Murder Club

  THE MURDER CLUB

  Kol Anderson

  The Dance

  ALARIK

  There was a thing the kid taught me. “Pain is better than indifference.”

  It’s strange the memories we hold on to. Meeting him was purely by chance. He ended up next to me at the club, on a night that I was free. He was dancing furiously, coked out of his mind and I tried to get him to sleep with me and at first, he seemed confused, but then out of nowhere, we were making out. Even under those strobe lights, I saw him. He reeked of pain and sadness. He wanted to be high, so he couldn’t feel a thing but too broke to buy any more drugs. Maybe that was the reason he tagged along when I pulled him with myself in a cramped bathroom stall.

  I made him give me a blowjob before I let him have any more of the coke, and after a while of hesitation, he complied. I was harsh. Several times, he almost choked on my cock, but he would get tears in his eyes and keep going. I liked that about him. He was eager. Hot little thing, a real treat. Green-yellow eyes and an open, honest face. His hair, dark and damp from all the dancing, felt soft in my hands when I lodged my fist in them, to better position his head on my cock.

  Despite the fucked-up treatment, and my callous behavior in general, when I invited him upstairs to my room, he didn’t say no. I saw the way he was looking at me, the nervous way he talked, almost as if I was a God and he was my creation. Perhaps, that’s exactly what we were. Let’s face it. I am a fucking god. I’m Alaric Reeves, the unattainable truth, the heavenly being he will never become worthy of in the real world. This is his best shot at spending one-night feeling like a god himself. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of it. I’m a thirty eight year old trust fund kid who went to Yale and runs his father’s shipping business. He’s the high school drop out who works multiple shifts at a fast food joint, that’s not even a franchise. The only thing he had going for him, were his looks, which haven’t faded yet; he was barely eighteen, although if he continued to live this way, taking all those drugs, and going to his soul crushing dead end job while meeting other assholes like me, he would start looking decades older than he was fast.

  But now, he’s youthful and fucking mouthwatering, and I’m a little in awe.

  Back in the room, he was feeling obviously intimidated. It was an expensive hotel and I realized it was the first time he was in a place that luxurious. The toilet paper in the bathroom was more expensive than his knock-off clothes.

  I was enjoying his discomfort. It was oddly endearing. He downed the drink I poured for him, and sat across from me on the bed, while I stood with my back against the dresser, watching. He barely looked at me when I tried to talk. “Do you need anything?” He shook his head no. Started to fidget. “Why are you here?”

  He looked surprised at the question. “What do you mean?”

  I stood and slowly walked toward him. He was starting to get nervous under my scrutiny. I placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. “You’re tense.”

  I could hear his breathing in the silence that ensued. I caught him licking his lips. Nervous habit. “You probably don’t know this,” he began, slowly. “But you have an intimidating presence.”

  I suppressed a smug grin and took his face in my hands, lifting it to me. “Do I frighten you?”

  He was having trouble looking away, but he was also unable to hold my gaze. “Well…” he swallowed helplessly, “you hear things, you know?”

  “What kind of things?”

  He was getting really flustered now, almost to a stutter. “Just that…um…that you’re…a…d…dangerous man.”

  I didn’t respond. His face was still in my hands. “Perhaps you should heed the warnings.”

  He was trying to hold my gaze. My fingers were dangerously close to his eyes. I could have ripped them out of their sockets. That’s what was going through my mind. I let go of him then, and made my way back to the dresser to pour myself another drink.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” he said.

  That made me laugh. “That’s not true,” I countered. “You are afraid. You’re just reckless.”

  “I want to feel every moment of my life,” he said. “I want to feel every emotion.”

  “Even if it kills you?”

  “As long as it’s not indifference.”

  I knew there was a story there, but it wasn’t my place to give a shit. “Why are you here, Jamie?”

  His eyes were downcast. “I don’t know.”

  There was a lost look in his eyes. “You must be in a lot of pain to end up here.”

  He scoffed. “What does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “People always say that, they don’t always mean it.”

  “We can’t keep going if you don’t talk.”

  The threat worked. He knew I would smell bullshit, so he couldn’t say just anything. When he finally spoke, I was dumbfounded. “I just don’t want to live.”

  “Why?”

  “It hurts too much.”

  “What does?”

  He went silent, squeezed his eyes shut. “I slept with my mother,” he said.

  “You slept with your real mother? She’s not just your father’s wife?”

  “She gave birth to me,” he said, and downed more whiskey.

  He waited to see if I would leave the room disgusted but when I didn’t show any sign that I was about to desert him, he got emotional. “I’ve never told this to anyone. I don’t know why I’m telling you.”

  “Sometimes, it’s better to let the poison out,” I said. “Its not going to cure you, but it makes it hurt a little less at least for a while.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I see my father, or my brother, I want to… I want to punish myself.”

  “Was it good?”

  He looked mortified and a bit angry. “What kind of question is that!”

  “So, it was good. Who initiated it? Her or you?”

  “It wasn’t the first time she tried to touch me. It never goes far. Except for that day. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Its not your job to think, it’s hers.”

