FictionPress.com - let the words flow
| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
|
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
A/N (2/02/07): So... this is a rough draft and it is pretty rough. I'm in the process of editing right now... so please bare with me. Killing Momzillas is much better (writing wise), but we all must start somewhere, yes? Please enjoy! Also... please review, I'd love to get some feedback about things that this is missing, etc.
I can tell if someone’s a murder just by looking at them.
Well… maybe by their smell too… but definitely just by looking at them. I'm sure of it.
My best friend and boyfriend don't believe me. They didn't even agree after I gave them a tour of research on the Internet.
Silly Estela, you watch too much TV, they said.
I wasn't convinced that TV had warped my brain and forever made me a bit paranoid. I ignored them and conducted more internet searches.
Wikipedia and I became fast friends. Here is what I learned:
Charles Manson—leader of a group known as "The Family", masterminded several brutal murders; most notoriously that of movie actress who was eight and a half months pregnant at the time. He looks scary and is up for parole soon. Yippie.
Ed Gein—claimed that by eating the corpses of women who looked like his deceased mother, he could preserve his mother's soul inside his body. He had this dopey, black-eyed look that freaked me out. I bet he stunk… he looked like he stunk. I couldn’t look at his picture for too long, I was sure to have nightmares.
Jeffrey Dahmer—killed his victims quickly, almost as if it were a chore, and then indulged in necrophilia (i.e. he banged the corpses) or cannibalism with the body.
I don't see how my friends can't tell if someone's a killer by just looking at them. I mean, just watch CSI and you'll learn. I always know who the killer is before the big reveal at the end of the episode. And it's never who you expect it to be, is it?
So, what brought me to this sadistic, morbid, and unnatural Internet search?
Well, beside the fact that my family was terrorized nearly a month ago by an insane gynecologist whom I like to call Dr. Pervo—he shot my uncle in the neck in a manic rage brought on by the final realization that I didn’t desire him in any way—the search was also spawned by Christian Waller, the six foot-four, blond sex-pot who sauntered into Starbucks where I worked with his ex-fiancée Olivia Hermann.
He was the rich son of investment banker, Gregory Waller, who was worth more money than I would ever see in my life time. I knew for sure that he was more loaded than my high-fashion model, best friend, Molia Hart. Moo was loaded, no doubt about that, but she didn’t have nearly the wealth of the Waller Family.
Christian was also the father of Olive’s unborn triplets, but I had only seen him in the society pages. He never came to the store.
I was standing beside my first new hire, Joann Chen, a delicate looking Chemistry student at Columbia. I was teaching her the computer system, when the Christmas bells tied to the handle of the front doors tinkle as a gust of snowy air blew in. And in walked Christian Waller.
He looked like one of the fashion models I had seen at one of Moo’s parties. He wore brown boots and slacks and a long khaki trench coat. His blond hair was cut jaggedly and laid nicely on the top of his head. He glanced around like a cat stalking it’s pray and then turned his eyes on me. He approached with an assured step and leaned across the counter.
Most blonds had light colored eyes; Christian Waller’s eyes were pure black. I was sure that he was the devil incarnate, until he smiled. His cheeks were pitted with deep dimples and he had the straightest, whitest, teeth that money could buy. He was without a doubt a sexy man, but his eyes… god; he had the eyes of a devil. And I was sure that he was a serial killer… or had the potential to be one.
“Hi, Beautiful. I’m looking for Olivia Hermann… is she working today?” He drummed his long thin fingers on the counter top. I poked Joann's back.
“It’s her day off, but she works tomorrow at one.” Joann said with a smile.
“Joann… we don’t give out schedules,” I reminded her. She gave me an apologetic smile.
After Thanksgiving, Olive had given back the engagement ring when Christian told her that he didn’t want the babies. Well, technically he said that he wasn’t ready to be a father, but if you ask me, it’s the same thing.
Christian eyed me with his devil eyes and smiled. His eyes landed on my breasts and I was about to snap my fingers in front of his face when he looked up.
