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The Vengeful Lover
The silence was eerie; the air of the previous acts still lingering. I was trembling, as I always would after completing a job. My accomplice—Alexandre, always serene and calm as if this were nothing.
I had become filthy rich doing these dirty jobs; I didn’t know what life would be like without her duty. My past few years on the job had paid for my gorgeous three-acre home. Hallway after hallway, room after room, always empty. I lived alone, but she wasn’t lonely. I was what you could call a ‘cha-cha diva’. I would work by night, raking in the big bucks. That would leave my mornings free to sleep in, and then to go out to fancy brunch cafés with my many gentlemen callers. I had no real friends, just acquaintances. I always thought, though, that having friends was pointless when I had everything I needed already. Company wasn’t something I would seek, but I had it, from men, nonetheless. Not many knew of my work, but I was diligent and thorough. My accomplice, Alexandre, was as well. He was a very handsome French man, with a big heart and a powerful mind to go with it. He was a great actor too. He was capable of doing all sorts of accents; it was easy for him. I always wondered why he had decided to go into cement work, instead of the theatrical world. I found him by accident, looking through a newspaper one day. I called him to do cement work around my pool, and things escalated tremendously after that. He was a wonderful accomplice, until the wretched day when his voice became my biggest threat.
I began this dirty job about three years back, with one man. I had given this man everything I had. I gave myself whole-heartedly. Body, mind, and soul. This man had ripped my heart to shreds he left me completely heart-broken, heart—broken and revenge—hungry. I couldn’t take such a terrible pain so he had to suffer too.
One night, after the 55th murder with Alexandre, they got to talking. It was a hot July night—the hot winds plastered our sweat-drenched hair against our disgustingly sticky skin, and we were reminiscing about the adrenaline of that night’s murder.
“I remember that exact night I decided what I had to do,” I said, “I was revenge—hungry, and that jerk needed to pay for what he’d done to me.”
“How’d you do it?” Alexandre asked, although he already knew the answer.
“Well, I still had the keys to his place. He had a shotgun hidden in the back of his closet. He was lying there asleep on the couch with the television still going. This used to drive me insane when we were together. Anyways, I tied his feet and hands down to the edges of the old couch. I crept up behind him, and using the red handkerchief he’d given the month before I tied up his mouth. I then slapped him conscious. He tried to get away, but I had him trapped—just the way I wanted him. I screamed—yelled: “You brought this upon yourself!! Three years I wasted on you, three years I gave you, and for what?! I gave you everything, Michael! Everything! And you threw it in my face and slept with the new town trash! You’re expecting me to let you go, without a worthy revenge? Don’t be STUPID, Mikey, you should know me better by now after three years of being together!” and then I took the shotgun out from the closet, pointed at him, my heart was beating a thousand miles an hour, my hands were shaking and sweaty. I almost pulled the trigger. But I stopped. Shooting him was too impersonal. He needed something that brought us closer. So I went into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. After that it’s somewhat of a blur. After that I remember sitting on top of him, holding the knife above his chest, his pained screams muffled by the handkerchief, and his movement limited by my body on his. I remember screaming as I drove that knife into his chest “You jerk! You brought this upon yourself! You didn’t deserve to live in the first place!” Ten times. Ten times I drove that filthy knife into his fleshy chest. It was then I realized what I’d done. I rolled him up in his favorite tie-dye rug, and put him in the back of my car. The cement around the pool had just been laid; your workers arrived the next morning. Y’all did your work quickly and I paid you. After you guys left, I removed the fresh cement with an old shovel. I laid his dead body there and covered it back up, smoothing it out as much as possible.”
“And that’s how it all began,” Alexandre laughed malevolently, and she joined into the laughter.
“Yes, my dear that is how it all began. The thrill of the death. Something I seek now, something I need to continue on.”
We finished our drinks and went upstairs. The next day he left, like nothing had happened the night before.
I was lying in my fresh pool, enjoying the hot July sun. My dark, black hair loose against my back, my Hispanic features popping out in the sunlight; she was smiling and singing along as I played my favorite Bacilos song over the loudspeakers in my backyard. I was relaxing; my head slightly up, admiring my house. A gorgeous three—acre mansion, with pool and hot tub, and with enough rooms to fit the entire town! Floating around in my favorite pool lounge chair, I heard her cell phone ring. I turned over meticulously; making sure my cell phone would not fall into the pool. I settled in, slightly sat up, and answered the ringing telephone.
