An Unlikely Romance Ch. 04byLaRascasse©
As always, comment and vote at the end. The feedback will help me decide what to put in the forthcoming chapters.
"Here's the smell of the blood still. All the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."
-Lady Macbeth, Macbeth Act V Scene I
If only there was another way. If only those urges would go away, just go away. I couldn't control them anymore. They controlled me. While the rest of the city hunted for a bearded man of the cloth, I quietly prayed for her soul. That expression in her eyes wouldn't go away. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing it flash in front of me. That innocent expression, so childlike and naïve. Whatever circumstance drove her to being a hooker, she did not deserve what happened to her. Nobody deserved to die.
Except perhaps me.
There were times I thought of turning myself in. It would be relatively simple. Just get into a bar fight somewhere. Just enough to get my DNA in the system and the fancy computer at the NYPD would do the rest. My trial would probably be short and summary, my execution swift and painless. But then there was another face I would not be able to forget- Monica's when she found out what I had done.
All the confession scenarios in my head began with her in tears and ended with her pummelling me to death with an object of opportunity. If I confessed at home, I could foresee my laptop having a large dent corresponding to the size and shape of my head.
I liked my laptop, so I didn't confess.
The saddest part about it was that it was not over. It was just a matter of time before the cravings started again, before I began to stare at my kitchen knife a few times too many.
"Hopefully the next one will be a cranky, bitchy whore asking for it. It would make it easier."
The case was being headed by a joint task force. The FBI had sent over a team of profilers to help with the investigation. Monica, however, was still very much in charge. I waited patiently for her to return from work. She was putting in double-overtime to catch the butcher, but there seemed to be no respite. With the body count at seven, there were those who wanted the FBI to take full control over the case. Every day that passed in a futile search for a deranged priest, those voices increased.
"Just give them the damn case. That way I won't be your headache anymore."
But I knew that she was way too proud to do that. There was also the small matter of her perfect record.
My inner voice couldn't understand why I was complaining. With her so busy lately, I had the perfect opportunity to go hunting. Sometimes the urges manifested themselves in the form of a voice. A distinct female voice egging me on. 'She' had been in my head as long back as I can remember.
So, I desperately clung on to Monica, hoping that it would keep my black desires at bay. Only there wasn't a lot to cling on to. She would spend days together at the station seeing and re seeing hundreds of hours of footage from traffic cams and surveillance cams desperately looking for answers.
She wouldn't find them of course. I chose my pick up spots wisely.
Finally she returned after having spent the better part of a week cooped up at the station. I ordered a large pizza and we settled down for the night. A funny movie on Netflix was the best I could offer on short notice, but she didn't care. She was just glad to see me again. We fell asleep in each other's arms on the couch.
With the FBI increasingly asserting themselves in this case, she took the next day off to get her head straight. I got up and ordered take out breakfast while she slept like a log till noon.
She needed it.
She woke up after one and made her way to the dining room. I was just laying the table for my exquisite lunch (hand delivered from the master chefs at KFC). I had just opened my bucket and offered her a bite.
Still in a sleepy daze, she made her way to the table and grabbed a wing.
"You look like hell."
"The butcher's got us beat. That video sketch has not led to anything worthwhile so far."
Tentatively, I made my suggestion.
"Look Monica, I know how hard you worked on this case. But it is taking too much out of you. I think it's time you moved on. Give this case to the feds. There comes a time when you say- I've tried my best, but can't do it. Please, for once, throw in the towel."
Monica stared intently into my eyes. Anyone else would probably have been bitch-slapped across the face for suggesting this to her, but coming from me, it somehow made sense.
"If another body shows up, I might not have a choice. The governor will give it to them."
Another body? I could make that happen. My suppressed desires raised their heads in unison and agreed. For once, I couldn't refuse them.
I was doing it for us.
"There is a silver lining though."
I raised my head.
"The video shows him visibly crying before the murders and laying out the bodies neatly before putting their arms across their chests. Those are signs of remorse and guilt."
"Does that mean he has a shot at redemption?"
"I hope so."
Not as much as me.