  “What do I do?” he was saying. “How do I… how do I get rid of it?”

  “Do you really want to get rid of it? Or are you just saying that because it’s what you think you should say?”

  This time he waited for several minutes before he finally answered. “I don’t know.”

  I walked over to where he was on the bed, and sat next to him. I pulled his arm and lifted the sleeve of his shirt and sure enough, there were numerous scars. Pain is better than indifference. I pulled him close and kissed him. I broke off then and whispered in his ear. “I can make you forget.”

  He looked up at me, with hopeful eyes. “What do I have to do?”

  I reached into my pants pocket for the zip ties I had been carrying. He looked a little anxious but still curious. “Do you trust me?”

  He seemed to be in a trance. He nodded.

  “Take off your shirt,” I said. He did. The sight of him was making my dick hard.

  I grabbed his arm and secured his one hand by the wrist to the headboard with the zip tie. He looked a little frightened but went along, so I tied his other arm to the other side of the headboard.

  For a long time, I just watched him. Saw the nervous sweat on his body, and I ran my hand over his chest to feel the taut muscles underneath. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  He didn’t answer. Probably thought I was making it up. “At this moment, I’m in love with you. I’m not just saying that. Do you understand?”

  He closed his eyes. “You’re in love with me.”

  “Do you want to be with me forever? Do you want to be happy and without pain,” I added, “with me?
”

  “No one’s ever said those things to me.”

  “And no one should. Because you’re mine, starting now.”

  He was gazing into my eyes, trying to figure out what I was thinking but I knew he didn’t have a clue.

  By the time I got my hands on the knife, he was in a trance again. He stared blankly at the blade in my hand. “Look, I’m not into kinky shit—” his words were cut off by a loud, pained scream, when I ran the blade across his arm. When the scream died down, he was hyperventilating. His gaze went from me to the deep cut on the inside of his wrist, to my bloody knife. He couldn’t even speak from the shock at first, but after a while he found his voice. “Why… are you—”

  “You’re too young to understand what pain is,” I said. “You think it’s bad now, you haven’t seen the wounds that your mother left, fester. You haven’t seen them become poison. You haven’t seen it affect every relationship, every joy, every sadness. You don’t know what it’s like to be that isolated. Do you have any idea how much it hurts then?” I paused. “You deserve better.”

  But he was barely listening. “Please, it hurts… oh God please, I don’t want to die!!! Please, you made your point, just let me go!”

  “You’re lying, because you’re scared. Stop freaking out and focus. This is the most beautiful moment in your life!”

  I don’t know if he was quiet then because of what I said, or because he was too weak to keep going. He was shivering and sweating harder. I think he was unconscious when I reached over and slit his other wrist worse than the first one. He screamed and came alive. His arms twisted in vain against the material of the ties as he tried to get away from the pain. His face was a mess of tears and the blood pouring down his wrist, was collecting in tiny pools all over his shoulders and chest. He was bawling. But the strange thing was he wasn’t speaking. All of this was happening, he should have begged and uttered a few more useless things, but he was simply weeping quietly. I think that’s what truly made me fall in love with him. The pain must have been awful, but he was almost calm.

  I stood by, watching him with newfound fascination. “Aren’t you even going to beg for your life?”

  He looked right at me. Tears in his eyes and he wept. Still didn’t say a word. It would have been heartbreaking, if it wasn’t for the fact that another people’s pain was like a hit of the most potent drug to me. All I felt was a strange kind of excitement, but it was more than what I felt for most people. There was something different about the way I felt about him. I went toward him on the bed, and kissed him again. He kissed me right back and he was responsive and not still, or angry, like I expected. Even as I watched him go on slowly toward his death, he was full of a strange kind of desire, for me and for the pain, I could see it in his eyes. It was almost like he was getting off on his own death.

  As I stood watching the life pour from his veins, ever faster, without any sign of slowing down, I became more enthralled. He was losing blood fast. His already pale complexion was growing deathly. His eyes kept closing. Blood spouted from the wide-open slits in his flesh, all over the bed now. I wanted to see fear in his eyes but all I saw was a strange resignation and the presence of pain.

  Something was off about this picture.

  “Who are you, kid?” I started asking him, needing an explanation.

  He managed to give me a sad little half-smile. “I’m... no one…” the words were strained, he could barely keep going. “I’m nothing…” he trailed off, unable to speak from the fatigue, and his eyes were closed.

  I shook him awake and grabbed hold of his face. “You knew,” I said, finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “How did you know about me?”

  He looked up at me with those eyes, pupils dilated, bloodshot but they were filled with a strange sentiment. “I... love you…” I barely made out what he was saying, but that’s what it was—a declaration of devotion, I didn’t know what to do with it.

  That’s when it hit me. I thought I was controlling this, but all this time, I was being controlled. That little fucker. He outsmarted me.

  So, what if he played you? You still got what you wanted, so what’s the problem?

