The Darkest Kink, page 3
I take a moment to look around, making sure no neighbors are sitting on their back porch or peering through their blinds. A lone car is parked on an adjacent street, but it’s pitch black inside with no movement in sight. I’m all alone.
Perfect.
I spin around and walk back inside the house. I contemplate turning on a light, but I’ve been home for a while now and the lights have been off the entire time. Turning them on would alert my neighbors that I’m up, which they could remember if questioned. It’s nearly two in the morning, but I don’t know who’s awake or who could be watching. So I keep the lights out, thankful that human eyes are capable of adjusting to the darkness. I go back to the front door and look down on Sierra one more time. Yep, definitely dead. My life absolutely will be changed forever, and it could change for much worse if I don’t act fast.
Grabbing her by the wrists, I drag her body across the floor to the back door. If there’s one good thing about strangulation, it’s that it’s bloodless. I grab a handful of large, black trash bags from my pantry and take my time slipping them over her body—one bag for her torso, and another for her lower half, then I repeat the process three times for a total of six bags. I use duct tape to pack her tightly and place her body in an old, thirty-eight-inch footlocker I used to store tools in back when I was a freelance repairman and secure it with two padlocks. Once she’s locked away, I step outside and grab a spade shovel from a rusty collection of tools and miscellaneous items out back and pick a spot as far away from the house as I can.
There, in the pitch black of night, I start digging.
journey
chapter four
There is a dead body buried in my backyard.
As much as I try not to think about Sierra’s corpse stuffed inside a footlocker and buried beneath a few feet of dirt, the thought attaches itself to my mind like a parasite. I can’t focus on anything else as I get ready for work this morning. I brush my teeth; I see Sierra’s body in the fetal position in the footlocker. I eat breakfast; I remember pulling the footlocker into position as quietly as I could in the middle of night. I drive to work; I see the shovel in my hands and hear the soft crunch of dirt as I dig it into the ground for the first time like a groundbreaking ceremony. Flashes of what happened intrude on every thought I have, every move I make. No matter what happens, Sierra is with me.
When I pull up to my job, I sit in my truck for a moment, staring off into space. What went down this weekend is the craziest thing that has ever happened to me and weighs a ton. Carrying it around all day is going to be a challenge, so I take a minute to steady myself. I need to be centered with a clear mind because my work environment doesn’t exactly leave a lot of leeway for distractions. I have to focus and do my job correctly or it could cost Lane Contracting tons of money and slow down the project. The last thing I want to do is be the reason anything gets delayed. I have enough crap on my plate and don’t wish to add anything more.
Before I can pop open my door, I’m startled by three hard raps on my window. I nearly jump out of my skin before looking over to find a tall, burly man standing next to my door with the same scowl on his face he always has.
“Hey!” he yells, glaring at me with icy blue eyes that I swear can see into my soul. “What the fuck, man? Let’s go.”
I raise a hand and nod. “Sorry, Cain. Yeah, I’m coming.”
Cain Adams, the project manager for the new construction in Kensington, taps on his watch aggressively to let me know I’m almost late. We have a meeting in five minutes, and even though I’m already here, Cain has to act like he’s worried I won’t make it in time. Even when I’m not doing anything wrong, Cain always finds a reason to mess with me. All I can do is sigh as he walks away and I open my door.
I join the crowd at the front of the building that’s going to be a new Popeye’s, and listen as Cain goes over the same safety briefing we’ve had for the past week since the project started. He goes over everything from eyeglasses to steel-toed boots to hardhats before moving to the details of where we are in this phase of construction. No one here is new, so it doesn’t take long to address each specific craft lead before dismissing the group so we can get started for the day.
The small crowd disperses and I make my way over to the compound miter saw. It sits next to a stack of banded lumber that will need to be cut into fire blocks all morning before I switch gears and start cutting headers for the door openings this afternoon. My only job right now is to make sure I don’t undercut anything. The cost of this project is fixed, so the need to buy anything new pushes us closer to our budget which is labeled as NTE—not to exceed. This is why it’s so important that I keep my head clear. There is no room for mistakes, but as I approach the stack of lumber, a soft voice whispers in my ear.
