Page 4

Billy

T he sun has started to set as I park in the lot across from Meaty Burgers, easing back in my seat. Brute was finished and picked up earlier than intended, so I’m here early.

I twist my moustache to soothe myself. My body is ready to jump out of its skin, waiting. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel doesn’t do enough, and I open the centre console to pull out a cigarette. I roll down my tinted window as I light it.

After a few drags, I sit up. Burger Boy is walking out of the building wearing jeans and a button down. He waits on the sidewalk as a woman with multi-coloured hair leaves the paramedic station next door and runs up to him. Her petite frame is dwarfed by his. They laugh together before he walks to her car, and she drives away.

He gets into his Honda Civic and pulls out of the lot. I follow him. He arrives at a seedy motel about fifteen minutes out of town.

The neon sign is broken, leaving only the O and EL glowing in the dim evening light. A pay-by-the-hour joint, the type you shoot up in or bring your skank.

Miles parks, and soon the same girl pulls in beside him. She steps out, and they hold hands before entering the front area. That’s not very boyfriendly of him, fucking prick.

Watching, I light another cigarette as they mosey down to the first room. My stomach jitters with anger. I want to get out and show Miles what a true fucking would be like... perhaps with a baseball bat or a lug wrench to take him for a spin.

I lean back in my seat. Crushing the cig butt into the ashtray, I crack my knuckles. What the fuck does Lucy see in this prick?

Less than an hour rolls by before the door to their room opens. Burger Boy has a grin on his face, his arm slung around her shoulder. They embrace and kiss before getting in their cars and going their separate ways.

Gritting my teeth, I swipe my hand over my jaw. Lucy deserves what I can give her, not this fuckwad. I seethe in the feeling of hatred for him. I’ll be more than happy to show him what fucking around on your girlfriend leads to.

I drive home, lighting another cigarette. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I answer it.

“Hey,”

“Billy, new job for ya. Sent the address to your phone. It’s a little weird, but nothing compared to prior jobs.”

“Thanks, man,” I say before hanging up.

Desperate people do weird things with their money. Keeping grandma forever on a couch is a weird way to celebrate Easter, but who am I to judge?

Over the years, these jobs have ranged from wives getting back at their husbands to using parts of them forever. Life hands me crazy cards and I just play ‘em. Pride in the work I do for the black market is fulfilling and keeps me at the top of the list for jobs.

The following afternoon, I drive up the laneway of Lucy’s house. The yard and dwelling come into view. A quick check of the cameras showed me that no one was home.

Broken branches line the sides of the driveway and the lawn is overgrown. I can help her fix this place up to be the fortress she needs .

The crunching of rocks beneath my tires resonates as I pull around the back of the property. The car jolts and groans on the rugged off-road path. With a quick reach into the backseat, I retrieve my bag and step out into the driveway.

Over my shoulder is a backyard cluttered with branches and various pieces of unwanted junk. The scent of musty rot fills my nose. What I’m guessing is the layers of dead foliage covering everything.

Further into the property are two buildings, both decrepit, but I can use the large barn and garage for my bigger projects. As much as I want to dive into them, my first task is to watch Lucy. I need to know she’s safe. After that, I’ll be tracking him more. Miles needs to pay for his sins.

When I come to the front of the house, a swing hangs at an awkward angle and the porch has a piece of plywood covering it. The boards were rotted out when I got the place, and I meant to fix it, but work got in the way.

If putting plywood down is his idea of repairing things, it explains why he’s such a waste of space. I don’t want her tainted by his touch anymore.

When I reach the door, I pull out my copy of the key I’ve made and enter the house.

In the empty living room, folded-up boxes are haphazardly stacked in the corner, adding a touch of disorder to the otherwise bare floor .

Walking into the kitchen, the white counter is broken, dirty plates sitting on top.

Lucy grew up in this type of mess, and I’ll break her of the habit if I must. Needing to see what’s happening when I’m not here, I position a new camera to capture the view of the entrance and activity in the dining room.

The hallway upstairs is long. Entering the first bedroom, I find a crumpled-up blanket strewn across the ground. She shouldn’t be sleeping on the fucking floor. I stomp through the space, anger filling my veins.

Lou deserves more. I might not be a good man, but I sure as fuck can provide better than this. Before leaving the room, I position another camera in the corner, careful not to disturb the delicate cobwebs.

Moving down the hall, I reach the next bedroom. It has a bed and clothes thrown all over the place. She and Miles are sleeping in different rooms? He’s so incompetent, he can’t even keep himself out of trouble.

Something has happened over the course of the last seven months since the funeral. Maybe she knows he’s a cheating dog, or he’s hurt her. With these better cameras, I’ll be able to tell. Out with the grainy potato-quality screens and in with the crisp new ones .

On my way downstairs, I look at the modem on the wide kitchen counter. Fucking with it, I give myself remote access to the Wi-Fi. I make sure nothing is out of place before locking the door and heading out to my car.

Maneuvering my Cruze down the dusty road, I pass Miles and grit my teeth. Revenge will be better in time. I’d like to beat the piss out of him now, but I have bigger plans for him.

