They Had To Die (II)

*

I suppose I’d better get on with what everyone wants to hear. Less me, more them.

I killed Aleesha first. I killed her two weeks after mum and I got the tests back. Took me ages to get up the courage to even talk to her.

Aleesha died just under a year after she first met me.

She was at the club, Jack’s club. He was bartending, she was dancing and downing drinks like crazy. I showed up around eight, but I didn’t see her til eleven. I was having my own fun, and I’ll leave you to image what kind of fun.

Aleesha was cruel and nasty and vicious and bitchy and just wanted to have a good time. She didn’t care at whose expense the good time was had, or who got hurt – unless it was Vanessa – or even if she ended up passed out on the road.

One time, she ended up in the hospital. She had to get her stomach pumped for all the alcohol and had to go through a 12-step for the drugs. Her fake ID was taken away, her parents were told to either keep a closer eye on her or lose her, and Vanessa refused to speak to her for three solid weeks.

Aleesha swore she’d never get that high, that drunk, that sick ever again. They let her out of the hospital once they were sure she was telling the truth, she went home, finished the 12-step and everything was OK again.

I went to the club about a week after she’d finished the program. I was on my own. Michael didn’t much like the club, but I couldn’t stay away.

And obviously, neither could Aleesha.

She asked me not to tell anyone, especially not Vanessa or Jack. She asked me this as she leaned over to snort a line of coke.

I left her there. Went home and cried, staring at my ceiling, wondering how she could be so heartless. It was too addictive, she had said. She was an addict. She didn’t know how to quit. She didn’t want to quit.

I didn’t tell anyone.

So was I a good friend to Aleesha, or a bad one?

I saw her at about eleven. She was popping some funky coloured pills. I pulled her aside and apologised to her for being so cold the past few months.

Aleesha just grinned and played with my hair. She’d always loved my hair.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Come around. She knew I’d come around. Like it was some little argument.

I judged my chance of throttling her right there and then, just with my bare hands. No chance. I’d need time. I’m not Arnold Schwarzenegger after all. I was taller than Aleesha, though, and stronger since I actually started working for a living, carrying boxes of beer and heaving drunk fat guys out the door at one in the morning.

I could possibly strangle her.

But not right then and there. From what I’d read on the internet, killing someone by strangulation actually takes time. They struggle for ages, find hidden reserves of strength and air. I couldn’t do it on the dance floor.

So I waited. I danced with her for a while, pretended everything was alright. When she asked me if I wanted to go out back with her and meet Bobby, I said yeah. Bobby was the local heroin dealer.

Knowing it was needles that gave me HIV, I’d never, never shoot up.

But Aleesha did. She bought a supply from Bobby, enough for both of us.

As she shot up, I told her to take mine as well. She was so high by then – alcohol and pills and heroin and god knows what else. She giggled and loaded up the needle a second time.

When she was done, she just kind of sat there. Staring at nothing, giggling occasionally. I think she was hallucinating, but heroin’s not a hallucinogen, is it? But I don’t know what else she took that night, so she might have been hallucinating anyway.

I took the needle out of her hand and filled it with air. I asked her to give me her hand. She did. I found the vein in her wrist, stuck the needle in, and there was no way she would have lived.

I took the needle with me when I left. I waved goodbye to Jack and told him Aleesha was with Bobby. Then, I went outside and crushed the needle under my foot. I swept the shards into the gutter and they were swept away by the rainwater the town had received earlier that afternoon.

And then I went home and I went to bed. I didn’t even dream.

*

Vanessa was harder to kill than Aleesha. I wanted to kill Aleesha. She was the first one I actually wanted to kill. Aleesha purposely hurt me. Since sitting down to write this, I’ve become sure it was Aleesha’s plan that started it all.

But Vanessa went along with it. She didn’t say anything to stop Aleesha. If it wasn’t for her, Aleesha probably wouldn’t have even thought of it in the first place. I don’t know. Now everything seems more like Vanessa’s fault.

So, I went to Aleesha’s funeral.

