Hair is what I first notice. For others, it’s the whole appearance; maybe the eyes and nose reminded them of someone they know. I don’t know why hair, but that’s what it is for me. Sometimes during the day, when I’m holding the sign high, the truck stopped at the front of the line is Beth’s. She wears big sunglasses, so I don’t know when she’s looking at me. Her blue truck looks old… a Ford, maybe 2005. The grill guard is pink, and the square headlights have those big, plastic eyelashes stuck to them. Most days she turns down her music and adjusts the mirror. Then hanging around her mirror, she checks the strands of beads and a tassel, probably from her high school, with a gold charm that’s too far away to read. I still hear the thumping of the song even when it’s turned down and she barely opens her mouth wide enough to sing along.
Beth’s hair is brown.
Someone honks. I forget about Beth and am back to where I really am. The road is almost complete. When we wake up with the sun, I don’t complain. There’s always noise, always the drilling. Dirt gets thrown in your face from the pavers and cars passing, slowing down to avoid a fine. We aren’t in as much danger as the road workers in the city; we’re adding a shoulder to a rural highway that goes through the country.
I lost where I was again. Sometimes that happens. I am still a good worker, but I get lost sometimes. My boss has called me into his office a few times about it. He says I zone out a lot, and then he always tells me about his daughter’s office. It is in the metro, part of an office complex along the canal; it has a long leather couch and sticks for burning incense. She graduated early from college two years ago in December, and she can prescribe anyone anything. He is very proud of her. My boss wants me to go sometime, and the last time we spoke he handed me her business card. She has black hair and is smiling in the picture, wearing turquoise jewelry and glasses that make her look smart. “Being a foreman is hard enough without having to worry about my crew,” he says.
I perform well; I am one of the strongest members of the crew because I can carry two of our cement bags on my shoulders at a time. It’s not too bad for me because I regularly practice and work my muscles. When they ask me to, I can drive the vehicles. Sometimes I drive the truck with flashing lights that the cars in line at the stop sign are supposed to follow. I can do anything they ask me to, but most days I am just a flagger. Being a flagger is one of the easier jobs I have done. In the past, I have bagged groceries and helped Uncle.
The grocery store was easy. Everyone had to be asked if they wanted paper or plastic, and they gave me a tip if I carried the bags to their cars. It was too easy, so it was boring. I volunteered to sweep a lot so I could look around, and I made friends with the man behind the deli counter, who also got bored. His name was Rodney, I think. He would whistle while I was sweeping to get my attention. In his apron he had things he would get fired for if anyone saw. He knew that, which made him think it was funny. The magazines were always new issues, and the cigarettes never ran out. For his 31st birthday, he got himself tickets to the local ring fights, which he was very proud of because the fights were illegal. He had an extra and gave it to me. I was eighteen then, I think. Maybe twenty already.
He yelled a lot. When he was drunk, he yelled worse. He drank too much at the ring and I was told by everyone there to drive him home. His house and yard were trashy, and the grass was overgrown. No one else lived there except his two dogs. They were full-grown Rottweilers, brothers who came from the same litter. He drank more from his refrigerator, then he dared me to climb over the fence in the backyard with the dogs. Their teeth were sharp, and their mouths were frothing and throwing spit because they were barking so much. They were loud, like him.
I didn’t do his dare, only because I knew the dogs could hurt me. If they were smaller, I would have. He drank more and climbed over the fence because the gate latch was still stuck from the recent winter freeze, then let both brothers’ chains lose at the same time; he thought he deserved to watch another fight for his birthday. He laughed when they attacked each other and threw his empty can at the loser while its throat was clamped down on by the other dog, booing because he wanted it to last longer. While the loser was breathing its last few breaths shallowly, laying limp on the ground, the winner wasn’t finished. He turned around, his ears flat against its head and body low to the ground with a growl. He lunged at Rodney.
I don’t remember if it killed him. Maybe he died in the hospital, or maybe he lived, though it’s not likely. I think I ran away as it happened; I didn’t want the police to think I did something wrong. But I definitely called for help… and I was definitely seventeen. I remember that much now.
It was easy, so I was bored. It was easy, so I quit.
My Uncle owns a vehicle impoundment; I worked there when everyone I went to school with once was now attending college. I did see some of them from time to time as punishment for driving under the influence, or some other mishap with the law. They were never in a good mood when that happened, but they were never very pleasant to me before. There would be days where Uncle was too busy to drive or was taking a long lunch, so I would drive the tow truck around the county. That was before I got to drive like I do now. One thing I didn’t like about my job was dealing with people – the wrong people, that is. I enjoyed talking to girls more than the men; they were nicer, quieter, and acted good because I was bigger than them. I tried to be nice to them in return, which was not something I did well with the men that came in. They stood up straight so that their chests puffed out, were loud and spoke clear, and gave me funny looks. Not like the looks that the females gave me, where their eyes looked at me up and down very fast, then they quickly looked away so I would not think they were flirting with me. I liked how they held their heads slightly down when talking to me, looking at their shoes, and fidgeted with something in their pocket and gave a little smile when I talked. I learned a lot about myself when I worked for Uncle.
