Chapter Fifteen
Grab 'em By The Balls
Silas
I sit the paper grocery bags down on the black granite countertop, the contents rattling around inside.
"I think this is everything from your shopping list. I've got to say, it was a nice change from your previous list. At least this time I didn't have some sweet little blue-haired lady looking at me like I belong on some kind of registry. "
Charlotte rolls her eyes dramatically from her spot next to the kitchen counter. "My god, Silas, I can't even call you Princess anymore. You've officially graduated to full-blown drama queen status. Congratulations on the promotion."
I begin sorting through the bags, placing items on the counter, deliberately choosing to ignore her. "Care to explain why exactly you needed me to pick up a bottle of tequila? It's not exactly an item that is typically found on your standard shopping list of murder supplies."
"To kill my mom," she states matter-of-factly, her voice carrying none of the hesitation you'd expect from someone discussing murder.
"I know you're new to all of this and coming up with creative methods of ending someone might not flow as naturally for you as it does for someone like me who's been doing it for years.
But even you should realize that a single bottle of tequila isn't going to take down a woman whose version of a well-balanced breakfast to start their day is a couple of oxy chased by a fifth of liquor.
" I continue unpacking the grocery bags, "Besides, I already have a few ideas for Mommy Dearest's departure from this world.
A little less boring than alcohol poisoning. "
Charlotte hops onto the kitchen counter with ease, her long legs swinging back and forth.
Raven black hair falls forward obscuring her face as she leans over to snatch a lime from one of the bags.
"The tequila isn't for killing her," she says as she tosses the lime up into the air, catching the fruit on its way back down.
"It's for celebrating after. Nothing says, 'Adios, bitch' quite like body shots.
" She smirks. "The bottle of vodka is to kill her. "
"You're disturbingly chipper about matricide." I watch as she reaches in the bag for another lime, then begins to juggle them. The casual way she discusses murder shouldn't intrigue me as much as it does. "Most people would be more... conflicted."
She just shrugs her shoulders, continuing her juggling act. The steady rhythm of the fruit moving upward through the air into a graceful arc is almost hypnotic. "And just how do you think a bottle of vodka is going to kill someone?"
The juggling comes to an abrupt halt, the limes landing softly in her palms one by one. Her blue eyes lock onto mine as her expression changes from playful to something more serious.
"Obviously I know a bottle of vodka isn't going to kill anyone.
Especially not someone like her who has built up such a high tolerance she'd have to use a tranquilizer for an elephant as an Ambien. I also know I lack the skills and knowledge that you have. That kind of expertise can only come from experience. I’m not arrogant enough to try to impress you by attempting something beyond my capabilities.
I only have one chance to prove to you I can do this, and I don't plan on screwing this up.”
She sets the limes aside and begins playing with a loose thread hanging from the hem of her shirt.
"I've been thinking a lot about this, from every possible angle.
While crucial, I don't believe all the technical aspects and the hows of committing a murder is the most important part.
The key is knowing your target intimately.
Because if you know exactly who they are down to their core—their daily routines, their secrets, their vulnerabilities —you already have the rest figured out and everything will naturally fall into place.
That knowledge becomes your guide, giving you all the answers to how to do it and how to cover it up.
It's like solving a puzzle. You already have all the pieces, you just need to see how they fit together. "
Fuck. Maybe she is cut out for this after all. "And what do you know about Sabrina that is going to tell you how to kill her?"
"I know there isn't a damn thing on this planet she won't snort, ingest, shoot up, inhale, smoke, or drink if she thinks there is even the slightest possibility it could get her drunk or high.
" Still playing with the loose thread, bitter memories seem to start seeping from her like poison.
I catch the slight tremor in her fingers, giving away the emotions she's doing a damn good job of hiding.
"I remember she would take me to the grocery store. God, I would be so excited, practically bouncing on my tiptoes the entire way on our walk there. I was still young and naive enough to think we were actually going to buy real food. That for once the shelves of our fridge would have something on them when I opened the door. That never happened, not once. It was never about feeding her kid. Every trip to the store was a scavenger hunt for her next fix. I was just the little accomplice with a backpack.”
My disgust for Sabrina grows with every memory she shares.
Each one hits me like a punch to the gut knowing all too well what it's like. This isn’t just theoretical knowledge she is sharing with me, it’s lived experiences no child should ever go through.
I know better than anyone what that does to a kid.
How confusing it all is, feeling worthless and small, thinking something has to be wrong with you.
Blaming yourself is the only thing that makes sense in your young mind.
What other reason could there be to explain why your own mother or father doesn't love you, or even like you ?
The clinical detachment in Charlotte's voice as she continues only makes it worse.
"The first thing we would do is check how much hand sanitizer we could get from the restrooms. She would send me into the men's room alone.
Just a confused little girl who didn't look at the sign on the door.
Did you know that stuff has a higher alcohol content than most liquor? "
She starts ticking off items on her fingers.
"Let’s see… There is whipped cream. You can inhale the nitrous oxide gas that is inside the can.
It only gives you a buzz for a few seconds, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Nutmeg can mimic an LSD trip if you eat enough.
Motion sickness pills will have you hallucinating and pissing yourself.
Then there are the always reliable classics—mouthwash, cough syrup, vanilla extract.