Refreshed after sleeping, Monica went over the video for the nth time. It was on YouTube and was getting millions of hits every day.
Quite the internet sensation.
This case could become one of those eternal mysteries. Where no one knows who the criminal was. Jack the Ripper, Zodiac, DB Cooper, the Butcher of NY?
Simon's words kept reverberating in her head over and over again. Should she voluntarily give up the case before it was taken away? No not a chance.
Simon was the first guy who wasn't scared by her or intimidated. All of her previous boyfriends kept her at arm's length. They either showed too much respect or too little. The biggest problem for her was she never fit the 'girly' stereotype and never apologized for it. She was ballsier than most guys on the force.
But Simon was different. He actually respected her for what she was. He was never on a power trip with her. He realized, even embraced her need to dominate and was comfortable playing second fiddle in the relationship. When she needed it, he had opened his home for her to stay indefinitely.
For the first time in her life, she was actually considering walking away.
Meeting Simon had changed her.
I had left ostensibly for a meeting with a client company. Monica bought that without question. It was nice to have someone trust in me implicitly.
I was utterly betraying that trust, but it was for a greater cause. We could be together only if she wasn't looking for me. The only way to do that was to get the feds to forcibly take over. Besides, I had seven bodies on my conscience. An eighth would not be all that different.
Finding a hooker was a problem now. There were hardly any left. After weaving my way around the city for a long time, I finally spotted a solitary hooker near the city limits. She was Hispanic, reasonably good looking and seemed to be in her mid-thirties.
I actually said a small prayer for her soul before picking her up. She seemed surprisingly easy. We drove for half an hour or so before reaching a shady motel. Keeping with the theme, we discreetly made our way up to the room. My fingers were shaking as I undid my buttons. She smiled at my hesitation and actually helped undress me.
Gently pushing me onto the bed, she brought her face close to my limp organ. A few kisses later, I could feel it getting harder. She wrapped her tongue around the shaft and moved it up and down the length. She varied her pace nicely to heighten my pleasure. Her tongue occasionally unwound from my shaft to play with my balls. Soon, I could see a clear bead of precum forming over the slit.
She sat on her knees and viewed my erection at full height. Smiling, I lay down flat and watched as she climbed on top. She gently started rocking to and fro on my erection. I reached up and grabbed her pendulous breasts as she went on. I pressed the nipples alternately and watched her squeal.
Our movements were getting more and more intense as she dug her nails into my skin.
Some more DNA for the forensics to find.
I held her hips gently to support her movements as she kept grinding her pelvis at full speed. It was building towards a powerful climax for both of us. Since it would be her last, I wanted it to be special, so I gave it all the effort I could muster.
She was getting more and more aroused at every thrust until finally she had a volcanic orgasm.
She rolled off and lay down beside me. Shamefully, I went to put on my jacket.
She had her back turned to me as I approached her.
"You should know I'm not an actual hooker, just a very horny.........."
Her sentence hung in the air as my knife carved a swath into the back of her neck. This was unexpected.
I dearly wished I had let her finish. I hadn't killed a hooker, but someone else.
Maybe it was a good thing. Probably a bored housewife cheating on her husband by playing hooker. She probably deserved what she got. This phony rationalization sustained me while I washed up and drove back home. Monica was eating Cheetos and watching House on my couch.
Events can change people so much. But it was only a matter of time now. Someone would stumble upon the body and call it in. There would be even more finger pointing by the media and she would be off the case. Looking over at her forlorn figure, I knew that it would ultimately be a good thing.
I went over to the couch and lay down beside her. She buried her face in my shoulder as I put my arms around her for comfort.
Any moment now.
A few minutes later, I heard the delightful melody of her phone ringing.
She looked at the phone and then at me, probably having guessed what the call was about.
I distinctly recall her being somewhat relieved as she reached over to pick up the phone. This case would be someone else's trouble now.
"Devereaux. Another body? Where?"
It was the beginning of the end of her obsession with this case.
Suddenly, she stood upright, clutching her cell phone disturbingly hard.
"What? Are you sure?"