If I do say so myself, I put on a fairly convincing act – the whole wide-eyed, confused, ‘I just saw her that night’ sort of thing. It was pretty easy to get close to Vanessa and the others. I ignored Michael, of course – I still wasn’t ready to deal with him. I stayed on the other side of Vanessa and Jack.

Jack… he was really broken up about it. I couldn’t believe it. No matter how much she’d hurt him pretending to be Vanessa, not to mention the constant drinking-and-drugging-herself-to-unconsciousness, he still cried about her death.

Maybe he was putting it on like I was?

No, Jack was too honest.

It was one of the things I liked about him. He was really honest, about everything. I guess it was his honesty that made me keep in touch with him after we met at the supermarket. I needed someone honest around me, to tell me the truth no matter what.

But it’s not Jack’s turn yet.

*

Vanessa.

She was beautiful, in mind and body. Aleesha had a streak of viciousness, of nastiness to her that I’ve already mentioned, but that streak was almost absent in Vanessa. Her one bad quality, her fatal flaw, was that she was thoughtless.

Like the time when she was drunk – not as drunk as Aleesha, but still drunk – and she said that the only reason she was with Jack was because sensitive guys like me were all gay or taken.

She was cruel, but she didn’t mean to be. She just… didn’t think about what she said.

*

After the funeral, Vanessa was still crying. Completely understandable – no matter how horrible misguided Aleesha had been, they were still identical twin sisters. To borrow a poetic phrase, the other half of each other’s souls.

So, I basically had no idea how to kill Vanessa. Aleesha was easy, it just sort of happened. I showed up at the club, she was there, she shot up, I got the idea and I carried it out. This led to this led to this.

Vanessa would be more difficult, I could feel it. Not only did she not have a weakness like Aleesha’s, she also spent far too much time with Michael. I did not want to be anywhere near Michael.

Therefore, I would have to get her alone.

In a small town like the one we lived in, everybody knew everybody. I persuaded my mum to cook something, anything, and I would take it over to the twins’ house for their family. Anything to get me into the house.

So with a plate of chocolate chip muffins in hand, I kissed mum on the cheek and took her car – I’m on my green Ps, so I can drive on my own – over to the twins’ place. Well, Vanessa’s place.

It was still strange, Vanessa being the blonde twin. I’d know her for, what… a year and a day. Wow. For seven months, she’d had black hair. The five she’d had blonde, I hadn’t been around much. It had been weird enough seeing Aleesha-with-black-hair at the club. I’d kept thinking it was Vanessa.

So Vanessa let me in. Her parents were both out, visiting family on the other side of town. I put the muffins on the counter, she thanked me and then we sort of stared at each other for a minute.

Then, she was crying on my shoulder. She said she was sorry for how horrible she and Aleesha had been to me. She said she was sure Aleesha had been sorry too.

“You gotta understand, though,” she sniffled into my jacket. “I think I love Michael, and he’s perfect for me, and I’m perfect for him.”

Yep. Thoughtless.

“I understand,” I told her, even though I really didn’t. And, just like that, I knew how to kill Vanessa.

Her laundry cupboard was open, the washing powder just shoved in where it obviously didn’t go – Vanessa’s mum had mild OCD, and alphabetised everything, therefore the OMO wouldn’t go with the Febreze Fabric Softener. Vanessa had probably been about to start the washing when I’d knocked.

I helped Vanessa to her room, sat her down on her bed and offered to get her a drink. She asked for water. Perfect Good. Not perfect – perfect would be if she asked for a glass of whatever I was actually going to give her.

*

So I went to the cupboard in the laundry.

Ajax. No good, it was a spray.

Cold Power. Potential… nope, it was blue and thick. I wanted it to look like water.

Drano Professional Strength… oh, clog remover. Hmm. A clear odourless liquid. I’ll consider it.

Febreze – killing her with fabric softener? Ha. No.

OMO. Powder. No. I put it back in its right spot while I was at it.

Fluffy. More fabric softener. Gah.