I never officially quit, but Uncle knew I never had to say it. I began to help less around the impound when I got my job in construction. Uncle and I see eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I am probably closer to him than anyone else I know, as close as I am comfortable being. I like that we don’t have to say much to understand each other. We watch the same shows on television, hate the taste of the same things, like the same cars, and I am told we look the same. If I had it my way as a child, I would have lived with him.
I don’t read as much as I used to, but as a kid I wanted to learn as much as possible. The trips to the library were always the best part of the week at school. In middle school, I became interested in nonfiction works, books about real people. Most of them I wanted to take home required a parent’s signed permission slip since the material was not suitable for my age at the time. I didn’t want my parents to know what I was choosing to read, so instead I would spend hours at the library for days on end, finishing several chapters in a visit. The books explained how that person’s mind worked and what that person’s most inner thoughts were. I also learned a lot about myself at the library from reading those books. If I remember right, that was the first time I felt seen, like there was at least one other person in the world who was like me. Everything they had been thinking is what I think about often.
What I do is not easy; I play a game. I chase, and I win. My reward is good, but it doesn’t last long enough. When I first got the idea, I could not believe I hadn’t thought of it before.
To enjoy hurting people is not something many admit to. To want to kill them is even harder for people to say – which is why I have never said it out loud. I keep most of my thoughts to myself anyway, but this is different. When some people get told a secret, they must tell someone else or they will go crazy – that is how I feel, but instead of talking about it, I have to do it. I am afraid not to let myself do what I do, because if I don’t, I will take it out on more people at once. I don’t want to do that.
Someone honks again. I’m still at work, but quite a bit of time has passed. The sun is lower in the sky than it was before, casting an orange glow on everything. It is so bright that I shield my eyes until I can find my sunglasses. They are different from Beth’s.
With everyone else, I knew for sure what their names were, or at least what their driver’s license says their name is. I don’t know for sure if Beth is her real name, but I see her so much on the job that I decided I would give her a name. I knew a Beth once in high school who used to smile at me while her friends gave me strange looks, and my cousin Beth who is two years younger than me.
The first girl was Josie, and I was not planning on killing her. I had decided after work that afternoon to test out my plan for the first time. When I drove home and ate supper, I could hardly finish what was on my plate because I was nervous. I had managed to sneak my gear and stop sign past the foreman and the rest of the crew because I was the last one to leave. Then, I sat and waited in my apartment until it got dark. On that night, I drove myself back to the site, but every other time, for what I needed to do, I would have to walk instead.
Our machines and vehicles are left overnight, parked off-road, which is where I left my truck parked behind. I put on my reflective vest and belt that holds my two-way radio, plus a hard hat for an extra bit of realism. It was cold so I let the truck heat up until I felt ready to step out. At this point, it was 8:30 when I saw the headlights from a mile away on the flat horizon. I stepped out, holding my stop sign up along the side of the road; I knew the orange diamond shape ahead of me was our “Be Prepared to Stop” sign, which I thought made it even more real.
None of it would have mattered if the person driving the car was a man, or if there was more than one person inside. I guess I just got lucky because that car was the only one for miles, and it was empty apart from the driver. She had black hair with a blue highlight and brown eyes that turned up at the ends. I thought she was pretty but when I got closer, I saw that she wore too much makeup, even for someone in college. Her car slowed down and stopped in front of me, and her brakes were loud and rusty. I couldn’t see very well into the car from outside, but I could see that she looked confused.
I walked closer and knocked on the passenger window. She rolled it down more than halfway; I still remember what she said to me.
“Are there new hours or something?”
“Huh?”
“I drive this road all the time. Are you guys extending your hours?”
I had to think fast, which is not one of my strengths. “Yeah. I just saw a possum run in front of you. Did you feel that bump?”
She put a hand over her mouth. “No! Is it still there?”
Maybe I was better at thinking fast than I thought, because she began to unbuckle her seatbelt. Now was the part I had come to test out – whether she would take the bait. Just a test, and then I’d let her go home.
She opened the driver’s door and stepped out, hurrying to the front of the car to check. For it being cold outside, she wore a gray sweatshirt with a mascot of the local university, black shorts that were tight like leggings, and white tennis shoes. The sweatshirt was for those in the nursing program.
