The following is from the WIP “Lady Killer” by me, Lisa Beth Darling. It is presented here as-is, warts, moles, grammatical errors and other Earth Shattering mistakes. ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any manner whatsoever.
by Lisa Beth Darling
What a shit show this turned into! It should have been a very simple B&E, just in, grab what they came for, and then out, no one would ever even know they’d been here. That was the plan anyway and it was a good plan that was weeks in development. Then this bitch messed it up. By the time her headlights could be seen making their way up the wooded driveway it was too late for escape. Rather than run, the only thing that could be done was done. When the woman came through her backdoor she was summarily lumped over the head with the nearest heavy object; her Kitchen Aid mixer. For just a second, she just seemed to hang there on some invisible hook no more than laundry on the line in a summer breeze then she crumpled to the kitchen floor.
Dragging the dead weight out of the kitchen, past the small dining area, and into the living room the homeowner was laid on the white Berber carpet that quickly turned crimson as the blood oozing from the side of her blonde head soaked in to the expensive floorcovering.
Ripping off her high heels they reached under the navy blue skirt to relieve the unusually still woman of her panty hose. In a rush to finish the task, she was unceremoniously wrangled into a heavy maple dining chair where her wrists were tied to the armrests with her own undergarments.
Then all there was to do was to stand over her for a few moments to see if she was dead. The mixer left a hell of a gash in the back of her head. Blood was still leaking from it as it pooled it in her shoulder-length blonde hair heavily matting it down to her neck before saturating the collar of her pretty white sweater.
Standing over her, the intruder looked down and saw no signs of life. Leaning in close and holding their breath, they listened for the thump of a heartbeat or the gently hissing sound of air escaping her lungs. Prying open an eyelid the only thing that stared back at them was a blue eye that no longer held the glimmer of a soul.
“Shit! Damn it lady! You’re supposed to be at the movie for at least another hour and a half. Fuck! Fuck! Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck!” Running their hand encased in a black leather glove over the side of their head equally encased in a woolen watchman’s cap they paced around the living room. All they had needed was another ten minutes and they would have been out of here. No one would ever have known they’d been here. “All I wanted was some information. I hope you know that this is not how I wanted the night to go! It’s all your fuckin’ fault!”
Yes, it was, but the damage was done and now, no matter how unsavory the task, it had to be controlled.
Looking around the in the dim light of the cute little living room with its airy open floor plan and bucolic décor all done up in shades of light blue, sunny yellow, and white, the solution to the problem at hand settled in; Home Invasion. That was big these days—well not so much in this knothole town where the rich frolicked and almost always left their doors unlocked. But it was close enough to what really happened, so, why not go all out? In for a penny in for a pound, just rip off those pretty lace panties and shove something up there in that dead pussy a once or twice then go to town on the rest of the place. By the time the cops arrived it would appear that the poor newly departed Kristie DePalma had interrupted a burglary—which she had!—in the process she was sexually assaulted and killed.
“You play softball, right?” Waving a steadying hand in the air they let out a huff of air signaling the dead woman that an answer was not expected, “Sure you do, your team won last weekend but the pitcher for the other team really sucked. My grandmother could have knocked those pitches over the fence. Where’s your bat?” Across the room just to the right of her desk stood a small closet, “There it is. Don’t get up, I can get it myself.” On the way to the closet the screen on the laptop signaled that the files finally finished downloading. Snatching the USB drive from the port and stuffed it into the right pocket of the black jeans on their slender hips, “This is all I wanted but the best laid plans, right?” In the closet, just as expected, was a heap of sports equipment including an aluminum softball bat. “Just gotta go with the flow.”
The flow was going in the direction of the rather expensive laptop. That just had to go now that things had gone so mercilessly sideways. Bringing the well-weighted metal up high they bright it down again with all the strength they could muster. The bat fell on the laptop sending bits of plastic flying through the air with the first blow in the second chunks of the motherboard hit the wood and beam ceiling. Peering into the gaping hole exposing the guts of the laptop and finding it unsatisfactory, the bat was driven home a few times directly atop of the hard drive ensuring it would never again be readable.
For the next five or maybe even ten minutes, with more joy than they’d felt in years, the intruder bashed and shattered everything within sight; wood and glass coffee table with matching end tables, porcelain lamps, big screen TV and surround sound system, the free-standing bar with its array of crystal glasses and decanters made a particularly grand display when the bat met it. They took special delight in obliterating her collection of stupid little ceramic yellow ducks on the mantle.
Then there was just one little thing left to do, “Sorry, honey, you really should have stayed at the movie.” With a resounding thud echoing through the blood, warm and salty, burst forth from the dead woman’s head. It sprayed over their face, landing on their lips, and worming its way into their mouth before covering their cheeks and eye lids. Another blow and it spattering all the way across the room as it opened the side of her pretty head like a rotten melon cast to hot cement. “Yep, that’ll do it.”
One last detail to keep the cops busy but it was the most unpleasant detail of all.
With a sigh, they went back to the obliterated bar to see what they could find. What they found was a magnum of champagne tucked into the custom mini-fridge. “That’s good.” They looked back to the dead woman with the split skull and bulging eyes. “Sorry, babe, gotta do it.” Standing over the dead woman they kicked her legs apart and rammed the neck of the bottle inside of her still cooling body with both hands. Yanking it down they shoved it up again and one more time for good measure. Taking the bottle out of Kristie they noted her pussy was still warm as the neck was covered with white cream almost down to the label. “I used to play baseball,” they whispered, “none of that girly softball bullshit.” With one hand they tossed the full magnum high into the air. Before it could crash to the floor the intruder grabbed the bat with both hands and swung for the fences. The green glass shattered into tiny shards as expensive champagne sprayed over the damaged room.
Looking back at the dead woman who hadn’t felt the utter violation they sank to their knees and looked into her pale face. “You should have stayed at the movies. Better yet, you should have gotten a respectable job. This is your boss’ fault and yours. You knew who he was. You knew what he did. But you let him buy you this sweet little cottage anyway. You let that fat pig stick his smarmy little dick inside you so he could sweat all over you and you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.” Yanking the top of the dead woman’s blonde head they held it up high so they could look directly into her unseeing face, “So, babe, you ain’t that innocent and I gotta admit it, I really don’t feel so bad about this. You could have done better with your life but you took the easy way out, look where it got you.” Letting go of the hair in their fist, they watched the woman’s nearly obliterated head drop down to her chest forever blindly taking in the sight of her own ample breasts. “Time to book, babe.”
Making sure that the USB drive was secure in the front pocket of their black jeans, on their way out, they trashed the little dining area and the kitchen with the bloody bat before throwing it to the floor. With one last look around at the scene they let themselves out of the back door. Outside they hit the glass pane with their leather clad elbow leaving a point of entry behind for the police to find whenever someone reported the woman missing. It certainly wouldn’t do for the cops to know that they had a key that would cast suspicion on people around the poor pretty newly-departed Kristie DePalma who’d met such a nasty end to her short life. It was best if the cops thought this was a robbery gone bad. Nothing more than another Random Act of Violence committed by someone who was Mentally Ill.
The key from this point out was to keep it that way. The first thing the robber-turned-first-time-murderer did upon arriving home was to burn every stitch of the bloody clothing they’d worn during their surprisingly exhilarating adventure. It was all over the wool cap, the black turtle neck, and the black jeans. The leather jacket was too heavy to burn. According to the TV a bleach solution should take care of that the same went for the boots on their feet. After a long hot shower wherein evidence was washed away and overly exerted muscles were soothed a bottle of vodka was opened before settling into bed with the laptop to get the first look at their hard-won prize.
Go to Chapter Two