Page 51 of Touch Me

Margaritas? With Lou Bricant?Fucker.That didn’t take long. I can see the smarmy asshole getting her drunk, offering her a ride home, and then trying to feel her up in the car. Probably has some flashy little sports car that screamsI have a tiny dickwith three extra pairs of dry-cleaned khakis hanging in the back. Maybe I should hire someone to follow her. In a non-creepy way, of course. Just to make sure she’s safe.

The death grip on my fork is apparent only when the metal bends slightly under the pressure.

When her eyes flick up to my face, her fork stops midway to her mouth and her head rears back. “Are you okay?”

Is the creaking sound of my teeth cracking audible outside of my head? Maybe it’s because I’m frozen stiff by thoughts of dangling Lou over the edge of this terrace by his polished fucking loafers until my hands become so slick with sweat he slips from my fingers and splats into a pool ofLou Goo.

Say something.

Or at least blink.

“Just trying to get a piece of spinach out of my teeth,” I lie, avoiding her eyes.

And Cyndi Lauper’s eyes.

“Anyway, Jen and Ashley are best friends, and Alex met them two summers ago when he was an intern. They made the whole day really comfortable and kind of adopted me into their group.”

“Jen and Ashley?” Maybe if my brain hadn’t spun out of control thinking about Lou and his fucking khaki hands all over her, I could have heard her explain the situation and saved myself the unnecessary spiral. But wait, she specifically saidhe.

Continue spiral.

“Yeah, and Alex. He’s so funny.”

“Is he? He’s funny, huh?”

Does she like funny guys? What kind of car does he drive? Does he wear khakis too? Am I funny? I think I have a pair of khakis somewhere. Is that what she likes?

“So funny. And super gay.” She adds that last bit in for my benefit, I’m sure, judging from the smirk on her face. But does that mean she’s lying and only telling me that so I can think straight again? Or is he really gay?Wait. Either way, she knows what’s going on inside my head. Otherwise, she wouldn't have said it at all. I need to work on my poker face.

Do they have that on ESPN?

FIFTEEN

OH SHIT, DON’T LOOK. DON’T LOOK.

After dinner is cleaned up,I settle in the dining room with my laptop to do what Alex joked about and start scouring the internet for my breakout story.

How cliche am I?

Jace is on the couch surfing through channels and...is he watching poker?I didn’t know he played. I guess when you have enough money to buy an entire building of high-end condos, you have money to gamble. Meanwhile, I’m barely scraping by on freelance articles I don’t even care about just to buy food. Whatever. I’ll get there. Maybe nottherelike Jace, but there enough.

Opening my laptop and popping onto a national news site, an article taking up the whole front page has an image that sends shivers down my spine. It’s a black and white drawing, roughly scrawled with almost violent strokes. It depicts a woman with her hands tied behind her back and a noose around her neck, the ropes running up and down her back, connecting in the middle. The worst part is... there’s no face. Just her head bowed with her hair cloaking her features. On second thought, maybe that’s a good thing.

The headline reads,The Hangman Strikes Again.The article claims this is the second victim found killed in the same manner as a woman last year in La Jolla. Now making it a serial killer, hence the media-dubbed name. Apparently, both victims were found hanging on a door, arms bound behind their backs, and a noose around their necks. But that isn't how they died.

The noose hangs loosely, their weight supported by the ropes binding their arms behind their backs. And their throats are slit, along with multiple superficial cuts covering the body. It’s assumed the victims are either hung on the door and tortured before killing them or tortured and killed, then hung on the door as a calling card.

Serial Killers are so dumb.Let me just leave something akin to a handprint so when I’m caught, you’ll know every victim belonging to me.Obviously serial killers are crazy butgeez Louiseyou would think they’d have some sense of self-preservation.

Evidently, the killer is a master housekeeper because there’s never blood found at the scene nor on the victim’s bodies or clothing, making the assumption he kills them first and then hangs them. But no other crime scenes have been located to explain the killing first, then hanging on the door. And no one can figure out why the noose if he didn’t kill them by hanging.

The second victim was from a little beach town north of Los Angeles. Seems this guy is making his way up the coast. Goosebumps pebble my arms, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Ally lives between here and Los Angeles.

I grab my phone and shoot her a text.

Me:

Hey you busy?

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