Page 75 of X Marks the Stalker
“Good girl. Then we’ll leave it there for now. Until it’s safe.”
Oakley’s nose crinkles. She leans forward, sniffing. “What’s that awful smell?”
I nod toward the rear seat where the small plastic waste bin sits. “Had to bring your puke bin. Couldn’t leave it there. We’ll dump it en route.”
“Oh.” She turns away, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as we pull onto the empty street. The clinic recedes in the rearview mirror, pristine and ordinary on the outside. No one would ever guess what happened inside.
After several minutes of silence, she turns back to me. “What did you do with the body?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Did you put it in the trunk?”
I almost laugh. “God no. That’s the best way to get caught.”
Her brow furrows. “Then where?”
“Still in the clinic.”
“You want it discovered?” Her eyes widen, reflecting the passing streetlights.
“Of course.” I merge onto the highway, light strobing across our faces in hypnotic patterns. “What’s the point if nobody knows? If a tree falls in the forest...”
I exit at a rundown industrial area miles from both the clinic and my apartment. The streetlights here flicker, most of the businesses dark and shuttered for the night. Perfect.
“Why are we stopping?” Oakley asks, tension creeping back into her voice.
“Evidence disposal.” I pull behind an abandonedwarehouse, headlights illuminating a massive dumpster overflowing with construction debris. “Won’t be a minute.”
I grab the bin from the back seat, the smell hitting me again. Oakley watches through the windshield as I cross to the dumpster, lift its rusty lid, and dump the bin’s contents deep among broken drywall and rotting lumber. The bin itself follows, disappearing into the waste.
A stray cat darts away from the noise, the only witness to our visit. I return to the car, hands now empty, and pull back onto the road.
“Cleanup complete,” I say, merging back onto the highway.
“My hero.”
“Here to serve.” I pause, a thought surfacing. “I wish I had a cool nickname. Like The Gallery Killer.”
Oakley studies me, her expression shifting. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “The Surgeon?”
I shake my head. “Too on the nose.”
“The Mirror Man?”
“That sounds like I sell vanity furniture. And the mirrors were a one-time thing.”
She taps her fingers against her thigh. “The Symmetrist?”
“That’s not even a real word.” I take the exit ramp.
“The Justice Junkie?” A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth.
I shoot her a look, eyebrow raised. “I’m not an addict.”
“The Night Doctor?”
“Better, but still medical. Too specific to this kill.”
“The Brain Drain?” Her smile widens.
“That’s terrible. You’re terrible at this.” I can’t help the answering smile.
