Page 80 of Caution Tape

I step forward, pressing myself against him, tracing my fingers along the contours of his firm body. My fingers linger over the barely healed cut on his shoulder. It feels so rough against my delicate touch. The image of me burying the knife into his flesh comes to mind.

“I hurt you,” I nearly whisper, my chest tightening.

He lowers his head and immediately locks his eyes with mine. Squinting through droplets of water, he presses his lips into a firm, straight line.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” I wonder if he knows how bizarre it feels to apologize. Understanding you’ve done damage to someone and caring enough to want to atone for it.

He blinks at me, disoriented. “What?”

“For stabbing you the other night.” I cup his face with my hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Leaning into my palm, he squeezes his eyes shut, his body stiffening against me. “I’m not.”

Without warning, he grabs my throat and moves me backwards, pinning my back to the cold wall of the shower. Grazing my fingertips along the curve of his hips, I pull him against me, closing the space between us. A heated tension builds and builds, until we can’t take it anymore. Our lips collide, tongues lashing, teeth clattering.

His fingers tighten around my throat to the point where I can no longer breathe. I kiss him back, clawing at his hand. Suddenly he spins me around and bends me over, spreading my legs with his knee. I press my palms against the wall, and he slams into me aggressively.

“I’m not sorry, Cora,” he grunts between thrusts. “I’m. Not. Fucking. Sorry.”

Nolan

Natalie’s body is in Michael’s trunk as I drive it to the trainyard.

I always read about other serial killers. Depraved lunatics doing all sorts of delightful things. Gutting hikers and leaving their bodies in the woods. Genius! No carrying, no hauling! Just snatch the life out of them and cartwheel away.

But no, Nolan has to be elaborate. He has to play with the bodies and cut off parts of them. He has to bring Cora on fucking field trips and let her pick victims and fuck everything up.

There was a woman in the ’90s who killed her husband and cooked his head in the oven. Put his remains in the garbage disposal. The neighbors said her disposal ran for hours; they could hear it.

That’s what I need, a giant garbage disposal.

I close my eyes and imagine the shredded, raw hamburger meat texture of Michael, Natalie, Ryan, and Jerald, their bones crunching like rock salt under your boot in wintertime, the blood and viscera turning into a milkshake paste. I would lay under it and let the storm of blood cover me, coating me so thickly I could hardly breathe.

It’s nice to be alone, though.

There’s a small Ziploc bag with a few stray hairs—Cora’s—in my pocket. I’ll place them around the room I killed Jerald and Michael in. I’ll wipe down the tools and everything I’ve touched. That, plus the skin under the fingernails of each body…

It’s loose. I’ll need to do more.

I need… a witness.

Not a witness so much as someone the police can interview to help shade the case my way; I’m a victim. I’ve been killed and they can’t find my body.

Holding the steering wheel with one hand I pull out my phone. There’s a litany of missed messages; parents, Natalie asking about Cora, a girl from a different class asking about notes.

And Jay.

Asking if I want to get drinks and watch basketball.

Perfect.

I text him back and make plans. I’ll tell him about Cora. Cora being crazy. Cora stalking me. Cora having a knife collection.

Jay will dismiss it. But when I disappear, and the police track down my acquaintance…

“Nolan? Yeah, I saw him. We just hung out the other day. He said he was seeing this Cora girl, but she was a little intense for him. Clinger vibes, you know. Said she had knives? He seemed kinda worried about it. Is he okay?”

That’s all I would need to angle a detective toward Cora.

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