She was at her wit’s end which, unsurprisingly, was not that far from her wit’s beginning. Elizabeth had not expected a murder would be so difficult to put together. She did, however, take solace in the fact that Jon was incorrect on one matter; taking a man’s life is not difficult, it’s the mucking about beforehand and the mess afterwards that is truly troublesome.
The sunlight streamed through the window, lightly touching the clean hardwood floor. Through ill-planning, the body lay sprawled on the area rug in front of an expensive red sofa, staining the carpeting with scarlet mess. A shame, thought Elizabeth, for it was a very pretty rug.
She gracefully moved towards a side table beside the couch, where rested a white phone. She picked up the earpiece, smearing blood on it from her unwashed hand, and dialed a number. She pushed her long auburn hair behind her ear, and lifted the phone to it.
After the first ring, a gruff voice greeted, “Yeah?”
“Hello, is this Jon?” Elizabeth asked cordially.
“Beth, that you? What happened? Where are you calling from?”
“Why, the room of course.”
“Jesus, woman!” Jon returned, “Hang up the fucking phone, why would you call from the goddamn room? I’ll be over in a minute. If you can, get rid of the problem before I get back. Can you handle that?”
Elizabeth smiled, and said, “Of course, dear. Take your time, no need to cause an accident from driving too quickly; it would be terrible if you or someone got hurt.”
She was speaking to a dial tone.
Elizabeth hung up as well, looking at the clearly visible handprint left on the phone. She then glanced towards the body, surrounded by that horrible mess. She contemplated cracking her knuckles before she set to work, but figured that was far too unladylike; just because she was now a murderer--or is it murderess--does not mean she can begin abandoning all her principles willy-nilly.
So with her knuckles properly uncracked and a smile upon her face, she set to the ghastly work.
#
Jon arrived at the room looking completely flustered, and in Elizabeth’s humble opinion, looking quite silly. He had on a worn leather jacket, faded denim jeans, boots several sizes too large, black gloves, large aviator sunglasses, and a black skull cap. Though he had the stubble of a world weary old man, Elizabeth believed he had the face of a child, puffed cutely with baby fat that appears will never chisel away. The phrase boxcar baby kept coming to mind, though she was unsure as to why.
The body was gone. Well, mostly. Its shell may have been disposed, but the stuffings seemed to have been mopped into the carpeting. Elizabeth stood properly, so much so that if a king walked in, she would be in the appropriate manner, if it weren’t for the fact she appeared to have been assaulted by a bucket of red paint. Her white dress was worth more than the filthy car Jon drove to get there, and besides the aforementioned scarlet delusion, she looked positively angelic whilst wearing it.
“Where’s the body?” Jon asked, looking around frantically.
Elizabeth looked at him curiously, “Why, you did tell me to get rid of it, didn’t you Jon? Or did you mean something else on the phone?”
“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant, Beth,” he returned, “But where is it, how’d you get rid of it so quick?”
She pointed behind her. A trail of gore traced its way to the far window, which was wide open. Jon rushed over, trying his best to avoid the puddles, but it was impossible to cross the River of Styx without getting a bit wet.
There was an alleyway between the two apartment buildings. It was dark, uninhabited by scummy transients, and was filled with garbage and weeds. It was a perfect place to quickly hide a body. However, Elizabeth’s disposal was less than ideal. It seemed, rather than take the time to drag it all the way down the stairs from the fourth floor, she figured it simpler to merely toss the body out the window. Blood was splattered on the sides of both buildings, and a large portion of his left leg laid out of the shadows, in clear view for anyone curious enough to look over.
John stomped his feet on the floor, and let out a long, sad, “Shit!” He ran over towards the door, stopped in his tracks, and said to Elizabeth, “Beth, come on, we got to run to the car!”
“But I’m wearing my heels today; I don’t want to risk ruining them by running.”
Jon let out a frustrated sigh, then said, “Then take them off, but move it!”
“Barefoot! But then I’ll ruin these leggings, and they are one of my few pairs that fit me so well, Jon, and I simply don’t have time with all this murder business to-“
She was cut off, for she let out a quiet yelp as Jon lifted her up off the ground, holding her in his arms.
Jon walked through the doorway, carrying the woman dressed in white, her arms looped around his neck and her head snuggled against his chest.
