was tall, quite tall, and very thin. Her thick black hair fell around her face and partially covered the eye patch over her right eye. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, black stiletto boots, and a white dress shirt. She carried something long attached to her belt on one side, and what looked like a rope coiled around her waist.
"Holy mother!," Rick nearly shouted. "Damn! Don't you look good?," he exclaimed. The woman flipped her hair and smiled, fully revealing the patch and a thick red scar slashed into her forehead above it.
"You like what you see?," she said coyly, and took a step closer. Rags took a step back. Her whole face was streaked with dirt and maybe more. He was getting a bad feeling all over, but Rick took a step toward her, raising his arms with his palms up in some sort of gesture meant to be welcoming and reassuring.
"What's your name?" he asked in his best flirtatious voice.
"Call me Racine," she replied.
"Nice name," Rick said. She came closer and he drifted in her direction too. To his amazement, Racine began unbuttoning her blouse. One button, two buttons. Rick was practically drooling already. His hands were itching; he wanted to rip that shirt right off her. Racine rapidly unbuttoned the rest of the shirt and pulled it off to reveal her naked chest, which would have been lovely were it not for the gaping wound oozing blood from the left breast.
That was enough for Rags. He screamed and ran off as fast as he could through the woods. Rick was stuck in his tracks and could only stare as she uncoiled a whip and lashed out with it. It grabbed him around his legs and toppled him like a dead tree stump and he fell, straight into the wide open grave. He could do nothing but look up, petrified and trembling, as she leaned over the side and smiled at him.
"My good friend Jimmy Kruzel says 'hi, remember me?'," she said, as she pulled a revolver from behind her back, and shot him right between the eyes.
Fifteen
Racine watched the blood trickle down Rick's forehead and laughed. It had been too easy. She was already wishing she could do it all over again. She would make it last a little longer next time. It was too sudden. Where was the joy in that? When you’re having fun, you want it to last. She didn't have long to wait, though, for another opportunity. Only a few moments later another park visitor arrived.
Dave Connor had come back to his grave. He didn't even see her at first. He had been walking blindly, not knowing or caring where he was going. He stopped short at the sight of Rick's body in the hole, at first not recognizing his former classmate and associate.
"You must be Dave," said Racine, tucking the gun back into her belt. He looked up. Her face didn't register either.
"Do you know me too?," he asked. It was beginning to seem like everybody knew him, and he did not know anyone.
"Only by reputation," she chuckled. They were standing near each other, Dave at the foot of the pit, Racine beside it.
"Who are you?"
"Call me Racine, she told him, and added, “It seems you and I have a few things in common," she said.
"Like what?," he asked. "Are you dead too?"
"Oh, no," she laughed, and she pulled off her fake bloody-boob suit to reveal another t-shirt she was wearing beneath. She ripped off the eye patch as well.
"Though people sometimes think so," she continued. "What's it like to be really dead, I wonder. Tell me about it, won't you Dave?"
"It's like being alive," he replied. "Only different."
“What do you do for kicks?”, she asked.
“No kicks”, he replied, shaking her head.
“What about sex?” she sneered.
He just shook his head in response.
“There’s got to be something”, she said. “Else what do you do with yourself? What makes you even want to go on?”
“Nothing, I guess”, he shrugged.
"Yeah, well, that's what I thought," she said. "Do you like being dead, Dave? Does it agree with you?"
"No," he replied. "I don't like it."
"That’s good," she said, and added, "well, sometimes a cat just gets hit by a car, do you know what I mean?," and with the quickness of a tiger she snatched a machete from her side, and in one swift blow, lopped off his head. Dave, and his head, hit the ground simultaneously. She kicked the head into the grave next to Rick's shoulder, then called out into the woods,
"Hey, come on. Give me a hand here, will you?"
"Be right there," came a low deep voice from behind a tree. Dennis emerged, carrying a shovel and pulling on a pair of work gloves. He went right to work, dragging Dave's body into the hole and beginning to scoop the extra dirt on top of the bodies.
"Good job," he said.
"Of course," she replied, looking on. She lingered to watch him complete the job. There was something about the smell of freshly dug graves that appealed to her deeply. Dennis grabbed some nearby duff to spread around and make the site look as natural as possible. When he was finally satisfied, he reached into his jacket pocket, but his hand came out empty. He sighed, and shook his head.
"Rats," he declared. "I forgot the darn orange peel”, and his whole wide body shook with silent laughter.
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