Killer Scents

Probably so she can stuff her face in peace.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he took a plastic container from his bag and lifted the lid with an air of drama. “I brought you something.” He took out half a cake with candles on it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember eating a cake just like this?”

Her head shook from side to side vigorously. As he tore the tape from her mouth, a pain-filled shriek rippled through the house.

“Oh, God, please... Why are you doing this to me?” Spittle and snot covered her mouth and chin.

“Think about it really hard. It will come to you.” He didn’t wait for a response before forcing her mouth open and cramming the cake into it. She tried to turn her head to the side but was no match for him.

“Do you remember now?”

Her mouth was so full of cake it muffled the sound of her coughing and sputtering. Her eyes bulged.

“Why did you have to eat the whole cake? You fucking cow.”

He briefly closed his eyes to rein in his anger. He then took a deep, cleansing breath before fishing a needle, one used by veterinarians to stitch through the thick hide of animals, from his bag. Heavy weight fishing line settled against his pant leg as he rested the needle on his knee to don surgical gloves and a mask. He picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned up the volume before setting it back beside a container of moist towelettes.

Snot bubbled from his captive’s nose, and her pupils dilated while she struggled to remain conscious.

Oblivious to anything else, he tore off another length of tape with his teeth and ran it across her hairline, securing it to the back of the couch and the edge of the coffee table to keep her from moving her head.

He wanted her eyes to remain open, but kept his own line of vision on the task before him. After a deep, steadying breath, he pierced the center of her bottom lip, completely pulling the line through before repeating the action to her top lip. She grew rigid and tried in vain to escape, her screams muted by the cake in her mouth. Once her lips were secured together, he proceeded to sew her entire mouth shut. He took a few of the wipes and cleaned the blood from her face before replacing the soiled gloves with a fresh pair. He then meticulously cleaned every surface he’d touched.

Barely lucid, Sandra stopped fighting him long ago. Big crocodile tears rolled from the corners of her eyes into her hairline.

“Don’t worry, it’s almost over.”

He checked his pistol one last time and stepped forward, standing on the arm of the sofa by her feet. Her eyes grew big, terror dancing behind dilated pupils. In a final attempt, she struggled against her bindings.

Calmly, he took aim and pulled the trigger. Her body bucked once before settling in a pool of fat. The putrid stench of feces wafted up from under her. He felt no remorse ripping the tape from her head, uncovering a perfect hole in the center of her forehead. Her position allowed for very little spillage. He wiped around the hole and stood back to admire his handiwork.

Perfect.

Satisfied, he gathered his dirty cloths and gloves, along with the needle and tape before taking the azalea out of its protective sleeve and pushing the stem through her clasped hands.

At the door, he paused to give the room a final once over. If anyone were to look through the window he doubted they’d find anything amiss at first glance. There were no blood-spattered walls or signs of struggle. Sandra Bedows appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the couch until one looked a little closer to find a bright pink azalea in her hands and her mouth sewn shut. The gunshot seriously looked like someone had taken a marker and drew a perfect hole between her eyes.

Feeling very smug, he slowly turned the door handle. Just like he’d planned, the sun had begun its decent, offering him a veil of darkness to escape undetected. He looked up and down the street, waiting a few seconds for a car to pass before rounding the corner of the house and slipping away into the night.

Chapter Two

“You do realize not everyone is like your former patients passing through life on drugs and shock therapy?”

“Of course.” Susan rubbed her ever-present hanky over the glass tabletop, a gesture she’d done since they’d sat for tea.

Becca loved her sister’s best friend, but it became more and more difficult for them to have a pleasant visit. Her paranoia and OCD about having a clean home consumed her.

“Do you know what you need?” Susan asked.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“When’s the last time you had a man in your bed?”

“You don’t really think I’m going to answer that question, do you?” Heat flooded Becca’s face. “Besides, I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh my, are you blushing? Come on. Out with it. You might as well tell me, because you know I won’t stop bugging you until you do.”

“It’s no big deal. After Jack’s funeral, I went to the bar and had a few too many margaritas. Then in walks one super-hot guy, and the next thing I know we’re in a room upstairs having the most intense sex I’ve ever had in my life. I left before he woke up and never laid eyes on him again.”

“You’re making this up,” Susan insisted.

“Nope. I wish I was. I don’t even remember the guy’s name, but he called me Red. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. Your turn.”

“Jeremy Wilson, happy now?”

“Jeremy Wilson? Are you telling me it’s been twenty years since you’ve been with a man?”

“Just because I don’t have a man in my life doesn’t mean I don’t have a satisfying sex life. I’ll have you know, some of the best orgasms are self-induced. Besides, did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m happy here on my own? For twenty years the only time I’ve ever had to myself was when I closed my eyes, and even then my patients found their way into my dreams.”

“There’s a whole big world out there between the hospital and here, you know.”

Susan balled up her hanky, agitated. “Is that what you tell yourself?” She narrowed her gaze at Becca. “What do you do with your time between visiting Jack’s grave and riding around on that motorcycle? I mean, aside from your drunken one-night stand.”

“Touche.”  Becca raised her cup and drained the last of her tea. “And on that note, I’ll leave you in peace to do whatever it is you do here every day, all day, on your own.”

“Don’t be like that. I don’t expect you to understand. Just know that I’m okay.” Susan lightly patted her hand and immediately wiped it on her hanky.

Becca pushed away from the table and picked up her helmet from beside the chair. “Okay, but promise me if you need anything—and I mean anything—you’ll call me?

Her friend smiled. “Yes, I promise.” She picked up the cups and stepped over to the sink. “Lock the door behind you.”

“You got it. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.” Becca stepped out onto the front porch scattered with potted mums of yellow and red. She smiled at the colourful, homey touch and made her way down the stone walkway to her bike. What gives me the right to judge her or anyone for that matter? With a heavy sigh, she straddled her bike and turned the key.

Would I have ended up a recluse like her if my father hadn’t left me his bike? What would’ve happened if I had stayed in the room that night? She pushed the thoughts from her head.

“There’s no turning back the clock.” She flipped up the kickstand. The sun still shone high in the sky, and she paused at the end of the driveway to slip on her sunglasses before turning onto the street.

The mere mention of her partner, Jack, had her heart aching. Almost a year had passed since that horrific day he was shot. If she had dismissed protocol and followed her gut instinct, she could’ve saved his life. She would’ve taken the perpetrator down before he had the chance to point his gun at Jack’s head and pull the trigger.