The Killing Kind

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

March 22

“What’s your fucking problem?”

Roxie had stripped down to T-shirt and black thong panties. Rob could see a tattoo of some sort on an inner thigh. There was another tattoo on her right foot. Words in Latin. He didn’t ask for a translation. He’d seen her bend over a time or two and knew there was yet another tattoo on her lower back. The T-shirt hid other illustrations he’d glimpsed in that gas-station bathroom. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor now, with the overstuffed tote bag in her lap, staring up at him with an expression betraying irritation and impatience.

Rob sat on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t moved from the position in well over an hour, ever since…

Oh, God…

A blood-stained vision filled his head and he felt sick all over again. At least she’d hauled the body into the bathroom. He hoped he wouldn’t have to see it again. Looking at what she’d done to the poor fuck made him want to tear his eyes out.

“Goddammit.” Roxie set the tote bag aside and came out of the cross-legged position to lean toward him on her knees. “I asked you a question. Answer me right now or…”

Rob frowned. He waited a beat. Then he said, “Or…what?”

Her expression went blank. “Or I’ll cut your face off, too.”

Rob nodded. “Yeah. That’s it, I think. My fucking problem, as you put it, has a lot to do with you cutting that kid’s face off. What kind of sick bitch are you?”

Roxie continued to stare at him blankly for several moments, that dead expression unsettling him nearly as much as any of the atrocities he’d witnessed today. Then her eyes opened a bit wider, a reflected glint of light from the overhead bulb hinting at a twisted playfulness. “You know what’s really interesting, Robin?”

“I really don’t want to know.”

She laughed. “What’s really interesting is the way you sat right where you are now the whole time I was in the bathroom. That was, what…at least fifteen minutes? Yeah. At least fifteen, between dragging that dead boy in there and showering off. And you just sat here. Didn’t budge an inch, far as I can tell. You’re not cuffed or tied up. You could have slipped out and gotten away, no problem. Now why is that, Robin? Why did you stay?”

Oh, shit. She’s right…

Rob groaned. “I was…I don’t know…numb. Out of it. In shock. Scared to death. I didn’t know what was happening. I just…I…”

Roxie leaned closer to him and crossed her forearms over his knees. The playful, twisted gleam in her eyes sparkled brighter as she stared up at him. “Bullshit. You stayed because you wanted to. Because this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in your whole life. Because I’m the most exciting thing that’s happened to you.” The small smile that curved the corners of her mouth stirred a maddening desire to kiss her. “Admit it, you’re enjoying the ride. You don’t want it to end.”

Rob shook his head. “Bullshit. You’re crazy. This…” He looked helplessly around the room, eyes darting about, taking in the large, sticky stain behind Roxie, the bloody scalpel propped atop the glass ashtray on the table, and the hideous thing stretched tight over the cover of the Gideon Bible on the dresser. The face mask. He looked Roxie in the eye again. That playful quality hadn’t diminished an iota, had only amped up as she watched him mentally cataloging the horrors. “This is insanity. Pure insanity. I don’t want to be here. I don’t think I was…conscious of being left alone or I wouldn’t be here now. You’re evil. Pure fucking evil.”

A shuddery sigh escaped trembling lips.

His eyes began to water.

Roxie tossed her head back and laughed with gusto. “Oh, Robin…and you wonder why I call you that? You’re such a scared little girl.” More laughter. “But no, that’s not right. A girl would be smarter. A girl would’ve run. I think a better word for you would be…let’s see…” She rolled her eyes around a bit, pursed her lips, and tapped her chin with a forefinger. “Got it!” She snapped her fingers. “The word for you is…pansy.“

She giggled. “Robin the sissy-wissy pansy.”

The words stung. Mostly because her accusation seemed to be sort of true. Never in his life had he felt so physically cowed by another human being. No schoolyard bully could ever have done this to him, nor any badass biker or street thug. The helplessness he felt in the presence of this girl made him feel like a piece of shit. Weak. Useless. Pathetic.