“Be a fucking monster for me, Evan,” Sierra says from behind me.
I whirl around with wide eyes and a pounding heart, but it’s not Sierra that I find.
“Goddamn, Evan. You good?” Trey says, leaning away from me like my dramatic response might be contagious.
I stare at him a moment, blinking fast as I try to get my bearings.
“Yeah,” I reply, but I certainly don’t feel good. “I’m fine. Sorry about that. Did you say something?”
Trey raises his eyebrows as I stand up straight and try to move past the embarrassment I feel in my chest.
“I asked if you were ready to start the fire blocks for me,” he answers. “We need all two hundred cut before we break for lunch.”
“Right,” I say. “Yeah, all two hundred. They’ll be done.”
Trey rubs his hairy chin and nods.
“All right, big dog. I’m gonna go start nailing the studs to the top and bottom plates, we’ll install the fire blocks later, then we can lift and anchor all of the walls. Nice and easy today. Cool?”
I smile, grateful that the carpentry craft lead is always so kind. “Cool. I’m on it.”
Trey nods again as he turns on his heel and walks away, his sights set on the concrete foundation a few feet away with the large stack of two-by-fours next to it. He and a small group of people start pulling studs from the pile and placing them on the concrete approximately sixteen inches apart, before grabbing ten-foot pieces and putting them above and below the studs. The crew works quickly, which means I need to have these fire blocks finished by the time they’re done building wall skeletons. I shake my head to knock the distractions away and turn around to face the saw. I’ve got work to do, so let’s get to it.
I spend the next couple of hours slicing through two-by-fours to be used as fire blocks in the wall, and time goes by quickly when you’re busy. Thoughts of what’s beneath the dirt in my backyard try to sneak in while I work, but I feel like I do a good job of keeping them at bay. The blade on the saw spins too loudly for me to hear anymore whispers in my ears, and I keep my eyes glued to the lines on the wood that I placed on all two hundred pieces at the start of the day. Before I know it, I’m finished, and Trey sends one of his guys over to start grabbing the blocks to be installed.
I pat myself on the back for getting finished in time before moving over to another stack of lumber. Instead of two-by-fours, I’ll be making door headers out of two-by-sixes and plywood. I cut the band on the lumber and start using a tape measure and triangle to lay out where I want the cuts to be on each two-by-six. At the exact moment I reach my tenth piece of wood, I hear a shout from the crew working on the foundation.
“What the fuck?” someone barks.
I spin around to find someone handing Trey one of the fire blocks with a very angry look on his face. My heart picks up speed as Trey pulls a tape measure from his belt and measures the wood. He lets out an exasperated sigh as the other guy throws his hands up, furious. Trey turns to me and starts walking over, frustration and anger written all over his face. As he steps off the concrete, he’s approached by Cain. I watch the two of them have an animated conversation about the piece of wood in Trey’s hand before Cain takes the fire block and stomps toward me.
“Goddamn it, Evan,” he snaps, pointing the wood so close to my face I have to back up. “What the fuck are you doing over here?”
“What’s the problem?” I ask, taking another step back as Cain points the wood at me. My butt bumps up against the table, making it wobble.
“What’s the problem?” Cain asks. “You, Evan. You’re the problem.”
I glare at him as memories of my mother chastising me about the broken vase come to mind.
“Do you mind explaining to me why every single one of these fire blocks is a quarter-inch short?” Cain barks, his deep voice drawing the attention of everyone on the site.
I swallow hard, glancing over at Trey who just pinches his lips together and looks down at the dirt beneath his feet.
“Don’t look at Trey,” Cain snips.
My eyes shift back to Cain, but I suddenly feel the beast inside me wake out of its slumber.