I burn with the need to watch her. The darkness seizing control of my thoughts, fuelling a fiery frustration. Hunger has been creeping around the edges of my mind. It’s unfeedable until I have her in my possession.

Indulging in killing has been put on the back burner because of my clients. Although I had the recent pleasure of stuffing a priest’s flock and mounting them on a pew in the church’s basement, it isn’t enough for me to put my desires away.

I only make it fifty kilometers before the urge to kill is too much. Throwing myself into my job was supposed to take the edge off, working with the dead, delicately sewing their flesh into art for the wealthy. I’ve tried to stall the urge, but it consumes me like a pit that grows in my belly every day.

I get off the highway and pull into the parking lot of a seedy bar.

Walking inside, the air is filled with the smell of stale alcohol and sweat from bygone years. Few people are here, even though it’s a weeknight.

I hunker down on a stool, turning my hat backwards. The worn bar top needs repair. Music plays in the background and the lights are dim. I’ve never been nervous about picking victims up.

“Heya, sweetheart,” a feminine voice says from beside me.

I glance at the middle-aged woman. Her hair is more grey than blonde. She sits on the stool next to mine, dressed in a hot-pink shirt that might be painted on. Her face is scrunched up like she hasn’t taken a shit in days.

“Hey,” I mutter.

When the bartender makes his way down to us, I order a beer, while she asks for a gin with a giggle. How it’s funny is beyond me. With a quick scan of the bar, I find that she’s my only option.

Swallowing my annoyance, I turn and face toward her.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sylvia, and yours?” Her blue eyes are clouded with a stupor that only comes after several drinks.

“Miles,” I tell her.

“Do you like my shirt?” she asks. “I just got it. I have so many clothes, but it was a steal of a deal.”

I thinly smile, not really giving a shit.

“I sold a ton of clothes, because purging is important, but I just can’t stop myself from buying new things,” she yammers on. Sylvia is a headache in the making, and I know one beer isn’t going to make this any better.

“Cool.”

“My roommate moved out, only because I told her she’s messy. Can you believe that?”

I take a long pull from my beer, shaking my head.

She slurps her drink, droplets running over the glass edge as she holds it. “My boyfriend left, too. He said I need to grow up and take better care of myself, and that I’m sloppy and need to stop drinking. Like he’s so perfect.”

Finishing my beer, a dull ache at the base of my skull forms. Her voice irritates my brain cells. “He’s an idiot,” I tell her.

“Wanna get out of here?” she asks, running her fingers down my thigh.

My lust differs from hers, but we’ll make a compromise. “Sure.” I throw a twenty on the bar.

We stand up, her swaying, and she wraps her arm around my lower back for balance. On our way out to the deserted parking lot, I look around while guiding her to my car.

Once she settles into the passenger seat and closes the door, the scent of sweat and cheap perfume takes over the space. Lowering the windows for some fresh air, Sylvia mumbles about her boyfriend again. I turn up the stereo and metal reverberates through the car.

“A good drive with the air will help you sober up,” I tell her and she nods her head to the music.

Getting onto the highway, we drive for an hour until I reach my little podunk area. Driving to the back of the shop, I park and turn down the music.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“My house.”

“Uh. Okay.”

I slam the driver’s door and round the back of the vehicle. Reaching the passenger side, I swing open the metal frame and wait.

Sylvia has beautiful skin, and at her size, I think I’ll get a good haul. Anticipation zips through me.

“Let’s go,” I say and grasp her wrist and start walking.

As we reach the door and I turn to unlock it, she asks in her head-pounding voice: “Why don’t you have an apartment? I’m not some cheap whore.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” I whisper, letting go of her wrist.

Sylvia tenses next to me as we enter the building. As I flick on the lights, the brightness causes me to blink and flip the lock closed behind us. Her gaze runs over the metal table in the centre of the room, then to the floor where drains catch all the animal drippings .

“You’re into some kinky shit, eh?” Her eyebrow raises.

I silently tilt my head.

“Aren’t you going to answer me? I was ready for a good time, but I’m not sure about this.”

I cross the room to grab the restraints and smirk. “Of course. I expect a fun time.” A fluttering twists my stomach as I twirl the metal cuffs.

She fidgets with the sleeve of her skin-tight shirt before tucking hair behind her left ear. “Do you want me to get on there?” She points to the metal table. I’m glad I didn’t pick her for her brains.

I move forward and draw her near me. Her hair tickles my nose. Fear is such a particular scent, and as I take a deep breath, my mind relaxes.

“Yes, please,” I whisper into her ear.

She at least listens and lies back on the metal.

Holding her ankle, I attach each one to the table and her wrists. “Such a good job.”

She winks, and I keep up my fake facade of lust for a few minutes more.

Taking my hat off, I place it on the workbench before walking to my storage closet. I insert a CD into the system and turn up the volume.

Next I move to the compartment with my paper maché masks. I slide the silver one over my face, and as I turn around, the lust disappears from her expression. She widens her eyes while I saunter towards her.