Glen 20. Another spray.

Pine-O-Cleen. Green gel. No.

Sard Oxy Plus. Um, no.

Windscreen cleaner. I have one thing to say – lol. Can you imagine people asking you when were dead, what you died from? “Windscreen cleaner.” They’d piss themselves laughing.

OK, Drano, you’re up. I read the warning on the back.

Warning: Strongly alkaline. Corrosive. May produce severe burns. Attacks skin and eyes. Vapour may be harmful. Liquid may be harmful or fatal if swallowed.

I liked the warning so much I memorised it.

While pouring it into a glass, I thought about the fact that my fingerprints were going to be all over like, half the laundry cupboard’s contents. They would be on the glass Vanessa drank the Drano from, they would be on the Drano itself. I was basically fucked.

Aw hell. It’s not like I was planning to get away with it, after all.

*

I took Vanessa her glass of clog remover. She must have been damn distracted, because she didn’t comment on the taste until after she’d gulped it down.

“What did you do to it?” she frowned.

I guess she was feeling a burning sensation.

“It’s just something to help you relax.”

She convulsed a bit a lot – I have a feeling the whole ‘may produce severe burns’ thing applied to contact with inside the body as well as the skin. Kept trying to get out, but I’d locked her bedroom door behind me when I came in.

She also threw up, which was disgusting. And also didn’t help. From the look of things, the stomach acid in the vomit reacted with the bleach in the Drano and, I don’t know, made things worse. Yuck. There was foam, too. Double yuck.

I suppose dying makes you quite uncoordinated. Her fingers kept scrabbling at the lock of the door, her eyes locked on me frantically, tears forming. She didn’t understand. Her throat and internal organs shutting down and, you know, burning away to nothing, and I was just sitting there watching.

She died horribly, a much worse death than Aleesha. If I’d thought about it, I probably would have made Aleesha suffer more than Vanessa. Probably. I mean, Vanessa was the one that ended up with Michael.

Die, bitch.

*

So I left Vanessa’s house and went straight over to Jack’s. He lived on his own above the butcher’s on the main street. Said rent was cheap and he got his pick of fresh, discounted meat every day in the morning that the butcher would keep for him for dinner.

I had decided to go ahead and kill Jack. I had killed Aleesha because she was heartless, Vanessa for being thoughtless – but Jack? Jack was mindless. He doesn’t even deserve a full description like the twins. If he was a bee, he’d be a drone – a mindless fuck that dies after just one sting.

Well guess what, Jack? You stung me. Now your time’s up.

Wow, that was a stupid analogy.

Well, it’s too much to cross out, so I’ll just leave it there.

Anyway.

I knew that once Vanessa was found, a thorough investigation would be conducted. My prints would be found everywhere, and I would be caught and charged. So I had to kill Jack and Michael, fast.

If Jack was a stepping stone to Michael, he was only a very small one. Aleesha had been a pretty big one, and Vanessa average, but Jack was maybe a pebble, definitely not a stone. He hadn’t done anything wrong to me other than, well, choose the wrong side.

He could have left Aleesha once he found out their scam. But he didn’t.

That’s what I kept repeating to myself as I went up the backstairs.

*

I caught sight of Jack through one of the windows. He was sitting on a window-seat, his forehead pressed against the glass. His eyes followed me, but he made no motion to get up.

I’d been to his place maybe three or four times before. It was small, but comfortable. I had no idea how to kill Jack with anything I’d ever seen in his apartment. He didn’t even have bleach.

Or bed sheets, for that matter. Just a scuzzy old blanket he’d had since he was eleven or something.

He had music on when I came in. Of course he did – he worked at a club, he could barely live without music. I think it was Linkin Park’s new album. Don’t resent me and when you’re feeling empty, keep me in your memory…

I let myself in with the key in the letter bag. Yeah, letter bag. Come on, he lived above a butcher’s shop. He’s not exactly gonna have a letterbox.