I’m not sure what happened. I don’t know what came over me. All I know is that in an instant, she no longer was a human being, but instead something worth killing. Maybe it was the way she looked; when a girl acts like she is interested in me, I do not usually keep her interest for long. In the books I read, many of them said the killer did what they did to have control. There are still things I don’t know about myself… I do like being above them. I like the idea of someone being beneath me. She let out a sigh of relief when there was no possum to be found.
“That was scary. Last week I hit a – “
I jumped at her. One hand went over her mouth while the other wrapped above her torso, keeping her arms close to her chest so she wouldn’t wiggle away. She immediately went to screaming behind my hand and kicking her legs out, kicking behind and hitting my knee once, but I didn’t let go. I carried her a yard or two behind our big paving vehicle. I slung her upwards for momentum and threw her on the hard ground; her head bounced up and back down when it first hit. She was still alive, but now she was groaning because of her head. I put my hands around her throat, and I strangled her. She eventually stopped moving and making noise. When I stepped back to look at it all, I noticed the red marks I’d left around her throat. She died with her eyes halfway open, like she was tired. Her purple lipstick was smeared from where my hand had been.
For a second I forgot who I was or what I was doing; the body was right there in front of me, and all I could do was stare at it. What I felt was not necessarily pride, and it was not necessarily guilt. I had surprised myself… this was just supposed to be a test. Either way, it worked, and now the body had to be dealt with. I heard a car coming from the opposite lane around the curve, so I didn’t dare move. Maybe they wouldn’t notice the car… or its headlights, or the open door on the driver’s side.
I panicked, so I ran to the car and got inside, driving below the speed limit until we passed each other. I waited until I got to the curve to make a U-turn so they wouldn’t see me turning around in their mirror. When I got back to the site, I carried the girl in my arms to the trunk. I shut her in it and searched for a wallet while there was still no one else around. I found it in her purse sitting on the passenger side. I took the $57 inside and read her driver’s license. Josie Cho, born on March 10th of 2000. While I was in 5th grade, if we went to the same elementary school together, she would have been in kindergarten.
I had not planned what to do up to this point, but I had an idea of where to go next. I drove her red car three miles to the impound; the big chain-link gate was still open and the lamp in the shop window was still on, which meant Uncle was watching television inside, probably asleep in his recliner. It took me a lot of tries to find the button to turn the headlights off, but once I did that I drove as slow as possible until I got to the end of the lot. It was too risky to try running the car crusher, so I just left it parked there at the end. Until I could think of something better, the car and Josie would have to stay there.
By this point, it was ten o’clock at night. I walked the three miles back to where it all happened for my truck. There wasn’t any blood behind the paver from what I could see, and I didn’t remember feeling any behind her head. My nerves had settled when I got behind my own wheel. The whole way home I began to fantasize about what it would be like to do it again: What I would do differently, what felt good, what felt best.
I killed Josie Cho two months ago on Tuesday. I spent some time at work the following week just thinking about what I’d done. My boss called me into his office again; he said my zoning out had been worse lately. He asked if I called the number on his daughter’s business card yet. I had to promise I would soon.
The thought of strangling another girl excited me. I couldn’t think of anything else, but I needed to do better next time, so I waited for three weeks to let my nerves calm down again and think of a better plan. I needed a script; in the books at the library people like me always had a plan and sounded like they knew what they were talking about. They were charming and friendly, so I would have to be too.
On Thursday night of the third week, I went out again. This time, I left my truck at home and walked to the site with my gear; I walked through the woods to stay hidden until I reached the area. I waited near the paver until I thought the time was right. There were a few cars that went over the speed limit; I figured that men go faster, so I waited for a slower one.
I would have to rely on luck again. When the black Jeep stopped at my sign and I knocked on the passenger window, there was something wrong – there were two of them. Boyfriend and girlfriend, looked mid-20s. They dressed like they listened to that pop country music. The boyfriend was in the passenger seat, and he rolled the window most of the way down, besides an inch or two. Standing slightly above, I saw he had a beard and a lot of muscles. His hair was red. Hers was blonde. I prefer dark hair, brown hair, but I’m not in the business of being picky.
“What’s going on, guy?”
Now that they were there in front of me, I realized I didn’t know what I was going to do in case there were two people. In case there was a boyfriend.
“Yeah, we’re extending our hours to wrap construction up before March 10th. Should be done soon.”
She mumbled something I couldn’t hear. “Huh?”
“I was just saying that my dad has friends who oversee the project and I never heard that. I’ll let my dad know.”
“Yeah, it’s a new thing. Hey, did you guys feel that bump? I saw an armadillo run across the road when you guys came up. I thought I saw it hit your grill.”
They shook their heads. “No,” the boyfriend said, taking off his baseball cap with a fishhook stuck through the rim to scratch his head. “This thing sits pretty low, so we would’ve felt it.”
They were both staring at me for a few seconds, but it felt much longer; my neck was starting to feel hot. I don’t remember if I had a plan for what to do in case that happened.
