City?”
“Couple of hours. Why?”
“I wanna know how long before I can stop listening to you.”
“Hey, if you didn’t want the fucking ride, you shouldn’t have got in.”
“I want the ride but not the chat. Okay?”
He shook his head. Ungrateful bitch, he thought. He had a damn good mind to kick her out. But he needed her. The tingle needed her. So, she could stay. She’d signed her death warrant but she could stay. He hit the gas until the speedometer screamed eighty.
His anger boiled for miles but his fantasies brought the heat down to a pleasant simmer. He had his first kill to drool over. Rose would be special. Her death would be with him forever.
How would he do it?
She had a big mouth; he could make it bigger. He’d grind the blade into the corners of her mouth. Watch the flesh bunch up before the knife sliced through her cheeks. He imagined her smile. He would be able to see all her teeth. With a mouth that went from ear to ear, would she be able to scream louder? Only experimentation would tell.
That wouldn’t kill her though.
But gutting her like a fish would. He’d cut the dress off and stick with the knife at the base of her ribs. He’d work the blade up, bisecting her, until the knife lodged in her throat.
He hoped she wouldn’t keep her eyes closed. He hated when they did that. But it’s hard to blink when you don’t have eyelids.
A roadside message board flashed by. He really had allowed his imagination to wander. Time had flown. Carson City was only forty miles away. He eased the Camaro onto the dirt shoulder.
“Why we stopping?” Rose demanded.
“I’m getting a cold one out of the trunk. I’ve got an ice chest. You want one?”
She eyed him for a second then nodded.
He left the engine running while he retrieved cans from the cooler. Ice scrunched as his hand dived in to grab a six-pack. The shock of cold ran from his hand to his groin, chilling him but not the tingle.
Slipping back into his seat, he handed Rose a can. Ice water dripped onto her dress, staining the pink, red. She cracked the pop-top. He proposed a toast.
“To traveling strangers, may we be strangers for only a short time.”
They clanged cans. To be accurate, he clanged his can against hers. He took an untidy but grateful chug from the brew.
“Why aren’t you driving?”
“I might drink and drive, but I don’t drink while I drive.” He patted her thigh, making sure he touched flesh and not dress.
She stiffened at his boundary crossing.
“I would like to keep going.”
“What’s the hurry? You said you don’t have anybody waiting for you and I don’t have a clock to punch. We can take it easy.”
He patted her thigh again, but this time he let his hand rest there. He looked away at the setting sun to make it look innocent.
She shifted awkwardly in her seat and the dress brushed the back of his fingers. The material was odd. He had expected it to be rough and probably synthetic from the way it moved but it wasn’t. The fabric was smooth; it felt everyday , but not as a dress material.
“Can you move your hand?”
“Can I? Yes, I can. But the question is , do I want to? And more importantly, do you want me to?”
“All I know is , I want your damn paw off me.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. We could be friends. I did buy you a beer.”
He slid his hand a little further up her thigh, the bizarre dress fabric rubbing against his hand and forearm.
“Remove you hand. Now!”
“Hey, I’m being a nice guy. I gave you a ride and it would be nice if you gave me a little something in return. A ride for a ride, maybe.”
His hand had ridden as far as it was going to go. Her thighs came to end and his fingers brushed soft curls. She wasn’t wearing panties. He started to massage her sex.
He didn’t detect the sound at first. The Camaro’s sweet engine note masked it.
“Couple of hours. Why?”
“I wanna know how long before I can stop listening to you.”
“Hey, if you didn’t want the fucking ride, you shouldn’t have got in.”
“I want the ride but not the chat. Okay?”
He shook his head. Ungrateful bitch, he thought. He had a damn good mind to kick her out. But he needed her. The tingle needed her. So, she could stay. She’d signed her death warrant but she could stay. He hit the gas until the speedometer screamed eighty.
His anger boiled for miles but his fantasies brought the heat down to a pleasant simmer. He had his first kill to drool over. Rose would be special. Her death would be with him forever.
How would he do it?
She had a big mouth; he could make it bigger. He’d grind the blade into the corners of her mouth. Watch the flesh bunch up before the knife sliced through her cheeks. He imagined her smile. He would be able to see all her teeth. With a mouth that went from ear to ear, would she be able to scream louder? Only experimentation would tell.
That wouldn’t kill her though.
But gutting her like a fish would. He’d cut the dress off and stick with the knife at the base of her ribs. He’d work the blade up, bisecting her, until the knife lodged in her throat.
He hoped she wouldn’t keep her eyes closed. He hated when they did that. But it’s hard to blink when you don’t have eyelids.
A roadside message board flashed by. He really had allowed his imagination to wander. Time had flown. Carson City was only forty miles away. He eased the Camaro onto the dirt shoulder.
“Why we stopping?” Rose demanded.
“I’m getting a cold one out of the trunk. I’ve got an ice chest. You want one?”
She eyed him for a second then nodded.
He left the engine running while he retrieved cans from the cooler. Ice scrunched as his hand dived in to grab a six-pack. The shock of cold ran from his hand to his groin, chilling him but not the tingle.
Slipping back into his seat, he handed Rose a can. Ice water dripped onto her dress, staining the pink, red. She cracked the pop-top. He proposed a toast.
“To traveling strangers, may we be strangers for only a short time.”
They clanged cans. To be accurate, he clanged his can against hers. He took an untidy but grateful chug from the brew.
“Why aren’t you driving?”
“I might drink and drive, but I don’t drink while I drive.” He patted her thigh, making sure he touched flesh and not dress.
She stiffened at his boundary crossing.
“I would like to keep going.”
“What’s the hurry? You said you don’t have anybody waiting for you and I don’t have a clock to punch. We can take it easy.”
He patted her thigh again, but this time he let his hand rest there. He looked away at the setting sun to make it look innocent.
She shifted awkwardly in her seat and the dress brushed the back of his fingers. The material was odd. He had expected it to be rough and probably synthetic from the way it moved but it wasn’t. The fabric was smooth; it felt everyday , but not as a dress material.
“Can you move your hand?”
“Can I? Yes, I can. But the question is , do I want to? And more importantly, do you want me to?”
“All I know is , I want your damn paw off me.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. We could be friends. I did buy you a beer.”
He slid his hand a little further up her thigh, the bizarre dress fabric rubbing against his hand and forearm.
“Remove you hand. Now!”
“Hey, I’m being a nice guy. I gave you a ride and it would be nice if you gave me a little something in return. A ride for a ride, maybe.”
His hand had ridden as far as it was going to go. Her thighs came to end and his fingers brushed soft curls. She wasn’t wearing panties. He started to massage her sex.
He didn’t detect the sound at first. The Camaro’s sweet engine note masked it.
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