Cry Baby (11 page)

4.25
AM

Numb.

That’s how she feels. Detached, somehow. As though she’s not really here. Just looking out through somebody else’s eyes, the way that man looks out at the world through the brooch pinned to her coat.

She has been sitting here on a chair since she got home. A wooden chair rather than the sofa, because she’s still covered in blood and doesn’t want to ruin her furniture. Doesn’t want to soil it with the blood she has just spilled.

And she spilled a lot of it. She can still feel it gushing out of the man’s neck. Hitting her in the face, hot and wet and somehow alive.

She knows she should wash it off, but it almost seems a futile gesture. Like wandering through the remains of a house that’s been smashed into pieces by a hurricane, and then picking up an overturned chair, as if that somehow restores order.

She’s not sure she can ever remove this blood. Not completely. Even if she could wash a hundred times, she will still feel as though it is there. As if it has seeped into her skin and become as permanent as a tattoo – an eternal reminder of what she has done.

And yet she is not as upset as she was after the homeless guy. This man was garbage. Scum. He deserved to die.

Did he? Did he deserve it? Does anyone
deserve
to die?

Oh, Jesus,
Erin. Let’s not get philosophical about this. You don’t know what that piece of shit would have done. You don’t know what he’s done to other women either. Maybe he would have raped you and then murdered you. You did what you had to do to protect yourself and get out of there.

Yes, but I got into his car in the first place. Doesn’t that make me at least a little bit guilty?

Why should it? Are you saying girls shouldn’t wear short skirts or smile at strangers? Next you’ll be saying they shouldn’t be revealing their ankles either. How far do you want to take an argument like that, Erin? No means no, end of.

Yes, but…

Oh, fuck.

Listen to me. Setting up a debating society in my own head. As if it’s not already crowded enough in there with Mister Voiceover.

‘Are you all right, Erin?’

Right on cue. Right on fucking cue. Come on in, join the party, why don’t you? Put your two cents in. Not that you need an invitation. Since when has that stopped you? When did you ever stop and consider that the interior of a woman’s head is the very last place you should be intruding.

No fucking manners, some people.

‘
Erin? Did you hear me?’

‘I heard you, all right? Have I got a choice not to hear you? I can’t just walk away from you, in case you haven’t realized. Maybe your wife did, and your mother, and all your other friends and family. Maybe that’s why you’re doing this, because it’s the only way you can get someone to listen to your stupid boring voice. And maybe it’s why you don’t show yourself either, because you’re ugly and weak and afraid and everybody hates you. Is that it, asswipe? Because you’re a nobody, a nothing, and this is the only way you can give yourself some feeling of control? I bet it is. I bet if you walked through my door now, even I could kick your ass. That’s how pathetic you are.’

‘My, my, Erin. Are you annoyed at me?’

‘Me? Nooo. Why would I be angry at you? You only drugged me, stole my baby and made me kill people. What’s there not to like?’

‘I told you. It’s for a reason. It’s all for your benefit.’

‘That’s right. I forgot. You’re showing me the light. Hallelujah, brother. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition so I can blow another fucker off this planet. Thanks for that. I feel so righteous now.’

‘You shouldn’t feel guilty about killing that last guy. He had it coming.’

‘FYI, I’ve just had this discussion in my head. Your contribution isn’t needed, thank you very much.’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘Oh, don’t even go there, all right? Like you’re concerned for my welfare. Like you’re somehow looking after me. Don’t stick that label on yourself along with all the other ones that add to your delusions, okay?’

‘But I am looking after you, Erin. You’ll see. After this day is done, you’ll understand.’

‘Yeah, right.’

She decides this conversation is over, and gets up from the chair.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get cleaned up. You want to come with me? Feel free to say no to that.’

She goes into the bathroom and puts the light on, then looks at herself in the mirror over the basin.

Christ. It’s worse than she thought. Those tissues barely made a difference. She’s covered in it. It’s on her face, in her hair, soaked into her coat. She looks like Carrie in the movie of the same name.

She starts to unbutton her coat.

‘Whoa, Erin. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She ignores him. Continues unbuttoning. Starts to shuck off the coat.

‘Hold it right there. Don’t be stupid. You know what will happen.’

She pauses, the coat off her shoulders but her arms still in the sleeves.

‘I need to get clean.’

‘Uh-uh. Forget it. I told you. You need to wear the surveillance equipment at all times. You don’t take it off, not even for a minute.’

She pulls the coat back on, but doesn’t fasten it. ‘Are you crazy? Look at me. You think I can go out again looking like this? I am covered in that man’s blood. If the cops stop me again I’m done for. Even if I didn’t have any blood on me I’d have to change, because those cops from before will be looking for me as soon as that body in the car is found. Send me out like this and you might as well call the cops yourself. I won’t get five yards without being arrested.’

There’s a long pause while he contemplates her argument. Ha! Didn’t think this one through, did you, mastermind? You’re not so infallible.

‘All right, Erin. What do you suggest?’

‘I suggest I take a shower, is what I suggest.’

‘How do I know that’s all you’ll do?’

‘You don’t. Obviously I can’t get in the shower with all this equipment, so you’ll just have to trust me.’

‘No dice, Erin. I don’t do trust. That’s not how it works.’

Big surprise, she thinks. He doesn’t trust me.

‘All right, then you come up with an idea. I have to get cleaned up. You tell me how I’m supposed to do that while sticking to your rules.’

Another long pause. Then:
‘Go get a hanger from the closet in your bedroom. Hang the coat on the bathroom door, the brooch facing out. You can take the earpiece out when you’re about to get into the shower.’