“Answer me, Evan!” Cain exclaims. “You know we have a budget, and while it did allow for ten percent of waste, this isn’t the kind of shit we can waste. This is a simple fire block. A child can cut a piece of wood down to a few inches, but not you, because you’re over here not paying attention to what you’re doing. The last time we had an issue, it was because you didn’t cut the goddamn forms right at first. You even cut the template wrong. If you don’t get your shit together, and I mean fast, I’m going to kick your weird ass off my project. Do you understand? This is unacceptable and I will not allow another mistake. You just cut two hundred useless pieces of wood. Do you know how much money you’ve just wasted? Of course you don’t because you’re a jackass.”
I try to lean back to put distance between us, but Cain keeps stepping forward. He puts his finger on my chest, pointing at me in front of everyone like I’m a child as I grip the legs of the miter saw tightly.
Grab him by the throat and slam his head down beneath the saw as you turn it on. Would his head still talk if it was detached from his body?
“What are you just standing there staring off into space for?” Cain continues, becoming even more aggressive. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you have anything to say? What the fuck?”
I grip the saw’s legs tighter, ready to do exactly as the beast in me wants.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to. It won’t happen again.”
“Oh please,” Cain says. “Yeah, you better hope it doesn’t, or your ass will be looking for another job.”
“All right, Cain. I’ll take care of it,” Trey chimes in, tapping Cain on his side to get his attention. Trey frowns as he looks at the project manager who has clearly let his anger get the best of him again.
Cain, realizing that his outburst has brought production to a halt, finally steps back and hands the too short fire block back to Trey.
“This guy is slowing your crew down, Trey,” Cain says. “You’re the lead, so get him in order. We can’t have shit like this.”
“I understand,” Trey replies. “I’ll handle it.”
Cain looks at me one last time, hoping I’ll die from his gaze before walking away.
Once he’s gone, Trey looks at me and I can see the disappointment on his skin. He wants to tell me to get my crap together, but after Cain went off and snatched everyone’s attention away from their work, he’s ready to move on from it. Trey has always been this way. He’s not the type of guy to pile it on someone or kick a horse when it’s already down. There isn’t a person on this job site that would choose to work for any other lead.
“What happened, Evan?” he asks, handing me the fire block. “I thought you said you were on it.”
I take the wood, look it over as if I can make it grow, and toss it behind the saw in defeat.
“I’m sorry, Trey,” I start. “I had a long weekend and I’m feeling distracted. I shouldn’t be letting it get to me.”
“Is it anything you wanna talk about? Anything I can help with?”
The image of Sierra’s body lying in the footlocker just before I shut the door flashes in my mind, making my heart race as I shake my head.
“No. I appreciate you asking, but I’ll be fine,” I reply. “I just need to concentrate and get my crap together. Thanks for your concern, though. I don’t mean to have Cain all in your face.”
Trey laughs. “I can handle Cain, but I don’t want him to have opportunities to give shit to anybody on my crew. So, let’s not give him a reason to, okay?” I nod, and Trey reaches up to place a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay, man? You look stressed out.”
I’m shocked by another image of being on Sierra’s back, the beast in me totally unleashed and pulling the belt around her neck with enough force to make her eyes bulge as she is strangled to death.
“I’m good,” I lie.
“Look, I can tell you’re stressed, man,” Trey says. “I don’t want it affecting your work, giving Cain a reason to come down on you. So how about we go out for drinks? I have plans the next couple of days, but I’m free the day after tomorrow. We can hit a bar and just unwind a bit. You down?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.”
“Cool,” Trey says. “Until then, I’m gonna work with you to fix this fuck up and cut the fire blocks as quickly as we can. We’ll cut them and hand them over to Steven so he can install them as soon as they're cut. We’ll be caught up in no time.”
“Sounds good.”
“All right, let’s get to work.”
“Okay. Thanks, Trey.”