I tried listening in as closely as I could. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Monica took a deep breath and turned in my direction. Her face scared the living daylights out of me. It was clenched into a mask of unbridled fury. Darkness gathered over her face as a vein popped in her temple. A red film formed over her eyes as she was visibly shaking with rage.
"Boz, listen to me. This is my case. Tell those Criminal Minds imitations to get the hell out of the station and back to Quantico. Gather every single bit of evidence from every crime scene and put it in my office. Get every single uniform in the city over here and as many non-uniforms as you can get. I am coming in right now. This guy has just taken it too far."
Every word was slow and measured. Her tone was quivering with anger as she spoke. I watched on, bewildered as she clenched her phone even tighter. There was an audible crack as the front glass of her phone shattered. Her hand was probably cut but she did not care. Darkness was building in her mind and she needed to let fly at something. She threw what was left of her phone towards my lamp. The force of the impact caused my lamp to fall to the floor and there was a small crack in the wall. Disbelievingly, I gaped at her.
"That bastard...... that bastard...... just wait until I get him. He won't get away. I won't let him. I can't."
She kept mouthing the same sentences until I tried to break her out of her reverie.
"You want to know what happened? You do? Well listen, he killed a cop. Nina Dominguez. She was in Vice. I knew her well, even offered her a transfer so many times, but she was adamant. Despite what I said, she kept going out and posing as a hooker to try and lure the killer in. The butcher just got her. Did you hear that? He killed one of our own. No more second thoughts. I won't arrest him. I will fucking rip him limb from limb with my bare hands."
An involuntary shudder coursed up my spine.
Even before I could say something, she was gone. I heard the door slam very loudly as she left.
It was all falling apart.
I had killed a cop. Not a hooker, not a bottom feeder of society, but a police officer. The result of this escapade was exactly the opposite of what I had intended. Rather than get her off the case, it had steeled her resolve even more. The brothers-in-arms feeling was especially strong among the men in blue. Suddenly, every cop in the city was hell-bent on catching me.
But I wasn't thinking of that.
Hookers rarely had family. Dealing with the guilt of killing one person was excruciating enough, now the remorse was exponentially compounded because there were people who loved her. People who would miss her. People who would cry for her. I had ended one life but irreversibly changed several others.
"Oh my God, what have I done?"
This was the last straw. I had degenerated to the worst of my kind. Ted Bundy, Edmund Kemper, make room in whichever circle of hell you are in. Sometime in the future you are going to be joined by me.
I lay down on my couch and cried all night. I found the strength to climb out the next morning and went about my work in a dull haze. The guilt weighed me down like a ton of lead. I couldn't see her face when the fatal blow was inflicted, so there was no last expression haunting me this time. Just a deep and dark wallowing feeling of guilt at what I had done. I had become a slave to my desires.
I had to be punished.
Hugh Leonard once said, "We're not punished for our sins, we're punished by them."
This guilt was eating at me from the deepest recesses of my being. I had to feel pain; I had to feel something to know that what I did was wrong. I had to feel.
I kept pondering over this question all day. Sometime close to midnight, I heard the front door open with a crash. Monica stomped her way up the stairs into my room. She looked like she had been to hell and back, only she had scared the devil with her expression along the way.
The overwhelming rage had now darkened all her features. Her face seemed eternally contorted in that mask of hatred. One day of no results had infinitely increased that. She was sent home by the Commissioner after one particularly violent outburst at the entire division. She desperately needed to vent out her anger at something...... or someone.
I knew what I had to do.
I purposefully stood in her path.
"Monica, calm down before you break something."
"CALM DOWN! YOU DON'T FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN. THAT WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT KILLED A COP. I WON'T CALM DOWN UNTIL I GET HIM."
"Monica, Mon, just listen to me. You need to get over this rage and think clearly. You need to calm down before you hurt someone, or yourself."
She looked up at me, those beautiful facial features lost in an inferno of rage. She started to say something incoherently before I stepped in.
"Take it out on me. Please, before you do something you will regret."
This caught her by surprise. I went on.
"I can take it. I can be your punching bag. Vent out all those feelings on me. Don't carry it around with you."