Quickly but carefully, Jon worked his way down the three flights of stairs. He held Elizabeth closer to himself, trying to cover as much of the visible blood with his body. He heard her let out a contented sigh, as she held on tighter. Once outside, he opened the car door, and set her down on her feet.
“Quick, get in!”
“But Jon,” she pouted, “I want to sit in the front with you.”
Sighing, Jon responded, “We don’t want anyone seeing you like,” he pointed to her dress, “this!”
“Oh, please Jon? I’ll just cross my arms like this!” She did so, her arms, equally plastered in dried blood, covering next to none of the stain.
Jon slammed the back door and while opening the front one said, “Just get in the fucking car, woman!”
Smiling, Elizabeth drifted over to the passenger side, and sat down, crossing her arms as she did.
Once they started driving, Jon asked, “So, how did you actually kill him?”
“Oh, it wasn’t much of a bother, the killing part at least. I remembered once, you and I were talking over dinner, and you said how lovely I looked in white. Do you remember that night, Jon, it was on a June evening, near the lake outside of the city?”
He remembered.
“Well, anyway, since you liked it so much, I thought he would appreciate it the same. I merely stabbed him while he was busy admiring my figure.”
“Wow, that’s not too bad,” Jon said, “But why was there so much blood everywhere?”
“Well,” she started, “After the first one, I kept getting nervous that he was going to stand back up and be rather upset with me, so I kept kneeling back down and giving him one or two more. But, as you can understand, I was very, very nervous.”
“How many times did you stab him?”
“It couldn’t have been any more than a dozen, and understand that is a very large estimate.”
Jon sighed, an activity he was getting much experience in lately, and asked, “Well, if you stabbed him, where is the knife?”
“Oh, that old thing? It got stuck in him the last time I thought he might get up, so I’d guess it’s still in him after I dropped him out of the window. Why, was that a bad thing to do?”
Jon fought the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel.
“Well, it sure wasn’t that good of a thing to do.”
She frowned, but put her hand on his leg, “I’m so sorry, I haven’t much experience with this sort of matter. You’re not going to leave me, right Jon? I’m afraid I’m just not sure what to do from this point.”
“It’s alright, Beth” he said, “I couldn’t leave a young girl like yourself in such dire straits. But no more killings, babe, got it?”
“Oh, I’m sure murder is one of those things you simply must try once, but it certainly does not need to be done in repetition. Like that jazz music or those strange foreign foods from Asia made of animals parts.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Jon returned, not quite understanding the metaphor, but one learned to be impressed when Elizabeth could come up with any sort of higher thinking above what a lamp post could construct.
Jon couldn’t help but glance every now again at Elizabeth. He looked at her long, white legs, slowly working his gaze up. He examined every curve, only occasionally looking towards the road ahead of him. His eyes continued climbing, until he reached the large blood stain on her front.
Never before had he gone from such utter arousal to almost complete nauseousness. Well, maybe that’s what love is, back and forth between one spectrum of emotions to the other. And if so, he understands why so many die out of love. Continuous exposure to extremes has been known to cause death before; like freezing, starving, or suffocating.
Together, Beth’s arm still placed warmly on his leg, he drove the car just a bit faster than he should. He was headed to the one place he knew they could both stay unmolested.
#
The warehouse once produced cars faster than someone could drive through the building. However, it was then bankrupted, boarded, and bemired, until Jon came by. Murder is a profession that is profitable not only during economic hardships, but thrives, as the value of life seems directly proportional to the value of the dollar. Because of this, Jon was able to quietly purchase the abandoned factory. He paid for running water, electricity, and all other necessities. However, he rarely ever used it, except as a meeting place and as a hideaway, and therefore monthly costs were well worth the luxury. Too keep it as inauspicious as possible, he kept the outside and every floor but one as it was when he purchased it.
Using the sole working key for the warehouse, Jon opened the back door and led Elizabeth inside. He parked the car out back, behind an overgrown patch of weeds and bushes.
It was almost impossible to see, even though it was daytime, for the windows were almost opaque from dirt and dust. Elizabeth let out a cough, and said, “My, it is dirty in here. You should hire some help to clean this place up, maybe even make it into a huge mansion for yourself.”
Jon ignored the complaint, and instead led the girl up to the fourth and top floor. He spent weeks cleaning and refurnishing this floor, which housed a bathroom, a storage area, and what was once a high-up’s office. Now, the office was a mix between a bedroom and a living room.
