Bite Me

9

He woke with the sun.

His arms around the dead girl, legs intertwined, her cold lifeless head snoring away on his chest with a rattle like the sound of a Chevelle he used to drive. A few hanks of her beautiful brown hair had come away in his hand as they'd made love. Now he gathered them up reverently and disposed of them.

It didn't bother Andrew that Natalie was falling to pieces like a Patsy Cline song. He loved her and all her pieces. It reminded him of an old barroom poem he'd learned in college.

Here's to the woman I love the best.
I love her naked, I love her dressed.
I love her sleeping, I love her lying.
And if she were an angel, I'd love her flying.
And when she's dead, and long forgotten,
I'll dig her up and love her rotten.

Vulgar, perhaps. Uncouth, definitely. Offensive, most certainly. But also quite apt.

Andrew ran his hands over her bare legs, thinking back to the night before.

He carefully extricated himself from Natalie's arms, shoved himself into some jeans and a t-shirt. He closed the door behind him and headed to the kitchen, turning on the news as he did.

Natalie's face stared back at him, eyes clear and alive. Andrew felt panic stir somewhere in his testicles.

"...as police continue their search for a local woman who disappeared earlier this week. Natalie Green was last seen by friends at a bar before she said that she was taking an Uber home. Investigators have indicated that no cab or Uber has any record of escorting a woman of her description home on the night of her disappearance. Closed circuit security footage from a nearby liquor store shows a woman matching her description leaving the store in the company of a man as yet unidentified by police. Any witnesses are urged..."

Click.

Andrew switched off the TV.

It was a matter of time, and Andrew's time was up. He had to leave. The realization came as he had watched the news story. The Korean liquor store owners would provide debit transactions. Police would show images pulled from DMV records. They'd be at his door. Natalie would die.

Again.

And he'd be detained.

Alternate ending: the Suit would recognize him in the footage. They'd show up at his door. Natalie would die.

Again.

And so would he.

He had to get them out. Somewhere safe.

...ish. Safish.

He called Whit Carver.

"Jeezus Andy. Are you up this early or just still going from last night?"

"I'm not drinking, Whit. I need your help. I need a favour."

"Uh oh. You got a gambling debt or something? Drug money? You owe somebo..."

"Fuck. No. Just stop. It's not that." It was exasperating trying to live down your reputation. "I need a quiet place to get these books out. Remote. Where I won't be both..."

"Hold on, Andy. I know what you're getting at. But are you sure you're safe on your own?"

"For chrissakes, Whit. It's nothing like that. I swear to God. I just need a place to work uninterrupted. Can you help me?"

There was a long pause. Andrew could picture his agent sitting there in his big leather chair, hemming and hawing. Finally he relented.

"You can use the cabin down in Big Sur..."

"Great, and can I borrow your car?"

"Sonovabitch!"

Andrew parked in the alley and checked his supplies. A few Jerry cans of gasoline would stink but it meant he wouldn't have to stop. Anything could happen at a gas station and he wanted to make the drive in one straight shot.

He grabbed the coolers. They were already full of ice and some beef roasts. His zombie girlfriend might not find it to her particular liking but beggars can't be choosers. At least they still had some Gerry meat left to tide her over.

Andrew found Natalie watching TV when he came up. She was beautiful, even with the grey pallor of her skin. She looked up with those milky eyes and smiled that crooked smile.

"Hey babe, we need to get moving."

She stood up and shuffled over to him, embraced him, kissed him hard and good.

Andrew grabbed the Gerry roasts and their suitcase. He locked the door and they left. He hadn't bothered to turn off the TV. Or the lights.

Natalie settled into the passenger seat, a happy expression on her slack face. There was something about a road trip in Andrew's opinion, the American experience, that even transcended death apparently.

"Let's hit the road," he said, anxious to be gone. Grateful to be with her.

As they passed under the streetlights, Natalie drifted off and slept. They took the 5, past Puget Sound and Tacoma. Out of Washington and south. Andrew listened to an old CD. Sam Cooke.

"...Darling yoooooou send me. I know yoooooou send me..."

The Suit flicked on a UV light. The Luminol he'd sprayed on Andrew's floors reacted with the iron in Gerry's blood, even though it had been cleaned up.

"Hello," he said. "Mr. Price, you've been busy."

He searched the apartment, found the remains of the maintenance man in a large rubbermaid bin, but it was the nylons that reeked of whiskey that really caught his interest.

Looking a little further, he turned up a skirt and several strands of long brown hair. In the bathroom he found the bath products that were clearly not the writer's.

The missing Green woman had been on the Department's radar for days. As had poor Gerald the maintenance man. Missing persons cases were taken much more seriously now than they had been in the past.

The Suit was not convinced that Mr. Price was returning, despite how the apartment had been left with lights on and such. The maintenance man's remains told a story all their own.

Someone had turned, likely the woman. And if Andrew was moving her, it would be a one-way trip. But Price had no known associates or friends or family other than his agent.

This had to be contained, and Carver was collateral damage, complicit in some way, even if he didn't know to what extent. He'd have to go.

The Department would just have to find another writer. Maybe one of the many reporters they had on the payroll.