She falters then, her fighting spirit suddenly dissipating again. ‘I… You’ll see me. If I do it like that, you’ll see me getting undressed.’

‘Take it or leave it, Erin. I’m giving a little here. You need to do the same.’

Giving a little. Yeah, right. Giving yourself a little erection while you watch a strip show, is more the truth of it.

Fuck.

But she knows she has to do what he asks. She can’t bear to stay covered in this sticky dark blood from another human being any longer.

She fetches the hanger, drapes the coat over it, then hangs it in position on the bathroom door. Stepping back, she stares at the brooch. It feels strange not to have it attached to her and looking out. Now it’s at a distance, with its beady little eye on her. Like having a stranger right there in her bathroom – a peeping tom about to watch her get naked.

She turns her back to her watcher as she starts to undress. While she disrobes she listens intently for any sounds over the earpiece – any sign that he’s getting a little too interested in this spectacle. That dirty bastard. He’s probably—

And then a thought hits her.

Maybe she can use this. She didn’t think she possessed anything she could use in a fight against this man, but maybe she does. Her body. Her sexuality. Maybe the sight of someone being murdered isn’t the only thing that turns him on. If he’s at all interested in women…

Yes. Could that be it? Could I do it?

A tremor runs through her.

I can’t be obvious about it. Nothing too quick, too artificial. I have to take my time. Build up to it. Start with a little teasing. Get him interested. Get him thinking about me in a different way. Not as a pawn for executing his death warrants, but as an object of desire. Someone he might fantasize over. Someone he thinks about so much he will be unable to control himself. He will need to see properly, up close and personal. Not through a crappy little lens. He will need to smell and hold and caress. And to do that, he will need to get closer. So much closer. Close enough to kill.

Yes!

Her original intention had been to protect her modesty as much as possible. Keep his pervy little eyes off of her. She planned to get behind the shower curtain before removing the last of her clothes, keeping a robe within arm’s reach for when she got out. That way he would see nothing.

But now she has a different plan.

She is down to her underwear. Blue bra, white panties, thick winter pantyhose. Not the sexiest attire, but hey, seducing the abductor of her child wasn’t originally in her diary for today.

She peels off the pantyhose. Then she takes a deep breath. Pulls in her stomach and sticks out her chest. Childbirth took its toll, but in the months following she put a lot of work into getting her shape back. The one thing she appreciated about motherhood, however, was a much bigger rack: she went up two whole cup sizes while pregnant, and her boobs don’t show any sign of shrinking just yet, despite the fact she abandoned breastfeedi
ng as a lost cause.

She sneaks a sidelong look into the mirror. Not bad. Well, except for that blood on your face. That kinda ruins the effect you’re aiming at,
Erin. Not exactly subtle in the makeup department.

Still, beggars can’t be choosers. If this works, maybe he won’t be lifting his gaze that high.

She turns.

Tries to make it seem casual. An ‘I need to go over here now’ kind of move, rather than a ‘feast your eyes on these bad boys’ one.

She doesn’t know what she’s hoping for – maybe not a cry of ‘hubba hubba’, but at least a lewd comment or even a mild gasp of arousal – but she gets nothing.

Press on, she thinks. He might even have turned his own microphone off so as to cut off his groans while he jerks off.

Maybe you’d like to come over here and do the five finger shuffle, you pervert. I can promise you that your groans won’t be the only things that get cut off.

She reaches in behind the shower curtain, then bends forward while she turns on the water, affording him an even better view of her cleavage. As she twists the control, one of the bra straps falls off her shoulder. She leaves it there.

Come on, fella. Say something. Anything. Show me you’re interested. Show me that watching people being sliced open isn’t the only way you can get your rocks off.

She straightens up, then moves closer to the coat on the door. Looks straight into the brooch. He’s got a perfect view of me now, she thinks. Close up and semi-nude. A bra that’s possibly on the verge of revealing more than it should. A few smears of blood that might even add to the attraction as far as this crazy fuck is concerned. You don’t want to say anything? All right, how about I make you talk?

‘Is it okay if I take out my earpiece now?’

He pauses before answering:
‘Yes, Erin. Put it on the shelf above the basin, where I can see it.’

His response couldn’t be more disappointing. He seems more interested in the damn earpiece than he does in her. His voice is dull, flat. Like he finds this tedious. Distasteful, even.

Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual, mister. You think I’m stripping off in front of you because I like you? Think again.

Actually, no. Don’t think again. Don’t think at all. Let your hormones do what they’re supposed to do. Let them pump up your organs and get you racing over here, stud. Come and prove to me what a hot-blooded caveman you are. And when you do, I’ll show you just how hot your blood really is. I’ll let you see it and touch it for yourself.

This isn’t going to work.

He’s not into me. Hasn’t got the faintest interest.

Don’t give up, Erin. Don’t abandon the only plan you’ve got so easily.

She walks back to the basin, pulling out the earpiece as she goes. With her back to the camera again, she reaches behind and unhooks her bra, then lets it fall to the floor. She tries telling herself that he’s mere inches away from his monitor now, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of her tits. She forces herself to imagine that his breathing is heavy, panting almost. Maybe it’s not true. Maybe the sight of a naked woman is abhorrent to him. But if there’s a chance, just a slim hope…

She slips off the panties, careful not to bend forward too much. This isn’t one of those ludicrous sex-romp movies. She’s not auditioning to be a porn star here. Just a little titillation. Get his cogs rotating. Get him hungry for more.

If you want more, mister, then you’ll have to ask for it. For now, this is all you get.