(FF, FFF, exhibitionism, toys, threesome, drugs, violence, death, destruction of a high-grade printer)
AUTHOR NOTE: If you like this hilariously grim little tale, read some of my other equally uninspired fiction:
After the Party
Daphne's New Life
How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Carol Hitchcock
A Death, Baked Bob, and the Personal Ad
Screwing My Ex
They came out in that order, and according to one reader I got better as I went along, so do yourself a favor and read them in order to avoid getting disappointed by my early lack of skills.
DISCLAIMER: Pay attention! This story is fiction and not meant to do anything more than entertain, don't read this stuff with any intention other than having a good time, don't take life too seriously and don't swim after you've just eaten. Isn't it stupid that I have to write these warnings in case someone goes out and does something bad because of what they read in my story? What's happened in our society to cause this? I know, I know, lawsuit-happy people and the lawyers who run commercials that inspire them. Now you have to put warning labels on everything. And I understand that some things need warning labels. Hydrochloric acid -- big warning label on that one. With letters four feet tall. But I don't need a cup of coffee with a warning label that says it's hot. I know it's hot. I wanted it hot! Well, not that hot. I take it light, actually.
*
1.
Florida, several years ago...
As the woman who had called herself Michelle finished dressing, her eyes kept going over to the dead body on the bed. It fascinated her how just a few short minutes ago the woman laying there was alive, talking, laughing, writhing in the throws of passion, and now all that was left was the shell, a motionless body growing cold and a pair of eyes that looked at nothing. No, they did look at something; they looked towards the window and the sunlight streaming in through the sheer drapes. But the eyes had nowhere to report that information to, since the brain had stopped functioning, along with all the other parts in one of the most complex organisms on the planet.
And Michelle was the one who had stopped it. She had stuck the knife into Doctor Sara Gold's heart, ending her thirty-nine year old life. Right up to the moment she'd done it Michelle felt fear and anxiety because this was the first time she was going to kill someone. But just after, she felt something she didn't expect -- power. It was the kind of power she hadn't felt in months, the kind of power she used to feel when someone put their financial future in her hands, the kind of power that told her she was special, above other people. This was why she couldn't stop looking at the body, because every second she spent with it she felt that power.
Another unexpected surprise was that she didn't feel a shred of sympathy or sorrow. Instead of feeling bad, she felt like she had done the woman a favor. Last week Sara spoke about hating that she would soon turn forty, an age she associated with older people. Now Doctor Sara Gold would remain thirty-nine forever. It was the least Michelle could do for the woman, given how much Sara had done for her over the past three months. Doctor Gold was a plastic surgeon, and a decent amount of work had been done to change Michelle's appearance. Now, along with a dye job that made her a redhead, she looked different enough to make a second-guesser out of anyone who knew her back in New York, and most likely she wouldn't be recognized at all by some cop who'd only seen a 'Wanted' poster.
All that work had been done for free, thanks to the false sob story Michelle had spun the night they met at a local lesbian club -- a viciously abusive girlfriend, a late night getaway, the girlfriend tracking her down wherever she went, feeling like there was no where left to turn. Sara offered to let Michelle stay at her place, and it wasn't long before they were involved physically and romantically. The romance part was important. Michelle expressing her love for Sara but knowing that staying there might be dangerous for both of them if the ex-girlfriend showed up, then Sara getting the idea to use her skills to change Michelle's appearance.
That's the key to any good con -- always let the mark think they came up with the idea on their own. Michelle had labeled Sara as a mark from the second she saw her car pull into the club's parking lot, where she watched from the shadows to pick out who drove in with the most expensive wheels. Sara's was a Mercedes Benz with a bumper sticker on it, something for a stray animal shelter. Anyone who puts a bumper sticker on an expensive car like that is the kind of person who puts their heart before their wallet. All Michelle had to do was provide Sara a stray to take home.
On her way out of the bedroom Michelle wiped down wherever she remembered touching today. For the past three months she had always been careful about remembering what she touched when Sara was around and then wiping it down afterwards. Whenever Michelle was in the house alone she made sure to wear some of the rubber gloves a doctor like Sara had in multitudes. It made for lots of work, and all because she had made a Stupid Move, one that had put her fingerprints in the system forever.
That mistake happened back in college, where she got arrested for stealing a car as part of a sorority initiation. Daddy had the power to fix it, to get her out before a bail hearing and have her record expunged like it never happened. But he did nothing, just let her sit in jail for the night and let the arrest stand on her record. She even had to hire her own lawyer and go to court. Luckily it was knocked down to community service and a fine. Afterwards, she asked Daddy why he'd let her go through all that when he had the power to fix it, and he said it was to teach her a lesson. She told him she knew it was wrong and she was sorry. That wasn't the lesson, he said. Plenty of people break the law or do things that are morally wrong, and people with power actually need to do those things if they want to gain and keep power.
The lesson was not to get caught.
In the kitchen Michelle wiped the knife clean of blood and fingerprints and put it in a plastic sandwich bag. She put the bag in her purse, grabbed a manila folder and keys from the kitchen counter, and went to the back door. Michelle cracked it open and looked around, trying to see if any of the neighbors were out and about. All clear. She locked the door and shut it, then strode across the backyard, stopping to pick up a decent sized stone from the rock garden, and finally down to the dock where she got into Doctor Sara Gold's boat. It was a twenty-foot motorboat that could do eighty miles per hour on the open water; full of gas and supplies for the trip they had planned. Michelle started it up and cruised out to sea. The sun was starting its downward trek on a Friday afternoon, and no one expected to see Sara Gold until Monday morning, plenty of time to get south of the border. Once there, Michelle would sell the boat and buy a few documents, then take a plane to somewhere in South America.
When she was out far enough that she couldn't see land, Michelle stopped the boat, took out the manila folder and opened it. Inside was the medical file that Sara had created for her. It was under the false name she was using, but there were also pictures of Michelle from before and after the surgery, not something she could leave behind. She tore it up page by page, into the smallest pieces she could, before tossing them overboard. That felt symbolic for Michelle, like she was literally tossing her old identity away. Now she could start new.
Only one piece of business left.
She took out the knife in the plastic bag, opened it and put the stone from the rock garden inside. Just as she was about to toss it overboard Michelle saw the distorted reflection of her face in the knife, and that feeling of power came back. Suddenly she wished she could keep the blade, so every time she looked at it she was reminded of the power. That reminded her of a sad fact -- all the things she'd had, all the things she'd worked for years to build, were forever lost. She'd fled New York with almost nothing, no mementos of what had been her power. If she could keep this one thing...