“So, you’re Estela,” he smiled charmingly. “Olivia’s told me so much about you. Did you know she’s only working here because of you? She won't leave.”
And I’m only here because of her.
“Really?” I asked. “Well, Olive and I are pretty close.”
Christian smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
“Olive… that’s cute. I tried to call her that when we were first dating… she didn’t like it.” He looked at his long fingers. I noticed that his fingernails were trimmed to the nub, so close that I would think it would be painful to touch anything. “Has she said anything about me?”
I shook my head. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Oh, no,” Christian drew back slowly and stepped aside so Joann could serve the next customer. He continued to look around before he turned his eyes back on me. “Could you tell Olivia that I stopped by to see her? And that I’d like to talk with her soon?” I nodded to him. He sighed and pushed away from the counter. I watched him step outside into the lightly falling snow.
Joann and I glanced at each other. I watched Joann as she helped two more customers and when I was sure that she had a hang of the system I went to the back. Olive looked up from my desk chair, which she had pulled up to the large stainless steel counter. She was carefully cutting out Santa-shaped sugar cookies. I had moved Olive to my old job as the store baker after she had had a breakdown in front of customers a week and a half ago.
She had been exhausted and overworked, and literally dissolved on a regular, who showed concern that she was still working. She looked nine months pregnant, but was really only six or so, and she had flipped out because she was tired of people telling her what to do. I gave the regular—Suit-and-Tie—a free breakfast that day. I was pleased to see that he continued to come into the store every morning for his grande mint espresso and bran muffin. I think had Richard Tober, my old boss, would have fired Olive on the spot had he still been in charge. But Richard was gone. Last I heard he took a manager job at a Starbucks closer to his family and was now boring them with his jowly looks and big beer belly overhang.
Olive's brown eyes twinkled at me when she pointed to a batch of cookies that were cooling on wire racks.
“I didn’t burn those.” She said proudly.
“Great job,” I said.
“What’s up? You look like you have to tell me something.”
“Christian was just here.”
Olive’s pale cheeks went paler. She sat back in my desk chair and put her gloved hand on her belly. She gave a short laugh and shook her head. “It’s like they know when I’m upset or something. They’re somersaulting inside me… wanna feel?” Always intrigued by Olive’s enormously swollen belly, I went to her side and laid my hand on her stomach. I felt a repetitive bump-bump as one--or two--of the babies kicked. I smiled at Olive.
“They’re taking care of their Mommy. Telling her to calm down.”
“Yeah,” Olive sniffed. “What did Christian want?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you,” I answered. “Has he been trying to contact you?”
Olive nodded and removed her plastic gloves; she rolled herself to the oven. I pushed her back to the counter and took the oven mitt from her hand. I removed three pans of cookies.
“He’s trying to reconcile with me… but I really don’t trust him, you know?” I nodded.
He was the devil. I wouldn’t trust him either.
I watched Olive pull on fresh gloves. She picked up a cookie and a frosting knife and began decorating.
I wondered if what Christian said was true... that Olive wouldn't leave because of me. She would have to leave eventually; I didn't know how many women pregnant with triplets could continue to work on their feet throughout their pregnancy. Besides, Olive told me offhandedly a few days ago that her father had asked her to quit the job. Olive didn’t really need to work. She came from a decent family—her father was an old oil man from Texas—who was well off enough to have been scandalized by her pregnancy. I think the tides have lowered on that front. Olive stopped crying at the realization that she had disappointed her father. I guess the family was moving on.
Still, Olive hadn’t given me her two week notice, and now, thanks to Christian Waller, I knew why.
“What did you think of him?” Olive asked.
Psycho.
Serial killer.
Charles Manson. Ed Gein. Jeffery Dahmer. Dr. Pervo. Hannibal Lector. The guy who was the chainsaw killer in Texas…
A black-eyed devil.
Perverts who put cameras in the air vents of innocent women….
“Cute.” I said.
