But she did find a strange conspiracy blog of sorts, with several photos of police perimeters. Whether or not the caption was true was up for debate, but the cop cars in the shots displayed the Boston PD logo she was familiar with.

  Pixie scrolled down some more until she saw a photo of a gurney with a black body bag. She glanced at the wall of text that followed, making her head spin. Swallowing suddenly became a chore. The anonymous blogger hadn’t bothered to include paragraph breaks, making the never ending stream of words uninviting, to say the least.

  She hit CTRL + F on her keyboard, and a little search field appeared. After entering the word “blonde,” she was rewarded with a handful of highlighted words within the never-ending paragraph. Her eyes jumped to a couple of lines prior to the first instance of the word, and she began reading:

  “The victim is blonde, in her early twenties. Lori Davis, according to the neighbors. The news later confirmed her name. Most of the neighbors were crying around me as we watched her body being taken out of the house, saying things like ‘such a lovely girl!’ ‘She lived with God in her heart. Who would do such thing?’ and ‘While her parents were away!’”

  Pixie hit the arrow to find the next instance.

  “A second blonde woman was found yesterday. My source at the police department hinted at something religious about the crimes and a weird way to pose the bodies.”

  That last bit piqued her interest, so she kept reading, hoping to learn more, but the blogger had gone off on a tangent about some other murders he’d heard about while growing up.

  She hit the arrow again to find the next “blonde” instance.

  “In both cases, the blonde hair was tied in a braid, and the victims wore clothes that weren’t theirs, but I couldn’t get my source to spill the beans here. And both scenes featured a religious theme, but once again I wasn’t able to obtain more precise information.”

  Fuck! she thought.

  It could be him. Was she certain? No. But it added up.

  She clicked to see where the other two instances of the word “blonde” appeared and read inane details about the blogger’s first girlfriend and how he still missed how her hair looked while the sun shone on it.

  “Pixie, sweetie! I’m back!” John said from the front door.

  “I’m in the bedroom!” Pixie yelled back, glancing at the rest of the article and deciding she’d wasted enough time on this.

  She closed her laptop.

  Why did she care so much? Even if it was him, she was safe now. John and she were far, far away from his deranged mind. Their plan had gone off without a hitch.

  John grinned at her as she moved her laptop over to the nightstand and tossed her legs over to the side of the bed.

  His arms wrapped around her and their lips met.

  “You had a good day?” he asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Boring work, but it’s over now. I’m ready to celebrate! What did you want to do?”

  She looked up to him, her heart swimming in gratitude for having met the perfect man for her. Not only had he tamed the crazy out of her—looking back, she was embarrassed at the things she’d done, the people she’d done—but he’d forgiven her and showed her what it was like to really love someone.

  And oh! did she love the man he was.

  Not every boyfriend would have uprooted their entire life and cut all ties—not to mention broken a few laws—to up and move to California without notice.

  “A full year of Californian freedom… I’d love to go to the Santa Monica Pier and get on that Ferris wheel. What do you say?”

  “Or we could head down memory lane. You could make more of those X-rated photos like you used to when we first met. Remember?”

  She punched him lightly on the shoulder, a big grin on her face. “Hey! They worked, didn’t they?”

  “I still remember those dial-up days… Watching the images fill my screen line by line… Those photos you shared…” His hands went to her breasts, groping her through her shirt. “You had—and still have—the tits of an angel.”

  “I thought you preferred my other shots? From behind, with my mini-skirt riding up, exposing myself.”

  “I loved every single one of your photos… You must have driven someone mad with desire where you had your photos developed.”

  “I did,” she said, undoing her shirt. “Alan Black, his name was. I still remember him like it was yesterday. He got to see a lot of failed shots, though. Oh, the money I spent on film back in those days.”

  “Developing them couldn’t have been cheap.”

  She peeled off her sleeves and tossed her shirt aside, propping her chest forward as she moved her arms behind her back to unclasp her bra. “That’s where you’re wrong. After the first roll, Alan and I came to an agreement. He got to keep some of the shots for himself and developed my films for free.”

  “Is it all he did?”

  “Well,” she started as she lasciviously stripped the bra off of her, watching the hungry grin grow on his face. “You know how horny I was back in those days. How about I show you what Alan and I did in his dark
room before you managed to tame my wild ways?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “Who are you?” the angry-looking man asked as he lowered his arm.

  “I’m a friend of Amanda. And you are?”

  “Her downstairs neighbor.” The big man eyed the other up and down for a few seconds before speaking again. “How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

  “We’re friends from church. I just came by to see how she was doing. You know… Considering that her best friend recently died.”

  “Hmm,” the big man said, frowning. “And what was that noise I heard? Why was she screaming?” He pushed his way into the apartment. “What the fuck?” He ran to her body lying on the floor, a tiny pile of vomit had somehow come out of her since he’d left her a mere minute ago. The broken glass and spilled water still littered the kitchen floor.

  “What happened here?” the big man asked as he rotated around.

  “She was already buzzed when I got here. She offered me a glass of wine, then next thing I knew, she started to freak out, and she fell.”

  The man looked at the two wine glasses on the table, one full, one empty.

  “And you were going to leave her like this?”

  He did what he excelled at and came up with an excuse on the fly. “No! I was going to knock on the neighbor’s door. Ask for help. Possibly get her to the hospital. I don’t have a car.”

  “Why should I believe you? What tells me you didn’t come in here to get her drunk, then take advantage of her?”

  “Because I’m still here, talking to you.”

  The big man proceeded to move her body to the side, placing her legs in such a way as to prevent her from rolling over. “I’m a paramedic. I’ll take care of her. Get out. And I don’t want to see you here ever again.”