Page 37 of Caution Tape

“Oh, really?” I hear him say. “That’s how you want it?”

His voice makes me think of a pair of pliers I recently used in my own laundry room. I had to tighten a loose bolt that was making my dryer squeak. I am going to use the same pair to rip Michael’s fingernails out.

There’s a muffled thump. Michael groans and says, “Take it easy.”

“Shut up. Don’t move. Just let me… do…this.”

Cora moans and I feel an awful, twisting pang of what must be jealousy. I lean into the room and see Cora, naked, her back to me as she rides Michael on the carpeted floor. She sinks herself down on him with a satisfied moan, and I see something golden glint in the soft yellow bedroom light.

An envelope opener; one of those gaudy, ridiculous blades that of course someone like Michael would have.

I watch as Cora raises the blade above her head while slowly rotating her hips, making Michael gasp, and then she slams the blade down, burying it into him.

He screams, but so does she. She throws her head back and cries out, leaning back until her head is nearly upside down, and in doing so, she sees me. A twisted, satisfied smile breaks across her face, and a thin line of drool drips from her mouth.

It is one of the scarier things I’ve ever seen.

She’s stunning.

Michael chokes, and a large spurt of blood shoots out and hits the beige carpet. As I enter the room, I see that he’s holding onto the blade, his mouth working soundlessly.

I approach Cora cautiously, gently touching the top of her head. “What did you do?”

She looks up at me, chest heaving, eyes bright. “I did it. I finally did it.”

Together, we look down at the envelope opener buried in his flesh, just above the collarbone. The only sound in the room is Cora’s harsh, unsteady breath.

I feel something tugging on my right hand, and I glance over to see that Cora has taken my hand and is holding it against her cheek. Some of Michael’s blood stains my fingers.

A pleasant silence hangs in the air. A calmness fills my mind and the gnashing malice that always seems to grip my brain dissipates.

“Is this how you feel?” she asks. “I feel… here. Present. That sense of time being flimsy is gone.” She flexes her hands, looking at them in wonder. “It’s like I have more blood in my body.”

I frown. He’s not dead, just in shock.

Kneeling next to her, I brush a sweaty strand of hair out of her face. She tilts her chin up at me and her eyes flicker back and forth across my own, searching for answers. “I don’t feel that. Whenever I kill—,” I grip the handle of the envelope opener and wrench it free with a wetsquelch.”—it just quiets things down.”

Cora starts to say something else until Michael sits up and shrieks, clawing at the wound with both of his hands. Cora falls off him, her face a blank mask of shock as she scrambles backwards. He stands, one hand on the hilt of the blade, and the other swinging wildly in front of him.

His hair is crazed and sticking up in the back, and the whites of his eyes glare out at us as he backs away. His naked body looks pale and fragile, a steady line of blood oozing through the scraggly chest hairs and down his stomach.

Without warning, he reaches out for Cora.

Moving quickly, I pounce on him, driving one hand into his chest and knocking him back, the blood loss making him weak and unsteady. I pivot around behind him, grabbing the top of his hair and dragging him away.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I snap.

He groans and swings feebly at me, but whatever she hit with the blade has made him extremely weak. I laugh and knock his hands away, gathering them up and pinning them against his blood-drenched chest.

“Rope,” I say to Cora.

“What?”

“The rope. Right there. I dropped it.”

Shakily, she brings it over.

Michael writhes—his eyes glazed over—but he sees her and croaks, “Bitch. You fucking bitch.”

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