“Yeah,” Olive sighed dreamily. “He’s charming too, Stela, so goddamn charming.” She pressed her frosting knife a little too hard and the cookie crumbled in her hands. I took one of the broken pieces and bit into it. She picked up a new cookie and began frosting it. “Don’t trust charming guys, Stela. They’re bad penises.”
My stomach growled at the smell.
I bet Moo’s boyfriend, Jeremy McCullom—Caterer Jeremy—had brought us dinner. The smell of garlic bread made my tongue water. I closed Moo's door and stepped on the back of my right boot and pulled my foot out. Balancing flamingo style on my socked foot I pulled the other boot off and tossed it to the side. Shrugging out of my coat, I hung it up and then hurried into the kitchen. I opened the oven and found a tinfoil pan and a wrapped loaf of bread. I moaned at the delicious smell. Closing the oven door I straightened up. The kitchen door swung open with a bang.
“Stela!” Moo cried, shocked.
I turned around quickly and found her standing in the kitchen with me. All she wore was a pink feather tutu and a tiara. Her slender arms were wrapped around her breasts. She curled her toes in and bit her lower lip.
“I um… I got distracted….” Moo said with a shy smile. “Aren’t you early?”
I was thirty minutes late.
“Jeremy was just going to drop off our dinner… and I… I um… we just….”
I started laughing and so did Moo.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I cried.
“It’s called a Tutu of Pleasure… I got it from Tangible Pleasures,” Moo did a little turn for me and shook her feathered bottom. We laughed. “God, Jeremy loves this thing… you should get one for Caleb.”
I blushed.
Caleb Hood, famous photographer and love of my life, was the second man in the world to make me feel attractive in my own skin. A lot of men had hurt me over the years—mostly with comments that had cut through my heart; those emotional hurts had scarred me deeper than any physical wound. The message I had received as a young girl was that I was never good enough. Boys said I was too fat, too brown, too loud, too tall, too poor, too smart, or too fat. Caleb, like my tio, loved me for who I was… Donut Hole (the name my tia gave the roll on my belly) included. And I loved him desperately too. But I still had body hang ups that I couldn’t get over, no matter how hot Caleb made me.
“Give me five… no ten… no fifteen… yeah, twenty… give me twenty more minutes, okay?” Moo hurried passed me and jerked open the refrigerator. She took out a can of whipped cream and shook it. She cursed when she found it half empty.
“That’s good… you’ll ruin your appetite anyway.” I said.
Moo grinned and closed the refrigerator door with her slender hip.
“Not for me,” she said as she uncapped the canister.
I looked way at the noisy spray of whipped cream and laughed at Moo’s gasp: “Cold!”
When I looked back, Moo had covered her breasts with whipped cream and was hurrying past me, her feathered tutu billowing as she moved. “Okay, Stela… thirty more minutes, okay, just thirty more minutes?” She pushed through the kitchen door and I could hear here giggling all the way across her posh apartment to her room. I blushed hearing Caterer Jeremy’s growl of appreciation.
I would probably eat alone tonight.
I searched for cookies to supplement my appetite and flipped on the TV mounted inside the refrigerator door. I flipped through the channels and stopped on a local news station that was giving the weather report. Cold, cold, and colder was the forecast for Christmas. I was about to change the channel when they went to a live report from New York University:
"Yes, Carrie, you heard correctly. The body of a pregnant coed was found last night on the NYU campus. We have now learned that the body was identified as Maggie Shwartz, a senior Zoology major, and daughter of New York senator Lysander Shwartz. The police have no leads on the murder of young Maggie, but have a list of possible suspects, which, according to our source includes Christian Waller, son of banking tycoon Gregory Waller."
My mouth went dry as Christian's face flashed on the screen.
I knew it! I knew Christian Waller was a serial killer... and to think Moo and Caleb told me I was being over dramatic. I grabbed Moo's phone and punched in Olive's phone number. I had to talk to her before she gave in and went back to a killer.
Copyright: TAN 2006