Mysterical-E

He Said, She Says

BOOK EXCERPT

Hang on Sloopy
by Randy Rohn
published July 1, 2011

Cut 1 : Let it Out

Her prickometer wasn’t working.

For the first time in a long, long time, it failed.

And that destroyed her.

Mimi Johnston knew men liked to watch her. She had shocking
blonde hair and lots of it. A tiny waist. An outrageous chest.
And she dressed accordingly. Even her business attire tended to
be strategically tight.

She always gave them a bit of a show. She would arch her back
slightly. Put a little more English in her hip movement. She did it
without thinking, whenever she sensed a man nearby.

And somehow she could always sense when there was testosterone
in the vicinity. It was instinct. Radar. Even if she couldn’t
see anyone, she just knew.

“It’s my prickometer,” she’d say when friends saw the subtle
shift in her demeanor.

However, this night the prickometer wasn’t working.

Mimi Johnston didn’t see the man standing in the shadows
of the underground parking garage.

She didn’t notice the same man peeking around the stairway
exit as she got off the elevator. She didn’t smell him or feel
his vibrations.

Mimi was ready for a night at home. Long hot bath. Glass of
wine. Maybe a cigarette. She was the only person she knew who
could have the occasional cigarette, thoroughly enjoy it, but not
become the least bit addicted.

Maybe she’d watch some TV. No, better yet, crack open a romance
novel. One of those new ones with a vampire as the bad
boy. How long had it been since she had time to indulge in one
of those? She could use some sweet romantic illusions, followed
by solo bedtime, after all the sweaty pseudo-romances she had
experienced lately.

“You don’t get much sleep when you’re sleeping your way to
the top,” she once told a friend.

She didn’t hear the man enter the apartment as she drew
her bath.

Undressing, she had no idea a man watched. She couldn’t
hear his quickened breath.

She did, however, sense the man’s presence as he came up
from behind in the bathroom. The air felt different. The sound of
the water running into her oversized tub had less echo. Someone
or something was soaking up sound. She thought she heard
breathing. A man’s breathing, hoarse and raspy. Did she feel his
breath on her neck?

She turned, slowly. And. He. Wasn’t. There.

She turned back to the tub and saw him standing in the water.
She didn’t see his face. She saw his legs, knee deep in bubbles
and lavender oil. As she tilted her head up to catch a glimpse of
his face, she felt the cold sting of steel make a quick slice from
vagina to vocal chords. A moment of nothing, no pain, no sound,
no feeling, then she was engulfed in hot, wet agony.

She looked down at her own body, the body that had meant
so much to her, the body that had given her so much, and her
first thought was that the scar would be ugly. An ugly scar, and
no man would ever want her again.

Another slash, but she was beyond pain. She thought that she
wanted to see the face of her killer. She forced her head up, even
though the instant exhaustion that engulfed her pushed it down.

There was something about the man’s face. What was it? She
recognized him, yet she didn’t. If only she could remember. She
thought it was very important that she recognize who he was.

Then, she had no thoughts at all.

The man watched Mimi Johnston slowly fall to her knees and
then face first into her own intestines.

An artful kill.

Beauty. Symmetry. Visual poetry.

But, exceedingly unsatisfying. He could tell by her eyes she
didn’t recognize him. Therefore, she didn’t know why he killed
her. That wasn’t how he planned it.

It felt hollow.

It felt limp.

He felt unfulfilled.

The next time he wanted the victim to know. The next time
he wanted the victim to understand why he or she were being
killed. The next time it would be slow. Extremely slow.

He felt the tiniest electric shock of pleasure.

Oh yes, the next kill would be slow, sweet and slow. And, oh
so deliciously painful.

The killer rubbed his hand over his head. The scalp still didn’t
feel like it belonged to him. It felt like he had on a hat. A stocking
hat. Or a bathing cap.

With Mimi still cooling in the bathroom, he walked through
the apartment.

First he went to her bedroom. He looked in her bedside table.
There was a tiny fake jewel encrusted case with two joints
inside. There was a tube of K-Y jelly. Flavored oils. And a box of
condoms. Oh Mimi, you naughty, naughty girl.

In her lingerie drawer he found a stack of love notes from
various men, tied in ribbon. He put these in his jacket pocket to
read later. He checked out her bra size. Hmm. He had guessed
right. Just before he gutted her, he noticed that she was well-endowed.
Not that she hid it at all when she was dressed.

He considered for a moment going back to the bathroom and
slicing through one of her breasts to see if he could find any silicone,
but decided against it. He didn’t want to ruin the tableaux,
the symmetry of how she had fallen in her own viscera.

He rummaged around for a few more minutes and didn’t
find anything that interested him.

He moved on to the TV room. There was a secretary with
a computer. It was on. Splendid. He noodled around her screen
desktop and found a file with names and addresses. Perfect. He
found just what he was looking for. He printed it out.

Then, he took out his pocketknife, undid some screws and
took out the hard drive. He didn’t want the cops knowing what
he did on her computer. Also, her hard drive might contain something
that could connect Mimi to him. And that just wouldn’t do.

Time for a cup of tea.

He went to the kitchen and found some Green Jasmine. Put
on the kettle to boil. As the water heated, he searched the pantry
and cabinets. He found a bottle of chlorine bleach in one of the
cabinets and put it next to the sink.

By the looks of the refrigerator, she didn’t eat at home much.

In the freezer he found something that made him smile,
some packages he had sent her earlier. A goat’s eye. Calf’s liver.
Part of a cow’s stomach. The teakettle started hissing. He poured
the hot water into a cup with the teabag. As the tea steeped, he
rummaged some more.

In a little mop closet, he found, flattened and folded up, two
of the boxes he had used to send the animal parts. He stacked
those on the kitchen table; he would take them with him. He put
some more water in the pot and sat to drink his tea.

He really enjoyed the tea and drank it slowly. When he finished,
he washed out the cup with boiling water from the teakettle.
Rinsed it again with bleach.

He went to the bathroom, emptied the tub and wiped it down
with bleach. He also wiped down any surface he might have
touched. He stuffed the towel he had used to wipe everything in
a black plastic garbage bag along with the deconstructed boxes
from the kitchen table.

While cleaning up, he imagined what he would do to his
next victim.

He smiled.

He had already started the next ceremony, but this time the
big finish would be much juicier.