I pretended to drop something. When I kneeled, I quietly unfolded the pocketknife I keep in my back pocket.
“You find it?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. You sure you don’t wanna look at this? It put a good dent in it.”
“No…We’re okay. Thanks, though.”
This time I was the one staring. If this was how it was going to go, then okay. I had my gear ready for this job. I think he might have had an idea.
My knife was gripped in my hand when I jabbed it into his jugular. He gasped and his throat sounded full of his own blood. I felt it spurt across my face, getting a drop in my left eye and mouth. It got on her right thigh and arm.
She screamed like I’d killed her instead. This might have been the time for someone else to drive off, but who can predict that? I wasn’t lucky that there were two of them, but I was lucky that the girl was still in shock. It was a split second, but that was enough. I forgot that I had my radio with me, but my body must have known better because I grabbed it from my belt and threw it the hardest I’ve ever thrown anything. It hit her in the temple, and the force was enough to make her skull knock against the driver’s window.
I ran around the front, opened the door, and pulled her out. She was crying. I have seen that type of crying before – tired tears. A lot of air had already been knocked out of her. I had to do the rest. He was still choking, trying to reach the knife lodged near his windpipe. He couldn’t do it. I would leave the knife there for now.
When I dragged her by the wrists behind the paver and put my weight on top of her, I stopped to look at her. Her blonde hair was curly, but now I could tell from being closer it was dyed, bleached at the roots. It didn’t look as soft or clean as Josie Cho’s. This girl was chubby, not fat. She wore a red flannel shirt and ripped jeans, and black boots. She was pretty.
Her eyes were closed shut and she was still crying loudly. I let her beg me to “Please… please… no… please, no…” until it was time.
The road was quiet. It was quiet, so I strangled her. The road was quiet, so I did what I do best.
After I carried her to the trunk, I left the boyfriend in the seat beside me as I climbed in. I found both of their wallets. $219, though that’s not why I do it. I am not a thief. Her name was Lily Tamdread, born on July 17, 1999. His first name was Brian.
This time at the impound, the gate was locked. I was glad I had brought my old key copy just in case. The shop lights were out – that meant I might be able to run the car crusher for tonight and for three weeks before. I parked beside the first girl’s little red car. It’s hard to describe what it smelled like. How had Uncle not noticed yet?
The line of vehicles went on for so long. The crusher was caddy corner to the end of the lot I was at. I had taken a few steps when I heard a cough and the crunch of someone biting into an apple. My head snapped around, landing on Uncle leaning against a minivan a few yards away.
“What are you doing here, Wade.” He seemed bored.
“Sorry, Uncle. I – my friend has a Dodge in here. He wanted me to see if he left his insurance in the glove box.”
Uncle wiped the apple’s juice from his chin. “Okay. That explains tonight. What about almost a month ago?”
My mouth wouldn’t open. My hands felt clammy. For only a second, I wondered if I would have to kill Uncle, too.
“Is there something going on I should know about?”
Strapped across his chest, on top of a wife beater and Carhartt jacket, was Uncle’s favorite pistol. I knew if he turned around, I would see the outline of Uncle’s personal pocketknife in his back denim pocket.
“You know, when I was out here this week, I started smelling something odd.”
“What do you mean, odd?”
“I don’t know. It was just… different. Smelled rotten.”
“Maybe it was those cougars again; I heard it’s almost their season.” My heart was beating so loud, I’m sure he heard it.
He swallowed the next bite, giving me a look from the side.
“Is that right?”
He stepped closer to the two cars I had acquired, and I felt the blood rush from my head when I realized that I didn’t have time before to move dead and bloody Brian from the passenger seat. Uncle strolled casually around the front of the black Jeep, stooping down to look inside.
I pinched my arm to keep from vomiting. He was clearly looking at the body, at the mix of dry, caked blood and the decreasing amount of fresh blood that ran wetly down his neck – all he did was nod his head several times before standing back up.
“Cougars… yeah. I should call Marlene’s tomorrow. Warn her they’ll try to get in her kitchen at the barbeque. Cougars are bad this season. Everyone in town should know they’re out.”
We stared at each other. I didn’t know what to think until he gave a tiny smile. It was gone in an instant, but it was enough. Uncle and I; we hate the taste of the same things, and love the same feeling of others.
“Hey,” he said with his gruff voice pointing at the crusher, “You remember how to run this thing?”
I don’t expect to do this forever. I’ve read enough to know better than that… I know how this ends. But as long as I have the road, I have everything. For now, I have my job; I don’t expect to keep it forever. I know I don’t have forever – will I die first, or will the prison walls kill me? For now, I work. Tomorrow, I will raise my sign high in the sky and I will look into their faces as I live a lie.
For now, there’s Beth.