In other words…not like a real man.

He realized he was shaking again and this only intensified the self-loathing.

Robin, he thought. She’s right. It fits.

Roxie uncrossed her arms and ran a hand up his thigh. “You need to calm down. I think I know a way I can help you relax.”

Rob pushed her hand away from his crotch. “No.”

Her smile slipped some. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Roxie’s expression turned smoldering, just shy of murderous. “Bitch, you don’t get to say no to anything I want.” Her hand slid up his thigh again and roughly cupped his crotch. “You really think this is gonna stay limp when I start working on it?”

The answer to that was already obvious. Rob tried to twist away from Roxie, but she pressed a hand against his chest and shoved him backward. She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, writhed against him, rubbing her pubis against the hard bulge straining the fabric of his jeans with raw, unbridled enthusiasm. She braced her hands on the mattress and leaned close to him, sneering as she continued to grind her pelvis. “What about it, Rob? You want me to stop that?”

Rob’s helpless whimper was the only answer necessary. She kept at it for a while, driving him mad with the need for physical release. A cascade of emotions swirled through his head. Hate, lust, shame, and anger. Then she climbed off him and left Rob panting there as she picked up her tote bag and took a seat at the little table by the window. He stared up at the ceiling through a mist of fresh tears. Some time passed and a little of the unfulfilled need began to dissipate, a greater swelling of fresh shame rushing in to take its place.

What the fuck is wrong with me? How did that happen?

It hardly mattered how it had happened, really. She had proven a point and there was no way to refute it. He wanted her. Even now, after bearing witness to the awful things she’d done, the most primitive part of him looked at Roxie and responded first with consuming lust. But the feelings her near-perfect body stirred didn’t negate the horror of her heinous acts. That lust was totally apart from everything else he felt about her. And one way or another, he swore, he would not allow himself to become a prisoner to those baser feelings.

I’m still me, he thought. I‘m not the monster.

A fucking pansy, maybe, but nope, not a monster.

The thought triggered a helpless laugh.

“What’s funny?”

Rob stifled another laugh. “Nothing.”

“I don’t like not being in on the joke. Maybe I should come over there and be mean to you. And I mean really mean, Robin. Not like a few minutes ago.”

Rob knew she meant it. So he told her.

“That’s not funny.”

Rob sat up and shrugged. “I’m sorry. It just made me laugh.”

Roxie grunted and her attention went back to a magazine spread open on the table. She had one leg crossed over the other, foot jiggling as she slowly turned the pages. Her toenails were painted black, like her fingernails. The polish was beginning to fleck away. The sole of her foot looked soft and free of calluses. She had the kind of slender ankles that always looked good in high heels.

Roxie chuckled.

Rob flinched and lifted his eyes. “Huh? What?”

Another chuckle. “Foot fetish, Rob?”

He felt heat in his cheeks. “I guess I was staring.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind. I do have nice feet.” She laughed. “The rest of me ain’t bad, either.”

Rob swallowed a lump. “Yeah…”

Roxie turned another page, appeared to read a few paragraphs, and then directed a cool, level gaze at him. “So…this sex thing. It’s gonna happen.”

Rob lowered his eyes. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Look at me.”

He looked at her. Waited.

She turned yet another page of the magazine, but this time didn’t even glance at it. “Ain’t no guessing involved. Rob.” She smiled. “Question is, we go for it right now or draw out the anticipation a little longer?”

“I don’t know, Roxie. It’s whatever you say, obviously.”

“No shit.”

“But before it happens…I have a question or two for you…if that’s okay.”

Roxie shrugged. She flipped the magazine shut, the bright and garish cover drawing Rob’s attention for a moment. It was an old issue of Rue Morgue, the one with Lux Interior on the cover. She laced her fingers over her knees and leaned back in her chair. “Ask away.”