  The problem, was that I wasn’t a fucking charity. I didn’t just go around euthanizing emo kids as a Christmas present. Killing was serious business. It was a ritual. It was spiritual. This little shit came between me and my ritual. The last time someone played me was when I was six years old, and the only reason she wasn’t dead was because she was my mother and refuses to share her family recipes for turkey dinners with the household. I can’t go without my fucking turkey dinners. Just like I can’t go without watching god’s most beautiful creatures suffer. Just like I can’t go without pavlova.

  It was extremely annoying. That kid deprived me of my spiritual peace. My inner peace was shattered because of him. And something needed to be done before the world found me exploding on top of their dinner tables, ruining their appetites forever, possibly creating the largest community of anorexic people who would be constantly walking toward their own gruesome, exploding, ends.

  But the thing that blew my mind, was how fucking peaceful he was. I might have known death fleetingly but, fucked up as it was, that kid had a long-standing relationship with it. Pain is better than indifference. Truthfully, his pain had turned my well-honed indifference to…what was this odd feeling? Fondness seemed too strong a word but that’s what it felt like.

  What’re you doing, Rick?

  Are you going to save people? Is that who you are now? Someone’s death did nothing? We have a system, Rick. It works. That’s why it’s called a ‘system’ and not ‘wing it.’ It keeps you safe and able to continue to kill and destroy.

  He can’t die now, this isn’t his time. Not like this anyway, not now.

  He deserves more.

  I took up the blade and the boy glanced at me and then he was unconscious again. I used the same blade to rip off the ties and I grabbed his face to try and wake him. “Hey! Wake up!” He opened his eyes a crack and looked at me, no real emotion visible anymore. He was too far gone.

  At first, I thought he was merely grunting, but then I heard “Rick” whispered softly.

  I was filled with a strange sense of purpose. “Jaime?”

  He must have understood what was happening. “Don’t…save me…please…” he was protesting more than he had before convincing me not to kill him. Back then, there was very little persuasion but now, he was almost stubborn. “Please—"

  “I made a mistake,” I said. “It’s not your time. You and me we have work to do.”

  He started to cry again. “No… no!”

  I grabbed a bunch of towels and used them to wrap his wrists to stop the bleeding. His breathing was slow. I was certain it was over for him and I don’t know why I hated it. I don’t know why it stung the way it did. But after a while, the blood stopped. I’d managed to stop the bleeding, but was it enough? What if it’s too late? I had no choice but to wait until he woke up. However long that might be. I grabbed myself a drink and sat on the sofa across from the bed, so I could keep watch.

  The Proposal

  SCOTT

  Scott noticed the look on his boyfriend’s face and smiled. Brent saw and frowned. He was twenty-nine but acted like a twelve year old when it came to not getting what he wanted. “I don’t know what we’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere,” Brent complained. “We could have done whatever you had planned within city limits!”

  “What I wanted to do, couldn’t be done in the city. I have some childhood memories of this place. I wanted you to be part of it. I promise it won’t take long, and you won’t have to keep that pout on display.”

  “But why would you make me leave my phone!”

  “Because I wanted one weekend without any distractions, Brent! Is that so hard to understand, when you spend your whole life on fucking Facebook? I shouldn’t have to be jealous of a phone Brent!”

  It was then that Scott realize
d that his voice had been too loud, and he hadn’t meant to, but he was lashing out. Brent sat there without a word, and Scott felt even worse. It was their six-year anniversary. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

  He felt Brent’s hand on his own. The silence of the highway they were hurtling through, merged with the silence of the car. It was after midnight, and there was hardly any traffic. The inside of the Prius was warm, as opposed to the cold weather outside. “I’m sorry,” Brent said. “I’m going to try to cut down on my time with others, so I can have more time with you.”

  Scott smiled. “And I’ll try to be more accommodating.”

  Brent glanced at the rear-view mirror. “Should we go check on him?”

  “Nah. He’ll be fine.”

  Brent was grinning as he moved his hand off Scott’s and placed it on Scott’s crotch. “You better be more accommodating.”

  “Stop that,” Scott said, laughing when Brent’s hand started to fumble with the clasp of his jeans. But when Brent didn’t stop, he grabbed Brent’s hand and forced it away from his crotch.

  “You’re such a wimp!” Brent complained.

  “I’m a wimp, because I don’t want to crash my car into a tree while you give me the best blowjob of my life?”

  “WIMP!!”

  “I’m not a wimp...” Scott felt angrier than he should have. He knew Brent was only joking but sometimes things in the past ruin our present. Brent must have noticed Scott was getting defensive and stopped teasing him and instead, used his fingers to unbutton Scott’s fly and stuck his hand down Scott’s jeans, until he was past the underwear, and used his hand to stroke and play with Scott’s cock.

  This time, Scott didn’t protest.

  He tried to keep his eyes on the road, as Brent expertly went down on him, while Scott struggled to keep his hands on the steering wheel. After a while, Brent looked up at Scott and wiped the spit off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Admit it. That was hot. And I was right.”

  Scott was dealing with an exceptionally painful erection by then. “You were right, okay? Now could you please finish the job!”