“Hello?” I answered into the phone’s receptor, and heard breathing and a series of clicking sounds. Instantly recognizing the code, I followed up with giving her the clue (a big ring in the shape of a poppy on her right middle finger), and where to meet up with.
I got up, got dressed in my usual business attire, along with the big ring on my right middle finger, and drove to the local coffee shop, the one that never had any customers.
I sat down, pulled my sunglasses down, pulled out a magazine, and began tapping my ring on the table. Impatiently. I then heard the ‘ding’ from someone entering the store and footsteps approaching me. I looked up from the magazine and saw a woman standing above me, admiring my ring. The woman then winked twice, and sat down.
After looking at me for a bit, the woman began gently weeping, hunched over, “help me please, please.”
“That’s what I’m here for! Murder is our name, revenge is our game. What can I do for you?” I said to her, softly but enthusiastically, hoping that this murder be as good as the last.
Breathing hard and gently weeping the woman whispered, “There’s this man, this horrid, wretched man. He thinks I’m crazy; crazy he says! I gave him seven years of my life; I gave him my womb—a baby girl and twin boys. And for what?! For him to leave me the second a ‘sane’ secretary came into his life?! I’m not crazy, I’m simply precise. I like things done a certain way is all. And, I know you’re very meticulous with your work. You did a job for my sister a couple years back, and I like the way you did it. I’m revenge hungry; this fool needs to die for what he’s done to me, to us, to his family. Are you interested?” The woman looked up at me.
I smiled and nodded gently, “Why of course ma’am, we would love to work with your case. Now I have an opening for tonight, where does he live?”
“Ok, his name is Michael Christensen. He lives at 41995 Mesra lane,” The woman cleared her tears, handed me $500, and then added, “Make him hurt, please, make him hurt. Bad. I will be back tomorrow afternoon at 3pm to give you the rest of your money.”
I nodded, shook her hand, and walked out ten minutes after her. As I sat down in my car, I began dialing Alexandre’s number.
“Yes, my Latina lover?” he answered sensuously.
“We’ve got a new case on our hands. And I’ve got the best death in mind.”
“I’m going back to my place now, come over as soon as you can, my pet, for we shall celebrate our new mission and file this plan down to a perfect point!”
I hung up the phone and started my car, singing all the way home. Once I arrived back home, I took off my business attire and got into my favorite bikini—to sunbathe and plan out the murder at the same time. I smiled as I heard Alexandre’s Mustang pull up, and arranged myself in a more sensual pose.
“I’m in the backyard, corazoncito,” I yelled out, indicating my need of him.
He waltzed into the backyard, spotting me lying on my favorite towel, waiting for him. I was on her stomach, a piece of paper in front of her.
“Starting without me, I see?” He smirked and locked eyes with me. He laid down next to me. We kissed for a bit and got right back to work.
“This woman gave him three children, and he’s leaving her for his secretary. He says she’s crazy! Little does he know, what’s crazy is the way he’ll die. She wants him to suffer, and I do too,” I said, grinning evilly.
We worked diligently all through the afternoon. That night, when all was dark, we drove to 41995 Mesra lane. The full moon shining upon my black silky hair, giving my facial features a frightening, ghostly look. Her evil smirk stood out amongst the rest, she had everything she needed in her purse. First, went Alexandre. He was in his cement worker jumpsuit. He had his hard hat on as well; he had to play his part right. He knocked on the door, ‘thump, thump, thump.’ There was movement inside the house, and the door slowly opened.
“Can I help you?” groaned out a rough voice from behind the glass door.
“Yes, sir! I am Gaston Armistead, and I’m here to tell you about our new offers for new cement for your driveway!! For every five feet of cement, you get one absolutely free!” he exclaimed, faking a hick accent—on top of his already french dialect.
“Oh, wonderful, but isn’t it rather late?” responded the rough voice, confused but a bit intrigued.
“Oh, not at all, no sir! Our company is so busy fulfilling orders in the mornings, we ain’t able to advertise. I hope you don’t mind us here at this time of the night! And sir, I promise, we’ll be done quicker than you can say howdy! But first things first Sir, are you all alone on this fine July night?”
