“Mom, please. I have to get ready.” Sam checked the time on the antique mantel clock perched on the shelf above the TV. Flanked by ivory pillar candles on carnival glass saucers, the clock had just chimed the half hour. It was five thirty. “Heather is going to be here in less than an hour. We’ll get you feeling better in no time. Just let me do what I need to do.”
He lifted his mother off the couch, slung her arm over his shoulder, and helped her into the wheelchair. She settled in with a painful groan. The wheels on the second-hand chair squeaked grudgingly against the nappy carpet as he pushed her down the hallway toward her bedroom.
“Okay”—he patted the back side of her bruised wrist—“let’s get you comfortable, and then I’ll set up a movie on the laptop. What do you want to watch tonight?”
“Let’s go with The Other Woman.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll get your dinner and juice ready then set up the movie. You’ll be settled in and good to go in no time.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Sam noticed her eyes tearing up. There wasn’t time for that. “It’s all good, Mom. Let’s get you into bed.” He positioned the wheelchair with the front facing the foot of the bed and locked the wheels. With his mother’s feet out of the way, he lifted the wheelchair footrests. He circled to the back of the chair and lifted her by the armpits then positioned her on the bed. “There you go, Mom.” He fluffed three pillows behind her head and pulled the blankets up to her chest. “Comfortable?”
She nodded.
“Good. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He rushed out of her bedroom, cursing the time, and headed to the kitchen. Kneeling down, he browsed the microwave dinners that lined the lower freezer compartment of the refrigerator. That night, she’d get the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green bean dinner with a quarter-cup portion of apple crisp for dessert. He folded back the corner of the cellophane and tossed the tray into the microwave for four minutes. Back at the stove, he lifted the glass lid of the pot and gave the canned spaghetti sauce a gentle stir with the wooden spoon. With a few taps against the edge of the pot, he set the spoon on the ceramic spoon rest and replaced the lid. He watched as the red concoction bubbled gently on low heat. Sam pulled the bottle of red wine from the rack. That 2009 Chianti Classico from the liquor store near the hospital had set him back twenty-five bucks yesterday. He plunged the corkscrew deep into the cork, gave it a few twists, and popped it out. He left the opened bottle on the counter to breathe next to two wineglasses.
The microwave buzzer sounded. Sam opened the door and pulled out the steaming dinner. He gave it a stir and placed it back in the microwave for an additional two minutes. Meanwhile, he sliced the loaf of garlic bread lengthwise and dropped pats of butter into the opening. He wrapped the loaf in foil and set it on the counter. He’d put the bread in the pre-heated oven fifteen minutes before dinner. He looked around. Other than boiling the noodles and dumping the premixed bag of salad into a bowl, everything was taking shape.
The microwave buzzed a second time. Sam pulled a plate out of the cupboard and set it on the Formica countertop. He dropped the cardboard tray onto the plate and carefully pulled the cellophane wrapper toward him to avoid being burned by the steam. He threw the wrapper in the trash can. His floppy blond mane fell into his face again, and he pushed it back with his forearm as he prepared his mother’s dinner. He reminded himself to trim his hair if time permitted, although from what they had said, the ladies seemed to like his appearance just the way it was. He relived those days when he had chosen his victims.
Corrine said my hair was rad, and Taylor said I looked like a sexy surfer. Typical women who are only interested if a guy comes across as polite and handsome and says he owns a house. Reality check—this house will be foreclosed on by the bank pretty damn soon.
He had met the girls at coffee shops on the opposite sides of town. Small talk and flirtation led to lunch dates that neither woman ever returned from. Naively putting their trust in someone they barely knew had cost them their lives.
Sam carried the tray with his mother’s dinner down the hallway to the second bedroom on the right. A bottle of apple juice, a plastic cup, a napkin, and silverware sat alongside the microwave dinner. He pushed the door open with his foot and placed the tray on the roller table that spanned the bed.
“Here you go, Mom.” He forced a reassuring smile, just as he did for every meal he prepared and delivered into her weakened hands. Her recovery was taking too long, and every donor he snagged posed a risk. “Dinner is served. Are you feeling okay? Can you get by for another few hours?”
“I think so. Dinner looks good.”
“Wonderful. I’m going to shower now and get changed. Company should be here in forty-five minutes. I have to be ready when she shows up.”
Adeline’s forehead furrowed.
“Mom, we’ve gone over this a million times. It won’t be long now.”
She waved him out of the room. “Go along, then. Do what you need to do.”
“I’ll get your movie and headphones set up after you eat.”
