Page 9 of Caution Tape

My grip on the hilt loosens and the knife collides with the hardwood. I press my back to the wall beside the front door and shut my eyes, sliding down onto the floor and taking in the euphoric feeling of adrenaline as it consumes every fiber of my being.

Wow.

What a rush.

Abruptly, my eyes shoot open as realization sets in. There’s a slippery sensation between my thighs.

I’m drenched.

Chapter Five

Nolan

Iawake with a strand of Natalie’s hair draped over my face. She’s snoring next to me. The room is quiet and serene as I brush her hair away and consider my day. People talk of morning grogginess, of struggling to wake, and not functioning until they have their coffee.

I am not like this. I am simply awake, or I am not.

Instead of sitting up immediately, I gaze at the ceiling.

I could do this.

I could stay with Natalie.

My gaze wanders and I see the pictures on the wall. Hugging someone who is probably her dad. A group photo with friends at a baseball game. Tongue-out, cross-eyed pictures with the cat.

Yeah, I could do it.

We’d settle into peaceful mediocrity. She’d graduate and teach children or work at a hospital. I would work for a car dealership. Maybe a mortgage company, or a real estate firm—something where I could smile and say, “Let’s get you into a new house, shall we?”

Our kids would be in sports, or some other kind of group activity. The pictures would pile up. A growing catalog of the grinning, happy family. Photos of vacations and birthday parties. Their first days of school to our third wedding anniversary.

There I’d be, smiling. My kids would look like me and mock my mannerisms, and I would project an image of a doting—if reserved—father and husband. Life would melt away in routine. Natalie would fall in love with each carefully crafted word.

Even still, I’d have my night self. Deer to kill. Rage to unleash.

It excites me a little. The idea of a life-long secret. A grand performance. It sounds like a challenge. Constructing the lie—cementing the house, the minivan, the jobs, the anniversaries and birthdays—and gluing it all into place. Not to mention how the tension of potentially being caught would be delicious.

Because ultimately, one day soon, I want to kill a person. The annihilation of a human being is the next step, but I like to be ready. Mentally prepared. Right now, I feel too impulsive, too fidgety, maybe even prone to impatience. I will make a mistake and all the smiling in the world won’t let me get out of it.

Maybe a life with Natalie would teach me that. A thousand movie nights, a hundred PTA meetings, drinks with her friends, all while smiling closed lipped and hiding the teeth of a shark. Yes, that would teach me patience.

She stirs beside me, turning her head to face me. One bleary eye opens. Her voice is thick with sleep.

“Go back to sleep. It’s Sunday,” she says.

I shift. “Once I’m awake, I don’t fall back asleep.”

“So serious.”

Lazily, her hand drifts down my chest, lingering on my abs, before drifting down further, gently grasping my growing erection and slowly moving her hand up and down, the friction delicious and torturous. She moves closer, kissing my shoulder as she continues stroking.

“You’re definitely awake now.”

I roll my eyes and she laughs, her breath warm on my neck, her grip firm on my cock.

“I forgot,” she says. “No speaking.”

She curls up next to me, one leg draped over my thigh. Her lips brush my earlobe.

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