“Uhh, yeah, yeah, I am. Won’t you come in?”
“Thank ya sir, I ‘preciate it.”
The guy opened the door, and Alexandre walked through. Leaving the door slightly cracked for me to begin to set up the agonizing murder of the night.
I walked in, looked around me, and started setting up all the barriers. First blocking off the bedroom, then the front door; then cutting off access to the living room, leaving him in a little corner of the kitchen.
“NOW!” I screamed and Alexandre tackled the man, and, while keeping his movement restrained under his body, covered his mouth with a red handkerchief. His screams now muffled by the handkerchief, he tied his hands and legs down. The man would shake, shimmy, do everything in his power to be released, but the effort was futile. Then, he heard it. He heard the laughter that would be the death of him. She laughed her devilish laugh and walked her devilish walk. She pulled out her flashlight, to get a good look at the guy before turning the lights on and letting him see.
“You seem like a respectable man…hmmm…cute too. Too bad you had to leave your woman for a fake and youthful bimbo, because now you have to die.” I groaned out as I slowly walked and closer to him.
I turned the full light on, since previously they had only had the dimmed kitchen lights on, and now we were able to see what we were doing; Alexandre saw something that made him jump.
“Anything wrong, mi Amor?” I looked at Alexandre questioningly, wondering why looked the way he did, “shall we continue with the murder?”
“NO!!! Don’t kill him!!” he yelled and looked incredibly shocked.
“What’s your problem, Alex?!” I screamed, my voice shrill and ice cold.
“This… this man… He’s been the most important man in my life. This was my best friend in high school! He saved my life twice! I can’t let you kill him!”
“Alexandre, don’t be estupido! This is our job, we’re killing him. Pull the knife. Now.” I growled from behind her teeth, the yearning for the murder swimming in my eyes.
“NO! I refuse to! I’m out of here!” He ran out, dropping everything. He didn’t think twice about what would happen if he ran from her. All he knew was that he needed to get away. He could not do this with her anymore, especially not to his friend.
“Imbecile!” I screamed at him as he ran out.
The man trembled; not knowing what might come next. I approached him slowly, knife in hand. I slowly slid the knife down his left forearm, letting the fresh blood slither. I did that on both arms, down the legs too, down his neck, and six diagonal slashes across his bare chest, making three ‘x’s. I was about to finish the job and just shoot the man, but then I remembered what the woman said. She said to not let him die before causing him horrifying pain… So I cut him down the jugular, and across the waist line. I stood there until he had bled out and was no longer breathing; and ran out the backdoor just before morning light came.
When I returned home I took a long, relaxing shower, mixed myself a drink, and laid out on the patio, poolside. I was settling in with a book in hand, when I heard the door slam.
I yelled out to him without even looking up from my book, “I can’t believe what you did to me last night, Alexandre. I thought our bond was… stronger than that. It appears to me that I was wrong, no?”
“I’m sorry, mon amour, but I can’t explain. I simply couldn’t do it. In fact, that’s what I came to talk to you about. I want out; I don’t want to be a murderer anymore.”
“HAH! Don’t make me laugh, you estupid French boy! Once you’ve killed one person, you’ll always be a murderer; there’s no changing the past.”
“I want out! I don’t want to kill people anymore. I’d like it if you didn’t either.”
“And what are you going to do it about, eh?! What?! Turn me into the police?!” I shouted at him, but conscious that if he did I’d be spending eternity in jail.
“Mon Cheri, please don’t make me do it. Just stop. We can start our lives together, get married, and have children. Please, my darling, do not continue this horrid lifestyle.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?! You are nothing, you hear me?! Nothing, you’re just another tool! Men aren’t worth anything, especially not you. No, not you, you’re not even worthy of BEING a man. Men don’t leave their women do to a job on their own. No, get out of my house and my life. And I promise you, Alexandre, you rat me out and it’ll be the last thing you do!”
I pushed him away, tripping him on the side lights. He fell flat on his back in the pool. He walked out, drenched in water, a scowl plastered on his face, a million thoughts swirling in his mind.
“That rat better not talk, or he’ll no longer walk!” I sat back down, picked up my book, and tried to replace my grim thoughts with its plot. A couple of hours later, her phone started ringing. ‘Oh great,’ I thought, ‘another job. I’m really not up for it tonight.’ I answered to find much to my surprise it wasn’t a new client.