Sam closed the door at his back and crossed the hall to the master bedroom and bath. Twenty-five minutes later, showered and dressed, he slicked back his chin-length hair with styling cream, patted aftershave on his cheeks, and gave himself a final once-over in the mirror.
Who could resist this?
He walked to the kitchen and pulled out a large kettle from the lower cabinet shelf. He filled it with hot water then set it on the stove’s front burner. He turned the knob to High, pulled the package of spaghetti noodles out of the pantry, and set them next to the foil-wrapped bread.
The clock played the full Westminster chime. The melody indicated six o’clock had arrived. Heather would be there in twenty minutes.
Sam returned to his mother’s bedroom and moved the tray table away from her bed. “Are you ready for your movie?”
“Sure am. It’s two hours long, but I’ll find something else to watch after that. I don’t want to interrupt your evening.”
“Thanks, Mom, and I’ll check in on you in a few hours. Here are your headphones.” Sam removed them from the side drawer and snugged them over his mother’s head. “Make sure you keep them on during the movie.”
“I will, dear. Have fun.”
With the tray balanced across his bent arm, Sam placed the half-full juice bottle on the nightstand. He kissed his mother’s cheek and closed the bedroom door behind him. He slid the tray into the three-inch-wide opening between the refrigerator and wall, then he stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. Gripping the package between his teeth, he tore open the bag of spaghetti noodles and dropped them into the rolling water. He didn’t have much time. Sam popped the bread into the warmed oven and set the table. The loaded syringe with the safety cap on was ready and waiting in his back pocket.
The doorbell ringing made him look toward the foyer. “Here she is.” He dried his hands on a dish towel, draped it over the oven handle, and turned the radio to a blues station. The doorbell rang a second time. Sam took a deep breath before answering. The large mirror hanging in the entryway confirmed what he already knew—he looked handsome and approachable, and that always worked in his favor.
He pulled open the door of the older Cape Cod and smiled widely. “Heather, I’m so glad you came.”
Remember to emphasize your gentle nature and warm personality.
“Please, come in.” He motioned for her to enter and closed the door behind her.
“Thanks for the invite, Sam. I’ll admit, I was a bit surprised when you asked me over for dinner since we haven’t known each other that long. It’s odd that a single guy your age lives way out in the boondocks like this.” She shrugged. “Thank goodness for GPS, right?” Heather glanced beyond the foyer. “This place doesn’t look like a typical bachelor pad.”
He cocked his head and smiled as he cracked his knuckles. “So, you’ve seen a lot of bachelor pads, then?”
“No. I guess that came out wrong. Anyway, something smells wonderful. I like the music too.”
“The kitchen is right this way. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, but I think a glass of wine sounds good, don’t you?”
“Sure, lead the way.” She giggled coquettishly. “Are you going to give me the nickel tour?”
“Maybe later, and I’m sure you’ll like my man cave. There used to be a storage room off the garage, but now it’s reconfigured to my liking.”
“That sounds cool. I’m eager to see it.”
Sam brought the bottle of Chianti to the table and poured. “I took it upon myself to buy red. I hope you like it.” He pulled out a chair for Heather and one for himself then nodded.
She took a seat and reached for the glass. Sam watched as she gulped the wine.
Such a novice. You don’t even know how to drink wine properly.
“I didn’t see you at the hospital this week, so I was surprised to get your text yesterday. Where have you been?”
“I needed a little personal time off, but I’ll be back next week. I took a short trip to Atlanta to visit my mom. She’s suffering from an aggressive cancer that’s causing infections and anemia. I needed to check on her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’re close.”
“As close as two people can be. I feel her presence all the time.” Sam’s eyes darted down the hallway. He needed to confirm that his mother’s bedroom light wasn’t noticeable beneath the door. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming here tonight, did you?”
“No.” She gave him a look of disappointment. “I would have liked to, though. I’m sure some of the women would have been jealous, but they don’t talk to me much, anyway.” She took another gulp of wine. “And because of the hospital’s fraternization policy, I knew better.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. St. Mary’s is very strict about that, and I’m sure we’d be easy to replace. I don’t know about you, but I need the income.”
She nodded. “I understand, and I do too.”
“Good, so let’s keep this budding relationship on the down low.”
The timer on the stove beeped. Sam slid his chair back and stood. “Spaghetti is done.” He carried the kettle to the sink, where he dumped the noodles into the colander and rinsed them. He turned off the stovetop burner, poured the sauce into a bowl, and placed it on the table. He did the same with the noodles. Sam reached into the oven and slid out the warmed bread. “Would you mind grabbing the salad out of the refrigerator and putting it in a bowl?”
