The Player - A Short Story

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  Dinner had gone exactly as Jacob had planned: a romantic evening at an upscale Italian restaurant. When they finished eating, he suggested going to his place for a drink and Melanie jumped at the offer. When they arrived, he unlocked his apartment and pushed the door open, stepped aside. He gently placed his hand on Melanie’s back and guided her through the doorway. “Home, sweet home.”

  She turned and looked at him, her eyes warm and trusting, and Jacob knew he’d said the perfect sappy thing. He’d pretend to be the perfect husband material she craved.

  He gestured toward the sofa. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll open a bottle of wine.” He knew the words were a cliché, but he also knew she’d respond to them.

  “That sounds wonderful,” she said.

  Jacob waited for her to sit, then he picked up an afghan and tucked it around her body. “It’s a little chilly in here. This should help.”

  Melanie hugged the throw against her shoulders and smiled. “Thanks. It’s perfect.”

  Jacob gazed into her eyes. “You look beautiful---like a Madonna.” He leaned down and kissed her softly on her lips, lingered for a moment, inhaled her scent.

  He straightened and lightly cupped her cheek. “I’ll go get that wine.”

  When he returned, he found her curled up against the arm of the sofa, legs tucked under. She looked completely relaxed and Jacob knew he didn’t need to add a Ruffie to her wine. He didn’t want to knock her out. When they hit the sheets, he wanted her awake and aware.

  He poured the wine and handed her a glass, waited while she took a sip. “Is it all right? It’s a Cabernet. I can open something else if you’d prefer.”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Jacob sat next to her and clinked his glass against hers. “To the start of something special.”

  Melanie blushed and lowered her gaze.

  “I hope I’m not being too forward,” Jacob said.

  Melanie’s eyes widened. “No. Not at all. I feel the same connection you do. It’s just happening so fast. I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured, Melanie. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other. Tonight’s just the beginning.”

  He could see her relax. He had her just where he wanted. He’d been down this road so many times, with so many women. He was the master manipulator.

  He kissed her---a deep, lingering kiss---and he could feel her melt under his charms. He lifted her onto his lap and his lips moved from her mouth to her neck. Her perfume was so sweet and flowery, it made him gag. He opened his mouth and bit the flesh on her neck. Blood trickled onto his tongue, masking her saccharine fragrance.

  “Jacob, that hurt!”

  He drew back, saw the discomfort in her eyes, but then she smiled, forgiving. So anxious to please him---so willing---so needy. He felt disgusted; the mouse---a total loser. His hands, encircled her waist, shook with rage. His fingertips burrowed into her pasty white flesh.

  “Stop it.” She grabbed his wrists trying to pull them away.

  Jacob tightened his grip and watched her eyes grow wide with fear. She struggled to get free. Anger boiled through his system like a white hot branding iron. How dare she reject him? This hideous little mouse. His hands flew to her scrawny neck. He dug his fingers into her flesh and squeezed.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but couldn’t. His hands so tight around her throat, her airway was closed. She clawed at his fingers, but he didn’t let go. He threw his head back and roared, “You ugly, little bitch!”

  His hands clenched so hard, they shook---with rage, with power, with excitement. A God---the mouse’s life in his hands. His fingers dug deeper into her throat and he watched her life seep out of her.

  Exhausted, his head dropped forward. He softened his grip and her body went limp. He let her drop to the floor. He stood and gazed down at her crumpled flesh. Electricity flooded his body and he wallowed in his power, his domination, his brute strength. He’d never felt anything like this before.

  He knelt next to the body, relived the kill, savored the moment, not wanting it to end.

  Finally, when his knees throbbed with pain, he pushed himself back onto the sofa and looked down at the dead mouse. How am I going to get rid of her? he thought, fear oozed through his pores, before he caught himself. I can do this. I can do anything. Fear turned to excitement. All part of the game---this brilliant new game he’d discovered.

  With his brains, he could get away with anything, even murder. The mouse would be the first in a long line of victims. He gazed at her, proud of his cunning. He wanted to savor this moment forever. He reached down and took a bracelet off her wrist. A trophy. He’d add it to his display case where he kept his other trophies from his marathons and bike races.

  Fingering the bracelet, Jacob leaned back against the sofa, closed his eyes, and considered different ways to dispose of her body. The mouse had probably given his name to a friend, a safety measure before a first date with a stranger. It could take a few days before the cops followed up on a missing person’s report, but he had to assume they’d track him down. He’d have to be ready for them. Luckily, the murder a bloodless crime. The crime scene techs could spray their fancy chemicals all over his apartment and not find a drop. He wouldn’t deny she’d been in his apartment, so he wouldn’t have to worry about them finding her fingerprints or DNA. He’d simply insist she was alive and well when she left.

  Jacob knew he had to get rid of the mouse’s body and her car someplace where they wouldn’t surface for a long time, if ever. And do it without getting caught. After he came up with the best solution, he went to work. Pulled on his biking uniform: black shorts, gym shoes, a T-shirt and a gray hoodie.

  Finished dressing, he searched the mouse’s purse for her car keys, pocketed them and threw her purse onto her dead body. Then he carried Melanie to his garage and stuffed her into the trunk of her car. Jacob took the front wheel off his bike and put the bike and wheel into the back seat of her car. He took his garage door opener and placed it in his jacket pocket. His digital watch flashed the time: three a.m.---the streets should be empty. He ran through a final mental checklist before he got into Melanie’s car and pulled out of the driveway.

  Jacob drove about twenty miles to a park with a lake. When he got there, he opened the car windows and drove slowly, watched and listened for sounds of activity. Nothing---the park as dead as the mouse. At the boat ramp, he parked and took the dead body out of the trunk and positioned her in the driver’s seat, her purse in the passenger seat. He pulled his bike and wheel out of the car and set them aside. Satisfied, he reached into the car, put it in neutral, and watched it roll slowly down the boat ramp into the lake. The car bobbed in the murky water for a few minutes, then sank to the bottom, out of sight.

  Jacob attached the front wheel to his bike and hopped on. He pedaled slowly at first, warming up, then as he got into his rhythm, his legs churned like pistons. The twenty-mile ride back to his house nothing; he barely broke a sweat. And if any of his neighbors saw him, no big deal. He frequently went for pre-dawn bike rides or runs. When he got home, he took a long, hot shower, reveled in the suds dripping over his skin, savored the exhilaration that flooded his body.