Forward Slash. Mark Edwards

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      I clenched my fists. There were things I could do to the friend. I could take them both, but that would cause complications, make everything more liable to get messy. I could slip something into her drink, render her sick or unconscious, but the chances were that Charlotte would feel the need to help her get home, and my prey would slip away. Fuck. I might have to accept that Charlotte was a no-go, that fate was telling me she wasn’t right.

      Still, no harm in watching the beautiful creature as she drank and chatted and ran her hand through her hair. I nursed my drink and reminisced about a more fortunate encounter, a lone girl I’d met, with the help of my app, in a bar in Soho. After reading up on her interests – scuba diving, Mad Men, reality TV – I had gone up to her and started laying on the charm.

      Her name was Jennifer. Jenny. Call me Jen, she had said. I bought her a few drinks then asked her back to my place. That’s one of my rules: never go back to theirs. At my place, I can control everything. Plus, there I have all my props. All my tools.

      Call-me-Jen had hesitated for a moment – just a moment – then accepted my invitation.

      I was so excited all the way home. Rather overexcited, in fact. I wasn’t careful enough. I think it’s because I’ve been feeling frustrated recently. I’ve been searching for so long now. My patience is running thin, and Jen bore the brunt of that frustration, my loss of control. It was messy. I used my best set of knives. Very expensive and very sharp.

      I can picture her now, lying back on the bed, quite drunk. Irritatingly drunk. Her eyes were rolling and she had a sheen of sweat on her body. There were pink marks on her skin where her underwear was too tight. I knew the instant I saw her body I’d made a mistake, that yet again this was the wrong girl. I had to eliminate her.

      There was so much blood. I must have hit an artery or something. It was everywhere. Even my hair was soaked with it. I suppose I was in something of a frenzy.

      She screamed like crazy. It was incredibly annoying. When I stuck the knife in her mouth she made this horrible gagging sound and spat blood all over my face. She didn’t last long after that. I slashed her throat. She was already dead when I made love to her. It took her a little while to go so cold that I couldn’t bear to touch her any more. It’s called the algor mortis phase – did you know that? The death chill.

      I reminisced about all of this as I watched Charlotte; I was churning with frustration and thinking that I was going to have to go to some sleazy pick-up joint, or find some cheap prostitute, a woman no one would miss. But then a stroke of luck, or kismet. I had noticed, absentmindedly, that Lucy kept looking at her watch. Now she stood up and slipped on her jacket. Charlotte flapped a slender hand at her drink. Lucy left – leaving Charlotte alone.

      An hour later, after employing the methods I had learned from studying the techniques of the world’s most successful pick-up artists, Charlotte was sitting beside me in my car, heading back to mine. She was sozzled, to an almost irritating degree, but her eyes blazed with lust and she squirmed against my hand as it rested on her thigh between gear changes. She was 23, younger than I usually like them, but she had the look, the attitude, the vivacity. Exactly the right bust size and the perfect colour and length of hair. Her eyes were the most beautiful thing about her. They sparkled like a tropical sea. She had the fresh, open demeanour and easy smile of a girl who had never been through bad shit, whose greatest tragedy had been the death of a decrepit grandparent, who had never suffered or felt pain.

      Those are the girls who excite me the most.

      As soon as we got inside, she tried to kiss me. A bit forward, but she was young and excited so I could let that go, though others have paid the price for being so sluttish. I sat her down and started asking her about herself, mentally noting her answers, all of which pleased me, enjoying the way she smiled through it. There was that thrumming in my blood. Could she be The One? There was one final test.

      I led her through into my special room. Of course, looking back now, I realize it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. She hadn’t been prepared. Her mouth dropped open and she stared at me, then around her, then back at me. And she giggled.

      ‘What the fuck?’ she said.

      ‘Do you like it?’

      ‘Are you all right? You look … strange.’

      ‘I’m great, Charlotte. Are you?’

      ‘I think I want to go home.’

      I shook my head emphatically, before ducking through the doorway and bringing out the item I wanted her to wear.

      ‘Put this on,’ I said.

      She goggled at it. ‘You’re joking. Right? Oh, my days.’

      And I realized with a cold shudder that she was not the woman I was looking for. I gritted my teeth, felt my jaw muscles expand and contract. Again. I had wasted my time again. Why can’t any of these stupid sluts be the woman I want them to be? What is wrong with them all?

      As I pictured myself ripping her throat out with my teeth, she continued to look around the room. She had gone very pale. Then her eye fell upon an object that made her stagger, as if she were about to faint.

      ‘What … is that?’ she said, her voice trembling.

      ‘Oh, that? I must have forgotten to put it away. I was playing with it earlier.’

      The look of utter horror in her eyes was delicious – I would get something from tonight after all, especially when she realized that, while she was staring at my plaything, I had taken a knife from the sideboard. When Charlotte saw it she started screaming, ran to the door, tried to yank it open before realizing it was locked. I walked over to her, holding up the knife. She scrambled in her pocket for her phone. Her hand was shaking so much she could barely get it out of her pocket. I smelled something unpleasant and looked down. Liquid ran down the inside of her leg. She had pissed herself. Finally, she produced the phone.

      ‘There’s no signal in here,’ I said and stepped towards her.

      She swung the phone at my head. It was one of those huge beasts, a Samsung, and because I wasn’t expecting this, I failed to block the attack. The phone connected with my head, just above my eyebrow, sending me staggering. It really hurt.

      ‘You little bitch,’ I spat. I could feel blood trickling down towards my left eye. I was so stunned that I didn’t anticipate the kick, which missed my erection by an inch, sending me staggering backwards. Charlotte lunged for the knife, but as she did I recovered my wits. A flaming ball of anger whooshed through me and, as her hand reached for the knife, I sliced it, the skin of her palm gaping open and blood gushing, making a terrible mess that I was going to have to clear up later. That made me even more furious. As she clutched her bleeding hand I punched her in the face, twice, knocking her to the floor.

      I fell on top of her, straddling her and holding her throat with one hand, pointing the knife between her eyes with the other.

      ‘Please,’ she begged, her voice rasping, barely able to escape from her squeezed throat. ‘Please … my mum …’

      I banged her head against the floor until she passed out.

      I carried her through to the bedroom and stripped her, bagging her clothes for disposal later. Her body really was something special. It was such a shame. I handcuffed her to the bed and gagged her, then waited for her to wake СКАЧАТЬ