“Hey, Ry.” His voice was hoarse from crying. For a second, I felt sorry for him. Then I reminded myself that he could have left Aleesha at any time.

The look in his eyes as he turned to me seriously made me consider not killing him. Maybe leaving him alive with the guilt of knowing he was the only one to survive would be enough…? But I couldn’t die and leave even one of them alive. They had to die.

“You look horrible,” I remember telling him.

His laugh was broken and weak. “I feel horrible.”

“Aleesha’s death wasn’t your fault,” I also told him after a silence.

“I know.”

“I guess you’re crying my tears.”

“You haven’t cried?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can cry anymore.”

It was true. I hadn’t cried since the days following the break up. I told him that too.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I guess it was sort of my fault for not being able to keep Vanessa satisfied.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

That was three for three; all of them had apologised. Of course, two out of three had put their foot in their mouths after. Jack was the only one who hadn’t made me angry.

I knew how to kill him. I could see myself doing it, in my mind’s eye. But I hesitated.

“But you were getting bored with Michael anyway, weren’t you? You were coming to the club more and more often. So the break up was in the works already. Aleesha just sort of sped it up.”

Never mind. Three for three all around.

I crossed the room and sat next to him on the window-seat. Looking out on main street, I realised there were a lot of cars around. It was also a bit of a drop from the window to the ground, never mind us only being on the second floor.

Another silence passed while I thought about my response. The songs changed a couple of times. Finally, I reached over and opened the window.

“Smell that?” I asked him. Car fumes, human body odour and sewerage wafted through the window.

He nodded.

“Like it?”

He shook his head.

“I would rather spend forever smelling that than let Aleesha or Vanessa fuck Michael.”

And then I pulled up Jack’s legs from the ground – they had gone limp with shock and also tiredness, I think – so they wouldn’t catch on anything and slow his fall, and shoved him out the window.

I remember the thud. I think I’ll always remember it. And the horrified scream of the girl he almost landed on. I’ll remember that too. And the other thing I’ll remember is the creepy eerie haunting repeat of Amen, Amen, Amen playing from Michael’s speakers.

I could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs to Michael’s apartment from the butcher’s above the music. I had to go back out the way I’d come in, and there was no time to shut the door or anything, so I just left it open and ran for the car.

So that’s what people meant when they said ‘their scream echoed in my ears long after it faded away’.

I shuddered. Putting Jack out of my mind, or trying to anyway, I focussed on Michael.

Different to the others, I had an idea of how I was going to kill him. I backed out of my parking spot and sped away from Jack’s apartment, all the while my eyes staying peeled for cops.

*

Michael.

I don’t know what to say about Michael.

Continuing in the ‘less’ vein of describing those I’d killed, he would have to be spineless. To prove it, I’ll recount the… conversation we had just before I killed him. I remember almost all of what he said to me.

I pulled into his driveway and got out of the car. He lived alone, like Jack did, but in a house instead of an apartment. It was a nice little house – his dad had bought it for him as a treat or something. They were rich-ass bastards. There was a window open and I could smell something delicious cooking.

Many memories came flooding back to me as I pulled in. Michael and I had had a lot of firsts in his house. First kiss in his living room, first fight in his kitchen, we’d had sex for the first time in his bed, first and only Valentine’s roses I’d ever received he gave to me in the garage.

It wasn’t Valentine’s Day when he gave them to me – in fact, it was half a year later, August 14 – but he’d said he shouldn’t have to wait for Valentine’s to give me roses.

Once he and I are together again, we’ll have the chance to make lots more memories like that. And there’ll be no Aleesha and Vanessa and Jack to fuck it up. There’ll be just him and me and forever.

Wow, Ryan sounds like a crazy person.

Moving on.

*

I went up to his front door and knocked. To my immense surprise, he pulled me inside and shoved me against the wall. I braced, wondering if he was going to kiss me… but no, he was yelling.

What he said went along these lines, I can’t remember exactly, I think I hit my head or something when he slammed me into the wall.

“You dirty fucking fag, I hope my neighbours don’t recognise your car! Why the hell are you here? I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want you to come anywhere near me anymore!”

