Chapter 22
Jenny stared at the new pocketknife she’d found at the flea market. It had a generic rubber grip and a Damascus blade. She gazed at the ripples of light as she rotated it in her hand. The killer was having a very bad day and she needed to vent a little.
“I can’t believe that prick suspended me because of the lies of some rude hag with expired coupons.” She exclaimed to Figment as she eased shut the weapon and slid it in her pocket.
“After three and a half years you’d think he would’ve at least asked me or checked the videos for proof before handing me a suspension. I’ve never lost my temper with a customer like she claimed.”
Figment mewed at her, and the murderess faltered.
“Okay, so I’ve killed one, but I never yelled and cussed out a customer in the store; totally different thing.” She argued with the feline.
The cat licked himself in judgmental response to his owner’s argument. Jenny put on her rain poncho to go hunting in the light spring shower. Her kill kit was already in place at the condemned warehouse across from the A.A. meeting.
With a pat on her furry friend’s head, the predator left the apartment in search of an alibi and fresh prey.
***
Jenny made a token appearance at the meeting; she never cared much for alcohol so skipping it wouldn’t be a problem. She sized up the people in the meeting. The killer mentally reminded herself that despite the ease of gutting all of them, these people were her shield, not her targets.
Outside the stained concrete and crumbling brick building, most of the addicts smoked cigarettes. She slipped into the shadows smoothly to give the illusion that she was still near. Jenny rounded the corner quickly in her clear blue plastic rain gear.
She found the crack den easily enough. Jenkins and Lee had spoken at length about busting the drug pit numerous times; Jenny wondered why they would waste their time. As the raindrops pelted the killer’s face, she appraised the setup.
A lookout leaned against a stoop across from the decrepit ranch house. He was in his early twenties but rail thin and haggard.
Someone has been using his own product. She thought.
A smile crept across Jenny’s cheeks. Glacially, she moved up to the side of the stoop. Watchful of any nosy eyes in windows, Jenny gripped the length of pipe she carried inside her sleeve and swung it at the drug-addled young man’s head.
CRACK. Thump.
The body lie limp on the worn stairs. The steady humidity rinsed away the trail of crimson as Jenny dragged her victim across the street and into her new lair. She peeked out through the plywood window covers for signs of life; the road was silent.
Now she could work in peace. Jenny propped the man against the exposed pipes and clicked shut zip ties against his skin. His wrists bound to the empty steel rails, the killer relaxed and enjoyed the ritual of restraining the unconscious man. She had his ankles bound to a heavy piece of rusted machinery and his mouth crazy-glued as well as duct-taped shut.
After a dozen minutes, the boy awakened and Jenny’s bloodlust with it. She began the cutting silently; she tested her new blade with shallow slices into his forearm. His muffled cries of panic brought the feeling of control and power higher. The murderer wielded the knife with more force.
Wide slashes covered his torso with oozing red within twenty minutes. Jenny’s poncho dripped as much from the sanguine fluid as from the humidity. The activity was making it warm and clingy. The killer took a few minutes to rest and admire her work.
The man was becoming a ghost before her eyes. A rush of adrenaline carried Jenny back to her feet. She carefully cut away her victim’s workpants and dragged the edge of the weapon down his thigh. Thick dark hair shaved off along with a few bits of skin. The crackhead whimpered and flinched away as best he could.
An alarm blared in Jenny’s pocket; she had one hour left to finish before she ran the risk of being discovered.
“I guess our time is almost over.” She whispered to her skeletal prey. “But don’t worry, I’ll bury you.”
The victim railed against his bondage with all the ferocity he could muster. She watched as his writhing increased the ebbing from his wounds and sat down to allow her victim to wear out.
She counted three minutes before his struggling became subdued. Jenny rose and carved along the man’s left temple. She dragged the blade around his face, carved a thin line around each of his eyes, and held his head steady with her left hand and knee. The murderer wanted to try something new this time; she was going to see the man behind the terrified expression.
With a peeling motion, she tore off her prey’s face. The man was so aghast, it took him a moment to scream.
“Fuck! Shut up.” She scolded as she kneed him in the jaw.
A piece of tongue popped out of his mouth under the force of the blow. Blood and spit gushed onto Jenny like lava from an erupting volcano. Darkness and anger filled her eyes at his taking an instant of control back from her. The killer stabbed him in the neck and sawed the blade across until the only noise was the squelching of mutilated flesh.
The quiet brought her back to her senses. Jenny gazed at her sloppy handiwork: the face removed, tip of the tongue stuck on his belly button, and the head nearly decapitated.
The killer was kneeling in a pool of rainwater, blood, and the man’s urine. From the stink, she guessed he’d crapped himself as well. She swore as she cut his restraints and dragged the body to the sewage drain in the back alley.
Jenny Grand kicked the corpse into the reeking darkness below and heard the chittering of rats ready to devour the evidence. Her new toy was placed in a drink bottle full of bleach and stowed in her purse.
After discarding the ruined attire—hers and the victims—she dressed in the outfit she’d hidden in a trash bag behind the drywall. Cleansed with baby wipes and donning a new blue poncho, the killer returned home with a rusty nail, fourteen dollars from the victim’s pocket, a treasured memory of victory, and hope for a better day tomorrow. She also had an alibi for another quarter hour thanks to her meeting and a flat tire.