There was a king sized bed at the far left wall, as well as a large couch, in the middle of the room, on an old yellow rug he meant to dispose a while back. To the far right was a table, with several wooden chairs, and an empty icebox. All the furniture was black, to avoid anyone by chance seeing something colorful through the incredibly large dirty window on the opposite wall. It stretched nearly from ceiling to floor, and must have held a wonderful view, back when it had a semblance of transparency.
“Oh, it’s so lovely Jon! But will we be staying awhile? I would really like to stop by home if we are. We can pick up food and drinks and I really would like a change of clothes. If not, can you be a dear and swing by the store to pick up some clothes? I’m beginning to feel rather uncomfortable in this old dress. Speaking of which, Jon, is there a bath here? I would kill for a warm bath. Oh, pardon the phrase dear, I forgot, no more killing. So, is there one Jon?”
Completely unsure which question he should answer first, and also wondering if she simply absorbed air so she wouldn’t have to breath, Jon said, “Yeah, down the hall there’s a bathroom with a tub in it. There would be warm water, but it takes a while to heat up.”
She smiled at him, and said, “Thank you, Jon,” and in a single motion, she twirled out the room, shutting the door, completely forgetting her concerns from earlier. He then realized the reason she could speak without breath was because her brain was similar to the factory; no need for much input when there’s so little output.
Jon lied down on the couch, figuring Elizabeth would prefer sleeping in the bed, and though he hoped to sleep next to her, he did not expect it. So far, all his advances had been met with cordial ignorance to any sort of romantic feelings he may have. She appeared to have no idea how he felt, and continued to treat him like a father instead of a lover, which he longed.
His brain rife with troubled thoughts regarding the botched murder combined with the fantasies of him and Elizabeth, he drifted off to sleep.
#
Jon awoke to the sound of crying. Like a drunken man awaking on the streets, he sat up, and looked around. On the bed, sitting on the onyx sheets, was Elizabeth, washed but still wearing the bloody dress. She was crying into her open palms, her chest heaving up and down.
Jon rushed over, and sat beside her. She jumped as she felt the bed move, then looked over guiltily at Jon, before she collapsed against him crying.
“I’m so sorry, Jon, I just couldn’t do it.”
He put his hand on her auburn head, and shushed her, “It’s okay, Beth, it’s ok.”
“No, it’s not!” she cried, “I tried my best, but I did so poorly. I tried to fix it, but it was too late.”
“No, you did fine babe.” He said, holding her to him, “I’m sure you tried everything you could.”
Suddenly, she sat up, and said, “No, there’s one more thing! Ammonia!”
She quickly sat up, clearly much happier, “Is there any chance you have ammonia here somewhere?”
Jon looked flabbergasted, and managed to stammer out, “Maybe in the storage room down the hall.”
She leaned over and kissed his stubbly beard, saying, “Oh, you’re a genius Jon! I may be able to save the dress yet!” She then quickly moved out the room again.
Jon sat alone, more confused than ever.
Just then, however, he heard something truly worrisome.
“Beth, get the hell back in here!”
She slowly opened the door, and said, “What’s wrong, Jon?”
“Come in here, shut the door, kill the lights, and stay quiet, ok?”
“Oh, tell me what it is, Jon!”
Jon pulled off his jacket, and then his white undershirt. He took the shirt, and walked to the window. In smooth, circular motions, he began wiping off the grime. Once there was a single clear spot, he looked outside, motioning Elizabeth to look down as well.
Outside, an old hunk of junk car pulled up in front of the factory. A boy and girl, neither older than eighteen, hand in hand made their way closer. He boy said something, which made the girl laugh. He then went to the car, and grabbed a crowbar. Then they were out of sight.
He walked towards the center of the room, and began pacing, cursing quietly to himself over and over.
“What’s wrong Jon, who are those kids?” Elizabeth asked.
“I don’t know, some punks breaking in and using this as fucking petting spot or something, but if they come up here we’re fucked!”
“Oh dear,” responded Elizabeth.
Jon signaled her to hide behind the bed, as he made his way towards the table. Elizabeth ducked down, out of view, but watched as Jon reached under the table, pulled back pieces of tape, and removed a large revolver. Her eyes grew wide, but Jon shot her a stern glance, and she ducked back down.