‘Dirty fucking fag’, those are the only clear words I remember.

‘Dirty fucking fag’.

I think I bit him, but I can’t be sure. He bled, I know that much, and he let me go as well. I crumpled to the floor.

He kicked me.

Yep, kicked me.

“God, get up! You’re pathetic, you disgust me, one tap to the head and you’re down on the ground!”

He was sounding disturbingly like my father.

“Of course, one wink and you’re down on your knees, so why doesn’t this surprise me?”

Ouch. That was a literal low blow.

“Get the fuck up!”

And his hands were on my shoulders pulling me to my feet. I couldn’t look at his face. I couldn’t. All of it, the whole situation, it was reminding me of my father, and my father used to hit me if I looked him in the face.

Used to hit me. Before I started hitting him back. Before I forced my mother to leave him. Before I got the police involved and took out an AVO. He got it overturned and got partial custody rights, but I refused to see him – like I had on the day this whole mess started, three or so months before.

I looked him in the eyes. His face was red and he looked like he was about to hit me.

“Why are you so angry?” I asked quietly.

“Because you’re a pathetic weakling, you don’t deserve anything you’ve been given! Because you’re still alive and Aleesha’s dead! Because it should be you
that’s dead, you fag!”

Hmm, ‘fag’ again. Couldn’t he think of any better words? I’d heard ‘em all, though, so it wouldn’t have made much different.

Then the rest of what he’d said sunk in.

“Why should I be dead instead?” I struggled to keep my voice even.

“You raped me! You coerced me into a relationship with you! I’m fucking straight, not a pillow-biter like you!”

I could practically hear the exclamation marks.

“Our whole relationship was meaningless! You were the only one who wanted it! I’m glad I cheated on you. Look how you reacted when you saw us all together at that pub! My nose still fucking hurts!”

The words were just falling to the floor between us now, lifeless and not able to hurt me. I could see in his eyes that he was desperate to believe what he was saying.

“I feel sorry for you, Michael.”

“And why is that, queer?”

“You’re miserable without me,” I said, and I remember feeling so confident.

From his lack of immediate response, and also the horrified look in his eyes, I could tell I’d hit the nail on the head.

“You miss me.”

He started to shake his head, but I held his gaze and I could see it was true.

“You want me back.”

And he hit me.

I guess it was to shut me up.

What it did was convince me that he had to die.

I got up slowly, looked him straight in the eye. “You hit like an eleven-year-old girl,” I said, massaging my cheek then letting my hand drop. “All thumb and no knuckles.”

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

I shrugged. “OK.”

And then I left.

*

I went out to my car and started the engine.

Then, I jumped in the back seat and grabbed the vodka bottle. I’d taken it from work, filled it with petrol and stoppered it with a wine bottle cork. Sitting on my backseat, I pulled out the tea towel I’d also soaked in petrol, tied it around the neck of the bottle and leaned over to the front seat.

I pulled the car’s lighter out and lit the tea towel carefully.

Then, I climbed out of the car, went up to the open window and tossed the Molotov inside, throwing it straight at a wall and praying, praying, praying it would shatter.

It did.

*

I woke up in the hospital, bandaged burns covering my arms and face and the police sitting just outside my door. My mother had cried herself to sleep beside me.

As soon as the cop realised I was awake, he asked me why I’d done it.

I said, “Because I’m going to die anyway.” Dumb cop.

He said, “No, you’re not; the doctor says your HIV isn’t fatal.” Very dumb cop. I wasn’t referring to the HIV.

I said, “Give me something to write with and I’ll give you the whole story.”

He handed me a writing pad and a pen.

And here we are.

He’s sitting watching me, has been this whole time. I don’t think he’s planning on leaving me alone, and he’ll probably have me put on suicide watch as soon as he reads it – or his superior, or whatever.

But I’ll die. I’ll find a way.

Keep your eyes open, Mr. Dumb Cop.

Don’t fall asleep now.