“Mon amour, I’m going to give you this one last chance to stop it. Promise me you’ll quit the murder business, please. I’ll come over right now and give you one of my delicious full body massages, and we’ll relax and watch a movie. Like nothing ever happened. But if you keep this up, I’ll have no choice but to turn you into the police. You, along with the 56 men buried under your house!”
I paused and began cackling. “You silly little French man, that’s where you are wrong. First of all, I will not stop and you cannot do anything about it. Second, I do not have 56 men buried under my house. Last night’s victim was not buried. I left him tied up in the middle of his kitchen once he had bled out.”
“The 55 men buried will be proof enough. And I can prove that you have killed 56 men, I’m sorry Mon amour, but I have to. I cannot, cannot live with this burden any longer. But please, Mon babe, do not forget. Je t’aime pour toujors et toujors, I will love you forever and always. Je t’adore Mon Cheri. I love you my sweet. Je vous promets de vous aimer pours toujors et toujours. I promise I will love you forever and always.”
The line went dead, my heart was racing. I loved this man, and he had betrayed me, just like the man from her past. “Men,” I thought, “men are worthless pigs. He’s just teasing me, he won’t turn me in; he can’t. He doesn’t have the guts to.” I laid back out and drifted into an uneasy sleep. Later, I was awakened by police sirens outside my house. I had nowhere to run! I frantically searched for some door, somewhere to hide or escape to with but no luck. The officers burst through the doors, guns drawn, ready to take her away. She feared what may happen next and hated Alexandre for having turned her in.
“You will not take me away, if it’s the last thing I do!!” I exclaimed and ran towards the staircase leading to the roof of her marvelous two—story home. I could see the entire squad chasing after her, trying to get up the stairs too. I had to think fast. I pulled the knife from my pocket, hoping my idea would work. I used the knife to cut into the trunk of the tallest tree and slid down. My eyes were closed as branch after branch flew past me, hitting, scratching, and cutting me too. When I reached the ground, I ran to one of the empty police cars, turned on the engine, and drove away.
I knew I had to get away; I needed a one way ticket to France, and then I thought of Alexandre once again.
“That rat!” I groaned out from behind my teeth as anger boiled inside me. “He’s going to pay. He’s going to pay and help me escape without knowing it!”
I drove quickly to a gas station, knowing I was being chased. When one young man left his car unattended, I took advantage of that opportunity, got in, and drove away as inconspicuously as possible. Once I hit the freeway, I turned on some music and began to relax a bit more. I drove for about thirty minutes and finally arrived her destination—Alexandre’s house. I opened the back window that led to his room—the one I knew was always open—and slowly let myself in. I made sure he wasn’t home and got to work quickly and diligently.
First, I grabbed his hidden credit card that was for ‘emergencies only.’ “He’ll never know what hit him,” I thought aloud and laughed. I then grabbed the porcelain beige lamp that had a multitude of circular openings all around, tore out the bulb and wire, and grabbed all the kitchen knives I could find. One by one, I put the knives in, handle first so the sharp tips would be sticking out. Once all eight knives were positioned, I grabbed her last red handkerchief I had with me and interlaced it through and between the knives so that whenever the vase was upside down, the knives would not fall out unless the handkerchief was pulled. I then precariously placed the vase, upside down, over the front door. I rigged a thin piece of red yarn so that whenever the door was opened, the knives would fall out, and the vase fall down along with it. I then placed a small walkie-talkie cell phone on the side table next to the front door, and put on the Bluetooth that went along with it. I looked around once, and with a maniacal smirk, she left the same way I came in.
I got into his car, a 2010 red Mustang convertible with black leather seats; I put the top up and drove away. I made sure to turn the Bluetooth on high, so I could hear whenever he came in. I arrived at the airport and bought a one way first class ticket to Paris, France. I was just in time for the next flight. It was boarding right when I arrived. I ran to the plane and sat down in my respective seat. The announcements began: ‘Please remove all technology for it can interfere with the satellite information necessary for the plane to arrive at its desired location effectively.’
Right when I was going to give up and turn the Bluetooth off, I heard a door open. Then a scream, a crash, and the silent thump of a man who has just been killed. With a big smile on my face, I whispered to myself “fifty-seven,” and settled into my seat for a deep and needed sleep.