“You’ve killed six people today.”

She smiled. “Impressive. Little Robbie can count.”

“Is this…a normal day for you? Because I don’t see how you could still be walking around…”

She shook her head. “No, Rob. Duh.” She put special emphasis on the last word and rolled her eyes. “I’d be, like, the most prolific serial killer fucking ever if I were doing that.”

“So…what’s the deal?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t kill people all the time. Hell, I go months without doing it sometimes. Then something happens, some kind of trigger, like this morning, and I go off on a fucking spree. It’s just something I have to get out of my system and then I’m back to normal for a while. Well…normal for me.”

“How many times have you done this? How many people have you killed?”

She made her head swivel around on her slender neck, pulled her features into an expression of exasperation. “Christ, Rob, I don’t know.” She unlaced her fingers, moved the digits up and down and silently mouthed numbers as she pretended to count. “Let’s see…first time I killed a dude I was sixteen. That was my dad.”

“Jesus.”

Roxie ignored the comment and went on. “I’m twenty now. I’ve had a bit more than a half dozen of these…explosions. And in between I’ve offed a few random fucks when it was convenient for me. Needed money, a car, or something. Shit, I don’t know. I’d say I’m up to at least thirty, maybe forty.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

Rob felt dizzy. He gripped the edge of the mattress to keep from pitching over. The enormity of the number rocked him, forcefully reminded him this wasn’t just some cute girl he was having a flirty conversation with in a bar. Based on all he’d seen today, he had no reason to doubt her or suspect exaggeration. If anything, the number she’d come up with was probably a conservative estimate.

“You look sick.”

“I feel sick.”

“We should probably fuck now. It’d get your mind off it.”

Rob massaged his eyes with the heels of his hands, blinked hard, and stared at her. “You like killing, don’t you? Jesus, you actually enjoy it.”

“No shit, Rob. Any other observations, Captain Obvious?”

“Another question.”

She sighed. “One more. That’s all.”

Rob hesitated. This was the big one. The one he was most afraid to ask. He had to force the words out. “Why am I still alive? Why lure that boy here instead of just killing me?”

“You are so fucking dense.”

“What do you mean?”

Another sigh. “Thing is…I think I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you.”

He stared at her and his mouth worked for a time with no words coming out. Then he closed his mouth and thought for a minute before at last managing to squeeze out two simple words: “Like…how?”

“As in like like, stupid.”

“But…you don’t even know me.”

“I know you enough. I can’t really explain it. Being next to you all day just sort of felt…right? You know?”

Rob shook his head. “No. I don’t know.”

“I think you do. You do, and you’re just trying to hide from it.”

“No.”

“Yes. It’s that simple human-chemistry thing. That special heat you feel only once in a while, with someone really special. I felt it almost from the beginning.” She slid out of the chair and came across the floor to him on her hands and knees, moving right through the big, wet stain where the boy had bled out on the floor. She crossed her arms over his knees again and smiled up at him. “Yeah, I’ve been a fucking cunt to you. But that’s just how I am.”

Her hands were moving up his thighs again, pressing firmly as they reached for his crotch.

Rob gulped. “Oh, God…”

She slithered up his body and pushed him backward onto the bed. She straddled him again and leaned close, her soft lips less than an inch from his. His hands went to her knees, brushed flakes of drying blood, and almost jerked away again. Almost. “You want to stay alive, Rob? Here’s my advice to you.” Her tongue flicked his lower lip, eliciting a shudder. “Stay interesting. Let me know you feel it, too.”

Rob’s hands moved from her knees, up silken thighs, over her delectably round ass, and settled at the small of her back. She let the full weight of her body settle against him and they writhed slowly against each other, maintaining eye contact, still not kissing.

Then his hands went to her shoulders and he rolled her over.

She laughed.

A sound he silenced with his mouth.

It was hungry, fierce, desperate.

Electric.

And Rob screamed at the end.