“Sure, no problem.” Heather stood and took three steps to the refrigerator. She gave the handle a pull and reached in. “What in the world is—”
She screamed and spun toward him as she swatted her shoulder. Confusion was written across her face when she saw the syringe in his hand. Sam had already sunk the needle deep into her muscle and pulled it back out. He dropped it to the floor and waited as Heather stumbled to the table. She tried to hold herself up, but her legs quickly folded beneath her.
“That didn’t go according to plan—damn it. I totally forgot about what was in the refrigerator. Sorry, Heather, but I did it for the greater good. My mom is far more important than you are.” Sam watched as she fell to the floor, still clenching the bag of salad.
Grasping her wrists in his hands, Sam dragged her across the kitchen and through the laundry room. He shook his hair out of his face as he heaved her along the floor. “Hang on. We’re almost there.”
He opened the garage door and hit the light with his shoulder. The back of Heather’s shoes scuffed against the concrete as he pulled her down the two steps and continued through the garage. His workroom was tucked at the back of the space, which was not the best location, but at least it was out of his mother’s sight. He dropped Heather’s arms, unlocked the door, and pulled her in. Once he stripped her naked, Sam bent to the floor. With a grunt, he heaved her onto the gurney he had used as a table. He fastened the straps across her upper chest, hips, and calves. The drug she had been given didn’t knock her out, only made her unable to move. Sam snugged the straps tightly across her and secured her forearms and head so she couldn’t budge once the drug wore off. He covered her mouth with tape so she would be silent. He gave Heather a quick glance. Her wide-eyed expression showed her fear.
“Yeah, I know, we didn’t have dinner and you missed most of the nickel tour, but you are seeing my man cave now. At least I came through with one of my promises.”
Sam immediately began the process—he had to work quickly. The paralysis drug, SUX, would render Heather helpless for only a short period of time. He pushed the thick needles into her carotid and femoral arteries and taped them down. After making sure there were no kinks in the lines, he followed them to the floor and placed each tube end into the neck of a sterilized half-gallon milk jug. Sam taped the tubes to Heather’s skin and to the gurney legs so she couldn’t jostle them loose. He flipped the valve and watched as blood began to move through the clear plastic tubes. Once her heart stopped beating, the blood would stop pumping out of her body. The entire process would take less than a half hour. She’d be dead before he finished dinner. He returned to the kitchen and ate. A long night lay ahead.
Sam returned to his workroom at seven forty-five. He glanced at the jugs—each was half full. Tubes once filled with dark red flowing blood were now empty save a few droplets here and there that clung to the inside walls of the tubes. He assumed Heather was dead. Sam approached her body and stared down at her face. Her eyes, wide open, were unblinking. She lay motionless. He rounded the gurney and opened the drawer in the old desk along the wall. He pulled out the stethoscope and hung it around his neck before returning to her side. With the earpieces tucked in his ears, he placed the diaphragm against her chest and listened—silence. He placed it against her neck and wrists too and heard nothing.
Thanks for the donation, Heather. Mom will appreciate it.
Sam crossed the garage and reentered the house. He checked on his mom before leaving.
Adeline pulled the headphones off and paused the movie. “Is it done?”
“It’s done, and I’ll be back in a few hours.” Sam gave her a reassuring nod and walked away.
Heather’s purse still hung from the back of the chair in the kitchen. Sam took it into the garage, sat on the step, and unzipped it. He found her keys inside. He pushed up off the step and opened the overhead. He pulled out the van then backed her car in. With the trunk popped open and waiting, he removed the tubes from Heather’s body. He carried her into the garage and lowered her into the trunk. She was about to take her final journey. Sam climbed in behind the wheel, set her purse on the passenger seat, and drove away. He wouldn’t be back home until after midnight.
As with the others, he dumped Heather somewhere in the Gary area and abandoned her vehicle in the worst neighborhood of South Chicago. He knew it would be dismantled quickly with no trace of its existence left behind. He always dropped off the cars and purses, void of any ID and cash, in that same Chicago area. A local bus frequented a stop two blocks away, and it took him within walking distance of the Illinois and Indiana Freeway Flyer. That city-to-city bus dropped him off within two miles of home. Sam walked the rest of the way. He was careful never to leave a trail or use a toll road that had cameras and plate readers.
Finally back home, Sam checked in on his mom one last time that night. She was sound asleep. He powered down the laptop, placed it on the side table, and turned off her light. In his workroom, he tightened the caps on both half-gallon jugs of blood and placed them in the refrigerator. He’d deal with the cleanup tomorrow.