Page 15 of Caution Tape

My heart beats wildly at the image.

Suddenly, I’m smearing the entire container of blood all over me, bathing my arms, neck, and chest in the red liquid.

“Jesus, Cora,” Jerri mutters. “You think that’s enough blood?”

I lower my gaze to the hardwood floor, noticing the stray droplets that have somehow trickled onto it. Grinning, I stare at my crimson stained palms and fingers. My hands are cold though, and my smile quickly fades.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer, trying to imagine how it would feel if this were real blood instead. It would be warmer. Inviting. The knife I’ve stored in my boot calls out to me. “I’ve never been more ready.”

Nolan

It is Halloween and I know who I am going to kill.

During class I read article after article, page after page about serial killers and madmen, tons of which kidnap and slaughter women, only to get caught somewhere down the road. It never seemed to matter how clever and devious the killer was.

Serial killers always have a myriad of reasons and motives for why they do the things they do. Their mothers abused them. The devil whispered to them. God had his orders.

I don’t like those ones very much. Some of us simply feel like killing.

From my time studying I noted that men seemed to be much easier to kill.

They are often less social. They can disappear for a few days before people start asking questions. They can stop responding to messages or appearing online, and it’ll be longer before the world notices. It is normal for men to go places alone, without telling someone where they’re going. They walk with security that nothing bad is likely to happen to them.

But I am something bad.

Jerald Clarke thinks he’s been messaging a 5‘4“ brunette off a dating app. He thinks they’re meeting at a Halloween party thrown by the business club at the school. It has taken weeks of urging, coaxing, and teasing to get him to agree to come out. He goes to the same college, and I’ve even seen him in the halls, curly brown hair stuffed under a beanie and an overgrown beard. He’s what Natalie calls a “skater type”, which makes sense, I guess.

I personally have never spoken to Jerald Clarke, and I have taken measures to make sure we are never seen together at school. A carefully planned measure so that when the police come asking, if they even get to me, it’ll be very easy to say, “I’ve seen him in the halls, but never spoken to him.”

Perhaps they might see that he’s been messaging a fake account on the app, and if they try to trace that account it’ll show an IP somewhere in eastern Russia, with a dead email account attached.

That’s if they find the body.

“We’ll meet dressed up,” I text him. “It’ll be exciting.”

Jerald texts in all lower case and misspells words to be cute. He sends too many kissy face emojis. It makes me want to stab him to death.

Natalie is thrilled that I want to go to the party. When I mention matching costumes, she slaps my shoulders and shrieks, “Yes! Oh my God, I have so many ideas.”

Now I’m at a loud, sloppy Halloween party thrown together by people who are barely old enough to drink. It’s a house party, with people milling around the large living room, drifting in and out of the kitchen, making drinks on the dining room table. People clustered together and are talking too loudly despite being so close to one another. There’s a smell; like sweat and spice in the air, and it makes my nose itch. An annoying mix of Halloween songs and rock music are playing from a staticky stereo system.

I let Natalie lead us around, talking to random people she knows from class. We are dressed as Gomez and Morticia Addams; I am wearing a striped suit with a red tie and mustache drawn on with mascara. Natalie is fitted in the mermaid style black gown that Morticia classically adorns, her hair dyed black and straightened, her face powdered pale. She pulls me by the hand around the house, and I let her, making sure everyone sees us.

If someone were to be questioned later, they would merely reply, “Nolan? Yeah, he was with Natalie all night.”

We play a board game for a bit, and I keep fetching Natalie drinks. Before long, she’s bumping into me when we walk and giggling at everything. We’re sitting cross-legged around a dented coffee table, game pieces, cards and drinks strewn in front of us. We’re playing against a vampire, two guys dressed as the Joker, and a very loud woman in a leopard-print cat costume.

Normally I’d want to leave or drive my car through the building and hear their bodies thud off my car. Before that thought goes much further though, my phone vibrates, and I sneak a glance at it.

Jerald: I’m here baby!

Jessi: I’ll be there soon. My skirt is shorter than I expected ;)

I put the phone in my pocket, and within seconds it vibrates as he answers back. That message will keep him at the party for a long time. Long enough to get Natalie home. Long enough to change.

Someone rolls the dice and I absently play a card. Natalie is chattering next to me with one of the Jokers.

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