After a few minutes, Jon could make out footsteps approaching, as well as whispers and laughter. He prayed long and hard that they didn’t come into the office. And if they did, they didn’t move towards the bed, and in turn the bloody young woman hiding there.
Unfortunately for the lot of them, the door opened, and in walked the young boy and girl. The girl was wearing a white summer skirt, and similar white top. Her black hair was nearly mid-back level. The boy was caring her when they walked in, but put her down at the doorway.
“Man, this place is so great, eh?” the boy said.
The girl agreed, but motioned towards the black bed, “Yeah, but there’s only one thing in here that I care about!” Together, they made their way towards the bed.
At that moment, Jon stood up, and aimed at the back of the boys head. A good hit man never misses the man he intends to kill.
Jon was a good hit man.
Blood sprayed everywhere. The girl beside him received most of the splatter, and her formerly white outfit was now covered in dark red.
She screamed, covering her ears. Purely through instinct she began to run towards the door. She struggled with the knob, as she looked over at Jon, pointing the gun at her. A good hit man never misses the man he intends to kill.
This wasn’t a man, and he hesitated just a moment too long, and she ran, not closing the door. Jon moved towards the doorway, and could have hit her, but for just a second, he didn’t see a teenager girl running for her life, but Elizabeth, prancing down the hall to take a shower and try to clean that damned dress of hers.
Instead of giving chase, he shut the door, and ran towards the window. He grabbed the empty icebox, and lifted it, not without some difficulty. He staggered over to the window, and in one motion, threw the icebox at it. The entire window gave way, sending flying glass everywhere, but giving him a huge view of the front of the factory.
A large shard fell from the top of the window, and sliced down his right arm. The blood began to flow instantly, and quickly.
Behind him, Elizabeth let out a quiet yelp as the glass shattered. Jon turned around, and saw her kneeling beside the ruined body of the teenage boy. She didn’t appear sad--Jon was beginning to wonder if she even had the mental capacity for such a complex emotion as remorse--but she did seem almost confounded by some foreign problem.
“I’m not criticizing you or anything, dear” she said, “but I do wish you didn’t have to do that. He was just a boxcar baby.”
“A what?” Jon asked, both confused and annoyed.
“Nothing.” She responded, defeated moving back to behind the bed.
Ignoring her muddled remarks, he stood at the broken window, holding the revolver at the ready. A few moments later, just as his strength began to fade away, the girl ran from the factory, leaping out of the broken window they got in through earlier. Jon cursorily wondered how many times they had broken in, and who they told about the abandoned factory with the furnished top floor.
He fired the first shot, but it is next to impossible to hit someone with a revolver from such a distance. Four shots later, the gun was empty, and the girl ran from sight.
Jon dropped the gun on the floor, and meant to run to Elizabeth, who was still hiding dutifully in the corner. However, he moved far too quickly, and his vision wavered in and out, causing him to stumble, slip in a pool of his own blood, and crash to the floor, quickly losing consciousness.
#
Jon awoke to Elizabeth’s face above his. He was lying on her lap, and they were both sitting on the bed.
“Are you ok, dear?” she asked, smiling down, “You were out for some time.”
He immediately noticed one peculiar thing; his right arm was completely numb, and he couldn’t move it. He looked down, and noticed it was completely black and blue. At his upper forearm, he noticed a bit of rubber tubing wrapped around as a makeshift tunicate.
“I wasn’t sure how to stop the bleeding, so I just stopped the blood from going down. Is that ok?” she said.
He immediately began ripping the tubing off, praying he wouldn’t lose his arm. “Fuck, just get me my shirt and the tape from under the table!” he shouted. Quickly, he ripped the shirt into bandages, and used the tape to keep it on. He didn’t know if the blood would even start flowing again, but he hoped.
“I’m sorry, Jon, I just didn’t know what to do. Are you mad at me?” she asked, sitting him down on the couch, looking out of the shattered window and onto the street in front of the factory. Just then, he remembered the couple from before.
He looked at Elizabeth, and said, “Beth, where’s the boy? Where’s the body?”
She pointed to the broken window.
Completely dismayed, he got up and looked out the window. Sure enough, in a splattered mess at the foot of the factory was the boy’s body.
“I know you said not to do it again, but I just couldn’t think of what else to do.”
Jon would have slapped her, but there was still no blood in his right arm. Instead, it just sort of waggled limply.