Her nostrils flare as she pants, fear spreading over her features like a wildfire. Her flat, pressed in forehead perspires and her breathing quickens as she fights against the restraints.

“If you want to rape me, that’s fine. Just do it. But don’t kill me. I have a father. He’ll miss me if I’m gone.”

I wouldn’t fuck this cunt with Brute’s corpse’s dick. The only woman for me is not on this table.

“Alright, you caught me. I’m a sick fuck, you see?” I stroke her sweaty hair away from her face and undo her jeans.

Sylvia freezes under my touch. “When you’re done… you’ll let me go?”

I grab scissors from my back pocket and cut away her shirt, admiring the flesh underneath. Nothing but fresh canvas lies in front of me.

“Sure. Tell me about your father.” I spin around as I swap the scissors out for a scalpel.

“Um, this is weird.”

She’s not wrong. I can’t imagine thinking about my poor excuse of a mother while trying to fuck someone.

“Okay,” she starts, “he’s a good man. Lives in Toronto. Name’s Rooker Carter. He owns a floral shop.”

I file this information away for later.

“Excellent. Wasn’t so hard, eh?” I lean against the table and make my first cut.

The blade slices through her flesh with ease, peeling delicate strips of skin from her thighs. I glance up at her face. Tendons stand out on her neck as she fights the restraints. A bloodcurdling scream rises from her throat and echoes around the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demands.

“Making art.” I chuckle as I continue peeling the skin from the muscles. Her piercing screams only worsen my headache, but I love the sound.

Pieces of flesh tear under my fingers as she jerks on the table. I move to the metal workbench and place what I’ve collected so far on top.

My fingertips dig through the fat until I reach the coarse texture of the muscle. Exploring someone who is alive brings the light into my mind.

Her screams blend with the music from the CD, creating a one-of-a-kind new track. It’s like a massage for my soul, the feel-good craving I’ve been missing.

As the blood drips over my fingers, a tinny scent fills the air. Humans give off a certain sweetness that animals can’t, and I’ve missed it.

I guide her onto her stomach, blood still splattering on the table—I’ll have to clean it later.

Sylvia's screams start to lose their musical charm and I hit her in the back of the head with my fist. She twitches, but doesn’t make another sound. I make cuts from the nape to the bottom of her spine. Deep within me, there’s a burning desire to explore her organs, but I restrain myself for now.

The incessant flopping like a fish out of water has stopped, and checking her pulse, I find that she’s gone. Her blood cascades off the edge of the table, running down its legs and seeping through the drains.

I wipe my hands off on her remaining skin, leaving streaks of red, before placing what I’ve harvested into the salt. Once that’s taken care of, I head to the storage closet.

Despite the many ways to dispose of bones, I can’t risk alerting the fire department and losing everything over a violation of a fire ban.

I pull out bottles of hydrochloric acid. I’ve used it before for the animals, but it’s not my preference.

Opening the door, I’m greeted by the cool touch of the spring night air on my skin.

Grabbing my bone cutter, I turn back to where I left off. I cut her upper body into the right size pieces to fit in the tub. It was sloppy work—I wasted a lot of skin with my negligence—but there will be enough for some great leather-bound journals.

I pull on long gloves and pour the acid into the tub and add the chopped-up pieces of Sylvia into it. It starts to burn right away, bubbling and hissing.

I slip out of the way and inhale a deep breath of the fresh air from the door. The acid always makes my nostrils burn.

While I wait for her to break down, I turn back to the table and start cleaning it. Pouring bleach and water, I squeegee the mixture to the drains and work on the corners of the metal.

Once she’s mostly dissolved, I add whatever is left to go, including her clothes. After several buckets of water and bleach, the workstation is clean. I flick off the lights and lock the door.

Heading upstairs, I run water for a shower. My clothes are a wreck, and as I undress, I put them with my other work clothes.

As the water washes away all the blood from my skin. The black sludge that slips through my mind curls back into its crevices. Breathing is easier, and I’m happy again for now.

After stepping out of the shower and getting dressed, I grab a cold bean burger from the fridge. Heating it up, I place it in a bun with lettuce and mayo.

The springs of the couch groan as I plop down and kick my feet up onto the coffee table. I load the camera feeds up on my phone. Taking a bite of my dinner, I scroll through the footage. Miles isn’t around, and the house seems quiet.

When I move on to the next camera, I want to throw my burger across the room. She’s asleep on the floor again. It fucking breaks my heart, because she deserves all the good things in life and not the shit she’s been dealt.

Knowing Lucy is resting, I switch the video feed to my workshop and watch the acid as it works away.

Finishing the burger, I carry my phone to the bedroom and lay down. Once comfortable, I bring up the security feed of Lou’s room, of the woman who sings to my soul.

Lucy is a symbol of all that is perfect in the world. She warms my heart and makes me think I could be valuable. The beautiful soul wrapped in trauma is the woman I want to stand beside me. She’s burrowed into my mind.

I’ll do whatever I can to soothe her scars and show her what happiness is.