Page 10 of Worse Than Wicked
“This is hella nice,” Duke says, looking around as we set our stuff down inside the Cape Cod style house. “It looks small from the outside, but you didn’t skimp on materials, did you?”
“Why would I?” Mabel asks, unlocking the cat carrier and opening the door. “Just because I couldn’t have insurance cover it, that doesn’t mean I want it to be cheap.”
Boots stalks out, waving his tail in irritation, ignores Mabel, and jumps down to walk away. He stops in the doorway to the hall, ears flicking, and looks up and down.
“The builders didn’t clean up very well,” Duke says, picking up an empty, clear plastic cup from the sink. Half a dozen more are cluttered there, takeout iced-coffee cups with the local coffee shop’s logo printed on the side.
“I guess I forgot to have them buy a trash can,” Mabel says, going to the cabinet under the sink. She opens a box of trash bags and shakes one out, holding it open while Duke drops the cups in.
“Wait.”
Duke stops, the last cup hovering in midair, waiting for my inspection.
“There’s lipstick on the straw,” I point out.
“So?” Mabel asks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Was your aunt here?”
“I had someone come in and furnish the place,” she says. “They left their cups, that’s all.”
“Who?” I ask, scowling at her.
She shrugs, looking into the bag when Duke drops the last cup. She ties it without looking at me, then starts for the front door.
“It was that pink-haired bitch from the ice cream shop,” I say. “Wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know that many people around here,” she says, letting the screen door bang shut behind her. I don’t know why it irritates me, that she’s still in contact with the coworker we met last summer. I could go through her phone and see all their correspondences if I wanted. I check her phone sometimes. I like to know what she’s looking at, who she’s talking to. And sometimes I do it just because I can.
“Who cares?” Duke says. “It’s a chick. She’s not fucking her, and even if she did before, so what? She fucked those men too. It’s in the past. Let’s go check out the rest of the house.”
He goes to the French doors, sliding them open to step out onto the deck. Icy December air barrels into the room, and he steps back in quickly. “Damn. That’s brutal.”
None of us have seen the new house she had built while we were in Tennessee, so we go to explore the other rooms. After Duke burned down her aunt’s house, Mabel couldn’t file an insurance claim without the risk of them finding out it was arson, or worse, going through it and finding evidence of the murder I committed there.
My first kill.
The first one that was entirely on my hands. I let myself savor the moment in my mind often—the sensation of the knife sawing through his throat, the gush of warm blood. I only wish I’d seen his face when I did it. Still, the power I took from him remains. It’s faded now, but the dissatisfaction of not seeing the light disappear from his eyes lingers. I want to try again, but I haven’t let myself indulge. The risk is too great.
Who would I kill, anyway?
“Looks like she made herself at home in here too,” Duke says, gesturing to the California king in the master bedroom. It’s made up and ready for us—or someone else. The two guest rooms have furniture, but the beds haven’t been made. Mabel didn’t have her set up everything or decorate. It’s supposed to be furnished, nothing more.
I decide to look into the girl more after all. I didn’t bother with her after we left last summer. It didn’t affect us anymore. We were back in Tennessee, and everything that happened here was behind us, including a random coworker with no social media to speak of.
Or so I thought.
Maybe I can finally see the light fade from someone’s eyes after all. Once I satisfy the craving, exactly as I want it, it’ll go away. The thrill will last me a lifetime. It won’t be like the man I killed in the house that used to stand here, or the one who stepped off a bridge. I still remember the way the wooden beams underfoot shuddered when he hit the end of the rope. The look of terror and surrender in his eyes when Royal ordered him to jump. That brought me higher than if I’d pushed him. But I shared that kill with my brothers.
Jane was mine alone. The closest I’ve come to the kill I wanted. In the dark, though, I couldn’t see her eyes as the light faded, as she struggled to draw her last breath before it gave out. I left her in her shallow grave before I had time to really savor my victory, my triumph, because I saw that Mabel wasn’t at home, that her location wasn’t where it should have been, where I told her to stay.
Next time, I’ll get it right, do it perfectly, with more precision and leisure. I want time to revel in my kill, not to do it in a moment of passion, without a plan to dispose of the body or enjoy it while it’s happening. Each kill was purposeful,intentional, and none were mistakes. But they were practice for the next one, the one I crave, the perfect crime.
Ingrid Wells.
She could be exactly what I need.
Later, after dinner, I hook up my computer and set up everything I need. While Mabel and Duke go to the store to stock up on supplies for the week, I start digging. By the time I hear them return, it’s later than I expected. I lost track of time, and I’m impatient to talk to Mabel. I head into the kitchen to meet them.