"I SWEAR TO GOD, SIMON. IF THIS IS A JOKE, I'LL DROP YOU WHERE YOU STAND."
"This is not a joke. Just do what you have to. I won't fight back, I promise."
She forcefully grabbed my wrist and dragged me back inside my room. I moved along like a ragdoll, surprised at her strength. She threw me on the bed. In a flash, her hand pressed my head down on the pillow. Her other hand undid her belt and doubled it in a loop. Gripping the buckle tightly, she wound up and let fly a lash across my back.
I yelped in pain, but stayed as still as possible.
"I KNEW NINA. WE ENLISTED TOGETHER. EVEN THOUGH OUR CAREERS MAY HAVE GONE DIFFERENT WAYS SINCE, WE ALWAYS KEPT IN TOUCH."
The next lash was more pronounced as she put real effort behind it. I bit the pillow to prevent myself from screaming out loud.
"I TOLD HER OVER AND OVER AGAIN TO TAKE A TRANSFER. BUT WOULD SHE DO IT? NO! THERE WAS SCUM LIKE THE BUTCHER TO CATCH."
She kept raining them down in a torrent of strikes, each hitting a different part of my back. Soon, the whole of my back was red and painful, but she was hardly done.
"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN IF HE'S A PRIEST OR IF HE STILL HAS HIS FUCKING BEARD. I AM GOING TO SKIN THE MOTHERFUCKER ALIVE."
She accentuated each word with a powerful whiplash across my spine. She continued her babbling to the surreal symphony of leather striking skin. I was in a sea of unimaginable pain, but I was content.
I was finally being punished for my actions.
Once in a while, it would be my ass in the line of fire.
About half an hour after it started, this cadenza of lumbar demolition slowed down as Monica got tired. She was panting for breath as she landed the last few smacks across my back and ass. Finally with a great flourish, she put all her remaining strength into one last assault on my back and dropped the belt.
Gasping for breath and thoroughly spent from her exertion, she lay down beside me. I saw tears in those beautiful, crystalline eyes as she lightly caressed my wounds. Some parts of my back had lost feeling. The pain increased exponentially as the blood flowed back to those regions. Within a few seconds my back and posterior were on fire. I tried my best not to show the pain, but a few winces and flinches escaped as she lightly touched the wounds.
Deep bruises and angry welts crisscrossed the entire length and breadth of my back. I couldn't move for the time being, but for the first time in two days, I felt somewhat at peace.
Tears continued to flow down her cheeks onto the pillow as she stared at me. I tried to wipe them, but the pain meant was arm was immobile for some time.
"Thank you. I really needed that."
Not nearly as much as I did.
"I am such a sick bitch, to take out her situation on the one guy who cares about her. That's how I end up driving away everybody I love. I have issues I can't fully deal with and it spills out on them."
Offering a weak smile I said," You may be a sick bitch, but you're my sick bitch. I wouldn't have you any other way."
She draped an arm around me and cuddled up to me.
"Monica, I appreciate the gesture, but my back still hurts where your hand is."
She began to remove it.
"Keep it there, I like this pain."
Really, it was the only thing about me I didn't hate.
She looked tired and out of breath but better than I had seen her in days. I am guessing she thought the same looking at me.
That night, despite Simon not being able to move fully, they had a great time. Monica was not in a mood to hurt him any further. She treated his body like it was made of glass and gently kissed his wounds. Wherever she found a red welt, she bent down and lightly blew over it. It had a soothing effect on the wound. She traced long, lazy circles around his back. Still too sore to sleep facing upwards, he stayed like that as she peppered his back with a multitude of light kisses.
He groaned in ecstasy as she extended her gentle ministrations to his abused posterior. She took special care to gently run her fingers over his cheeks and even place a kiss or two there. They fell asleep soon.
A few hours later, Simon awoke to find her gone. Her pillow was damp from crying. Still in considerable pain, he clutched the bedpost for support and got up. Staggering to his fridge, he grabbed an icepack and placed it near the small of his back. He stumbled is way back to the room and went out to the balcony to see the sunrise. Monica was sitting on the swing, gazing emptily towards the horizon. He sat down beside her.