Using he left hand, he grabbed her arm, and pulled her to the bed, sitting her down.
“Okay, how long have I been out?” Jon asked calmly.
“I don’t know; there’s no clock.”
“Take a guess, then.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m not good with guessing time, but I’d say no more than an hour. Or two.”
Jon jumped off the bed, and yelled, “Get to the fucking car, the cops will be here any minute!”
Unfortunately, it was that minute. The sirens easily traveled through the open window. They all stopped in a circle around the remains of the boy from earlier.
Jon let out a stream of obscenities, then yelled, “Help me move the bed in front of the door!”
Using his left hand only, he and Elizabeth moved the heavy bed of onyx in front of the only door, at least giving them time.
They both sat huddled in the far right corner, behind the table. Jon held her tightly, and said, “Listen, Beth, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one.”
Elizabeth smiled at him, and said, “I’m sure you’ll find some way, Jon. You’re so smart. I don’t know how you think of the things you think of,” Jon didn’t have the heart to tell her rust looks lustrous besides manure.
They hear pounding on the outside door, which made Elizabeth jump. This was followed by an even louder strike, but neither the door nor the bed gave way. The two heard someone shout, “Shit, they got the door blocked! Get an axe from the car!”
From outside, police men were moving about, all pointing guns at the broken window. Someone shouted in a steady, strong voice, “Come out, we know you’re up there!” There was more discussion, and someone else yelled, “We found his car, it’s out back!”
Jon looked down at Elizabeth, who looked for the first time he’s seen, genuinely nervous.
“Listen, babe,” he said, “I don’t know how this’ll turn out, but I need you to know something.”
“What is it, Jon?” she said, smiling up at him, though tears began to stream from her eyes.
“Ever since we first met to discuss killing your husband, I’ve loved you. It’s why I helped you, why I stand by your side no matter how bad things get. I want you to know that I will stay right here, Beth, until they drag me away. I love you.”
Elizabeth continued to smile, though now it seemed empty.
“I haven’t exactly had the best record when it comes to love. I mean, the last man who loved me ended up stabbed,” As she said this, she could see the hurt building in his eyes.
“What do you mean? What are you saying?”
She continued to smile her empty smile, and said, “I’m sorry Jon. I hope we can still remain friends, but I’m afraid I just don’t feel that way.”
It felt to Jon as if the utter shattering of his romantic fantasies had unblinded him. He realized why that smile and those eyes appeared empty; it was because there truly was nothing underneath them. He had killed for this woman, sacrificed everything, destroyed his arm, his hideout, his career, and his life all to keep this stupid woman safe. Only now did he see she was a creature incapable of love, for she was incapable of almost any thought at all.
Jon stood, and backed away from Elizabeth slowly.
“Jon, where are you going?” she asked, worried.
The police below all drew their guns, pointing them at the man standing at the window, his ruined arm dangling. He removed his black hat, and threw it into the breeze. His hair met with the fresh air, and shook in the wind. He took a deep breath, smiling. He looked over towards Elizabeth, staring at him wide eyed.
“You’re a fool, Elizabeth.”
He leaned backwards, and fell from the fourth floor, straight down, and crashed to the hard ground below. He landed head first, though there was not much head left afterwards.
Elizabeth didn’t move, but just stared, shocked out of what few words she knew. Again, she heard footsteps approaching, and this time, a sharp blade crashed through the door. More followed, until the door was smashed to pieces. The officers shoved the bed away, and pointed the gun at the bloody woman in the corner.
Before they could get a word out, she dived across the room, and grabbed the revolver off the floor. She put it to her auburn hair, and closed her eyes.
“Don’t do it, lady! Put the gun down!” the lead policeman yelled.
Elizabeth didn’t listen, didn’t care. She let out a sigh, and pulled the trigger.
It clicked once.
Shocked she still had the conscious enough mind to hear the surprisingly quiet gunshot, she pulled the trigger a second time.
It clicked again.
She opened her eyes, expecting to see heaven or hell or something besides the office, but it was there still, with the officers still aiming their guns at her, rather unneeded she thought, since her own gun had beat them to the punch.
The only issue was it didn’t beat theirs. They rushed her, grabbed the gun, and handcuffed her before she could fight back. They pulled her to her feet. The officer holding her pulled her along, and said, “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
She looked at him with strangely empty eyes, and said, “I didn’t think anything.”