“It’s all good, bro. Let’s just get it done so nobody has shit to say at the end of the day. And don’t worry about Cain. He’s a dick, but karma catches up to everybody eventually.”
I nod and smile, turning to face the uncut stack of lumber next to the saw so we can lay out the fire blocks.
“You got that right,” I say more to myself than Trey. “One day, he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
chapter five
The next day at work is better than the last one … for the most part. On one hand, I don’t make any mistakes. I manage to cut every piece of wood perfectly by measuring twice and cutting once, and I didn’t have to hear anything from Cain’s thin lips. Trey smiles a lot and tells me I did a great job, and we confirmed that we’ll be hitting a bar after work tomorrow night. We all leave the job site for the day with no complaints and all of the walls of the facility erected and ready for truss installation. We’re rolling now.
On the other hand, visions of Sierra’s body have not stopped flashing across my vision. Her voice has not stopped haunting me, and what’s worse is that memories of pulling the belt around her neck with all my might does something to me that it shouldn’t. Remembering how it felt to strangle her while I ravaged her makes the beast in me happy. It puts a smile on its evil face and makes its mouth water for more. It’s not supposed to feel that way because I didn’t do it on purpose. Yes, I let the beast out so it could feed before going back into its cage, but killing Sierra wasn’t intentional. So why is it starting to feel like it was?
I return home after my day at work and leave my shoes at the door as usual, kicking them off as I enter before going into the kitchen to see what I have in the fridge to eat. I spent most of my last check on my VIP membership at The Black Collar, and pay day is still a few days away, but I need to make a trip to the grocery store sooner rather than later. When I open the door, my suspicions are confirmed. There isn’t much food staring back at me, but there is a six pack of beer. I grab a can with the intention of heating up some noodles after I drink one or two and establish a tiny buzz, then I head back into the living room to sit down. Turning on the TV, I quickly switch from cable to Netflix and start scanning shows, hoping to find something I can binge all night. But before I can choose, there’s a knock at my door.
I frown as I get up, bringing my can with me as I walk to the door and take another sip. I turn the knob and pull it open, and the second I see them my heart drops into my feet.
They don’t have badges, but they don’t have to. I know cops when I see them, and the people standing outside my front door are definitely cops. Detectives probably, and they’re here to talk to me about Sierra.
There are two of them, a man and a woman. The man stares daggers into me with an obvious furrow in his brow. He’s maybe five-nine, a hundred eighty-five pounds with a full head of hair that he combs back, and a scruffy beard. His face looks weather worn, like it’s made of leather and frustration, with a permanent scowl across his thick eyebrows. He’s the perfect example of an old, disgruntled cop, the one who plays the bad guy when they do “good cop, bad cop.” He looks seasoned, like he has been doing this for a long time and is either really good at it or absolutely horrible. I guess we’ll find out which.
His partner is different. She’s shorter than him—maybe five-six, with long black hair cascading past her shoulders. She has a chin dimple that’s barely there, which is actually kind of cute, and the glare in her brown eyes is intense. With one glance into them, I feel like I can see an abundance of pain that has culminated into fire. There's something about her that traps my eyes, but it’s her partner that speaks first.
“Good evening,” he begins, his voice husky and already fed up with this conversation. “Are you Evan Godric?”
I nod, letting the hand holding my beer dangle at my side. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m Detective Sam Winter,” he says before gesturing to the woman next to him. “This is my partner, Detective Journey Monroe.”
He stops there, letting silence hang in the air and make the scene more intense.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “And how can I help you?”
“If you’ve got a minute, we’d like to ask you a few questions. Do you mind stepping outside?”
I take another big gulp of my beer before setting it down on the floor and joining the detectives on the porch. They eye me carefully, the man scowling while the woman’s expression is blank. She still hasn’t spoken. She just stares and makes me feel uneasy, stirring something inside of me that I try to ignore. Maybe she’s the one who plays the bad cop.
