Page 53 of Caution Tape

“Ex!” I yell back over the music. I pull down the neck of my shirt and turn so he can see the stab wound Cora left. “I need to leave her, she’s crazy.”

The bartender raises his eyebrows and quickly moves away.

When the police track our whereabouts, they’ll interview him. And he’ll say how he saw us together. That I was already worried. That I’d already been hurt by her. And when the police eventually arrest Cora, they’ll think I’m one of her victims.

I see Cora across the room, pressing herself against a guy, running her hands down his chest. She’s talking, saying anything that’ll get him back to Michael’s house with us. The guy is tall, decent looking, but wearing too many rings and a gaudy necklace. His silky red shirt is a bit too dressy for this place. He’s trying too hard. He’s probably wearing too much cologne. I wonder if he’s coming off a bad breakup and looking to do something risky.

Cora nods over at me. I nod back.

So, we’re really doing this.

What part of the house of corpses is this, Nolan?

Why, it’s the weird sex part. Every serial killer has one. I need to fill out the Wikipedia page; the tawdry, sickening details that makes the people squeal and shudder.

They get back to Michael’s house before I do. I pull the car in and sit in the driveway for a moment. The car smells like Michael. Whatever soap or cologne he uses is imprinted on the leather. It smells citrusy, like lime.

He didn’t smell like this when I was cutting him open. He doesn’t smell like this rotting in one of the empty train cars.

His car, his house, his smell… maybe I should’ve tried to wear his skin.

Another frantic, flashing fantasy bursts through, and I see myself wearing his face, stapling it to my own, layering it on my own skin, feeling it ripple and move with each breath.

Wearing it, then sprinting into Michael’s house, a chainsaw roaring in my hands, gleefully driving it into the first person I came across. Cora, her new friend, it didn’t matter. The tenuous grasp I had on rationality would dissolve away and I could go shrieking into hilarious madness. No more Nolan, no more fake smiles and pretending to be alive. Just the final crescendo of violence tearing everything apart.

A light clicks on in Michael’s living room.

I have to go in there, and for a while, pretend to function. To coax the little psycho into her first kill.

But first, I have to talk a strange guy into a threesome with another man.

Withme.

I burst out laughing, bitterly, because I’d rather cut off someone’s face and kill a roomful of people than admit that this makes me nervous.

They’re sitting on the couch when I walk into the room. Well, he is. Cora is pouring drinks. The guy smiles at me, starts to stand up, then sits back down, his smile widening.

“Sorry, I—do we shake hands?” he questions awkwardly. “I’ve never done this before.”

Cora hands me a drink. I sip it and wince; she poured way too much bourbon in it.

“So, how should we get started?” she asks.

“Well, we should have a discussion first, I don’t even know your name—“ the guy stands up and tries to shake my hand again.

If this is how the night is going to be, I’m going to slit my own throat.

“Sit. Down,” I tell Cora’s friend, setting my drink down on the mantle.

I don’t mean to be quite so threatening, but something in it makes him blanche and he stumbles back down, glancing at Cora for assurance. He’s wondering if this is a mistake; he’s wondering if Cora looks good enough for this to be worth it.

There is a twisting headache building in my temple that makes me slightly dizzy. I close my eyes, briefly, steadying myself.

“Look, if we aren’t comfortable, it’s no big deal—“ he starts saying, but I’m already turning, grabbing Cora by the back of the neck and pushing her toward him, standing her in front of him as I pull down the straps of the dress.

“The only question,” I say, sliding the dress down to her waist, “is what Cora wants.”

She glares at me, our usual battle for control flaring again.

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