Blood. Lots of it. All over the walls. All over the floor. Slathered across my shirt like a thick strawberry syrup. You know that song called, “Get Low” by Lil’ John & The East Side Boyz? Yeah, it was to the windows… And the walls. But I guess I shouldn’t be making any kind of joke about this. Sorry, this is serious.
Anyways, that’s how my Friday night ended. It was supposed to be a nice, romantic evening watching some Netflix and eating a steak dinner. Instead, I was stuck on all fours… Scrubbing the floors. And the walls. And myself. But I’m sure that without any context, none of this is really making sense. So, let me explain:
It all started when I went on a date with this guy I met on a dating app (Yes, I know. I was stupid). He looked charming though, and he was handsome in a typical, conventionally good looking sort of way. He wasn’t someone that would stand out in a room, but he wasn’t a wallflower either. See, that was where I messed up. I underestimated him. I took one look at this man and thought he was completely normal. Everything seemed that way up until recently.
Our first date was perfect. Conversation flowed, laughter filled the room and both of us smiled so much that our faces hurt by the end of the night.
“Listen,” he started, a boyish grin tugging at his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck and walked me up to my front door. “I really enjoyed our night and I’d love to see you again. I haven’t laughed this much in ages.”
I bit my lip, playfully nudging his shoulder as we stood in front of my door before I teasingly said, “I didn’t laugh a peep.”
Lips pierced together, I watched his brows rise, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he nodded his head slowly and fired back, “sure. Says the girl who laughed so hard she spent the rest of the night with the hiccups.”
A playful smack landed on his arm as I turned to unlock my door, an incredulous look creeping onto my features before I laughed and said, “I can’t help it!”
When I finally tugged the door open, I turned and was met with the choice of leaning in for a kiss or simply initiating a hug. Despite feeling so comfortable with him already, both options seemed daunting at the moment. But he was quick to decide.
He slowly wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into an embrace. He smelled of cinnamon gum and something spicy and warm. The second we pulled a couple inches away from each other, our eyes locked, and neither of us could brush away the magnetic pull that we both felt. He leaned in first, but I was quick to follow. And then… We were kissing on my doorstep. I don’t know how many seconds passed before we parted ways, but we were both dazed and enraptured all at once, and that was enough for both of us to agree on a second date.
That first date turned into two and then three and then so many more that I couldn’t count them all if I tried. The thing is, I thought he was perfect. But then again, don’t we all feel that way during the first couple of months. Before we take off the rose colored glasses. Before they start slipping up. Before the skeletons in their closet start to make an appearance (in this case… Quite literally).
Okay, I’m sorry. Again. I really need to stop making light of all of this, but in all honesty, I’m utterly shocked at the situation that I’m in right now, and I’m still trying to figure out how to cope. So, bear with me as you read through this. I’ll try to keep it together from here on out, I promise.
The three month mark was when I first started noticing the red flags. It started out with something as small as a hair clip in his car. My first thought was that maybe he was seeing some other woman. What I didn’t know was that thinking he was cheating on me should have been the least of my worries. That hair clip didn’t come off some poor girl’s head during a “passionate rendezvous.” Well… Correction: Rendezvous? No. Passionate? Yes… That was the third murder.
That brings me to the fourth month of us dating. By then, he was getting sloppy. But although I was picking up on strange little things here and there, I still wasn’t connecting the dots. I wasn’t looking at the bigger picture. I wasn’t calling a spade a spade. But then again, how was I to call a spade a spade when I wasn’t even 100% sure?
I didn’t have to wait long to receive that clarity though. In fact, it came racing towards me so fast that I didn’t even realize what hit me. Murder number five is what did him in. It was the cherry on top of a big, bloody sun- well, let me just stop there. You get the idea. That was morbid… Sorry.
Anyways, I finally realized what he was up to that Friday night. He planned a date at his house at 6:30. When I showed up, he answered the door with a hand towel hanging over his shoulder and an apron on.
“Cute apron,” I teased, as I stepped into the house and set my purse on the little table by the door.
Shooting me a look, he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me into the kitchen. “Make fun of my apron all you want, but this steak I just finished up looks good enough to put Gordon Ramsay to shame.”
A smug look of satisfaction melted onto his features when he saw my eyes widen before I finally managed to say, “I guess I underestimated you.”
The next couple of hours played out pretty normally. Dinner was amazing, the steak a perfect medium rare, and the red wine he picked out was a perfect pairing for the meat. He even whipped up two sides: deliciously buttered garlic mashed potatoes and a homemade caesar salad with perfectly crispy croutons. In all the time that I’d been dating this man, I had no idea that he could even cook this well, but then again, I was soon to find out that there were plenty of other things I didn’t know about him either.
“Hey, what movie did you want to watch?” I called out to him from the living room.
“You choose tonight!” he shouted back, his voice slightly muffled over the sound of water rushing down the sink.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help with the dishes? I don’t mind!” I hollered, hoping that he could still hear me over all the clattering.
“You just sit there and look pretty. I’ll be done in a few minutes!”
I lazily scrolled through countless movies and T.V. shows on Netflix before something piqued my interest. Not a movie… Not a T.V. Show… But a sound. A muffled sort of cry?
I stood from the couch, quietly padding over to the hallway and flinched when I heard it again. This time it sounded like a thump. What the-
Shock coursed through me a million miles an hour as a female came hurtling out of the room, her arms tied together, but her feet free. I watched in utter horror as she came running towards me with a shard of glass in her hands, her brows knitted together in determination as she lifted it and then… crumpled into a heap on the floor.
Sharp rapid breaths left my mouth as I fought back the urge to scream. Blood splattered all over the front of my shirt like the neighbor’s sprinkler next door sprayed across his lawn.
I slowly turned and faced him. The second his eyes met mine, I could feel the sense of dread that was sinking into his features. Both of us were silent for a moment before I said, “Is that-”
“Yes,” he interrupted, worry presenting itself in the shape of a crease in between his brows as he tried to study my features. I knew that he was wondering what I was thinking because I was wondering the same about him.
Considering that he was still armed and I’d witnessed him murder that woman right in front of me, I needed to play my cards right. I couldn’t risk making the wrong move.
My face slowly contorted into one of absolute horror. Shivering and stuttering, I looked down at my clothing and then back up at him.
“Listen,” he started, motioning with the gun towards the girl bleeding out on the floor. “I don’t want to have to do this, but you’ve seen too much.”
Panic began to mount within me as the waterworks slipped out. Sobs wracked my body as I pleaded with him.
“Please…” I blubbered, tears running down my cheeks and snot coating my upper lip.
The quickest flicker of doubt crossed his features as he used his other hand to rub the bridge of his nose before he looked up and ground out between clenched teeth, “just shut up and help me clean up this mess. We can talk about how we’re going to handle this afterwards.”
After the floor was scrubbed clean and the house smelled of so many chemicals that my nose burned, he studied my work with a quirk of his brow. “This is spotless…”
Dropping the bloodied washcloth into the trash, I wiped the sweat from my brow and turned around to lean against the counter. “I would hope so. I’ve been scrubbing for hours.”
He only nodded, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, seemingly deep in thought. I observed as he shuffled in place a bit before he cocked his head to the side and gave me a peculiar little grin. “That wasn’t your first time cleaning up something like that, was it?”
I tried my best not to fidget, nonchalantly sliding the knife that I’d stolen from his knife block further down into the back of my jeans. Then, I cautiously approached him. I needed to keep my head. I needed to play the part. I needed to not lose my cool.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I stared up at him and smirked. “That wasn’t your first time killing someone, was it?”
His hands snaked around my waist as he tugged me closer. A shiver raced over me as his lips brushed against the outside of my ear, a single word whispered. “Touché.”
Worry bloomed within me when his arm brushed against the hilt of the knife, but I choked it down. Instead, I needed to focus on distracting him.
I boldly reached up and grabbed his chin, smashing my lips to his as passionately as I could. Completely blindsided, his lips moved fervently against mine, and the second I felt his hands come up to tangle in my hair, I took it as my chance to reach for the knife.
You see, the thing is, I know my boyfriend was a serial killer… But I’m afraid there’s only room for one in this town.