I was taught to steal and more ways to get wasted than I could count, all before I lost my first baby tooth. "
She doesn’t meet my eyes as she continues.
"Eventually, she stopped bothering to come with me all together once I knew what to look for.
Why risk getting caught when you have a perfectly good eight-year-old who can do it for you?
After all, what's the worst they could do to a little girl?
A stern talking to? A call to her mother who couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone, if she even had one. "
The familiar urges are pulsing through me.
I want to wrap my hands around that worthless cunt's throat for everything she's done to Charlotte.
Every instinct in my body is screaming to hunt Sabrina down right now and end her miserable existence so she just becomes another part of Char's past that she never has to deal with again.
But I force myself to remain still, my fingers gripping the edge of the countertop behind me so tight my knuckles ache.
"So, what's the plan?" I keep my voice steady, calm.
Charlotte needs my composure now, not my wrath.
But it's so hard when vivid images of all the ways I could make Sabrina suffer are flashing through my mind.
But this isn't my kill to take. It isn't about me or how much I want to make that bitch experience every ounce of pain she's caused.
Charlotte needs closure and the chance to write the ending to this chapter of her life herself.
"It would be horrible of me if I didn't pay my mother one final visit before she's evicted.
After all, she'll have nowhere to go, no one willing to take her in.
Who knows where she might end up. What kind of daughter would I be to deny her what could end up being the last chance she has to see her only child?
" Charlotte puts on a show of mock daughterly concern.
She gestures to the bottle of vodka sitting on the kitchen island.
"When you combine alcohol with specific opioids, it causes respiratory failure.
Your breathing just... stops." Her lips curve into a smile.
"As long as you managed to find everything I had on the shopping list, my dear mother will drift off to her final sleep, carried by the only things she ever truly gave a damn about…
booze and drugs, her one true love. The police will write it off as just another tragic overdose.
An addict whose choices finally caught up to her. Simple and poetic."
My chest swells with a twisted sort of pride. Her plan might not have all the bells and whistles, or the creative flare that I bring to the table, but she's right. This is her show and it's a solid plan. The local cops won't give the case another thought after the body bag is zipped closed.
I study her face one last time, searching for any sign of doubt. There's not one damn bit of hesitation.
"Simple. Clean. Effective." I nod approvingly, my fingers brushing against the sealed evidence bag in my pocket.
I lifted it from the evidence locker just before my shift ended today.
There isn't a snowball's chance in hell I'm going to hand over fentanyl to her.
I'll be the one adding it to the bottle.
Charlotte isn't getting anywhere near this shit.
It's too dangerous, too many things could go wrong.
I won't risk her or her safety. "I got everything, when do you want to do this? "
"Tonight." She slides off the counter with a graceful movement that draws my eye. It reminds me of a cat preparing to pounce. "I'm really excited to introduce her to my boyfriend before she dies. Might as well make it her last party."
"Your boyfriend?" The words piss me off even more hearing them again coming out of my own mouth. A surge of possessive anger has my muscles tensing as I push away from the counter.
What catches me by surprise is when she moves faster, already in front of me before I even take a step towards her. I don't even have time to react. Her hand shoots out, grabbing my balls through my pants. Squeezing with enough pressure to make my breath catch.
"Agh!" I suck in a sharp intake of air through my teeth as both pleasure and pain radiates through my groin. My hand instinctively grabs her wrist, but I don't pull her hand away, curious where this bold little game of hers is going.
"Yeah, baby, make sure you look real pretty.
" Her other hand comes up to tap my nose playfully, the gesture so different from her vice-like grip below that it short-circuits my brain for a moment.
She just fucking booped me. Like actually fucking booped my nose while holding my manhood hostage.
"I want her to see what an absolute snack I pulled.
Give her one last thing to be jealous about before she checks out. "
I can't keep the predatory grin from spreading across my face. Her grip loosens just enough to become more of a caress than a threat.
My voice drops low, and I lean in closer. "You want to play boyfriend-girlfriend for Mommy? Put on a real good show for her?"
Charlotte's blue eyes spark with mischief.
"Don't you think a mother should meet the man who's been sharing a bed with her little girl?
" Her fingers trail up my chest, "Even if he is too afraid to make a move and do anything about it.
Besides, watching her face will be worth it.
The jealousy might actually kill her before the drugs do. "
I ignore her taunt and catch her wandering hand on my chest. "And what exactly am I supposed to be to earn such a reaction? "
"Oh, you know, just the successful, sexy detective. The kind of man she could never land herself. It'll drive her crazy knowing I have everything she could never have."
This isn't just about killing Sabrina, it's about destroying her completely before she dies. It's beautifully cruel, maybe even better than torture.
"You're quite the vindictive little minx when you want to be." I release her hand on my chest but don't move to put any space between us. "I like it."
"I know you do." she pats my now hard dick and winks. "Now, go make yourself pretty. We have a date tonight."
I adjust myself as I watch her walk out of the kitchen, equally impressed by her newfound confidence as I am turned on by it. Tonight will be interesting, and not a damn bit of it will be an act on my part.
The line between us has been blurred for months now. I've been fighting the attraction I feel for her, telling myself it's wrong—I'm thirteen years older than her for fuck’s sake. But it's becoming harder to ignore with each passing day.
She's right about that too, I am afraid.
I tell myself it's her I'm protecting, that the age gap is too much, but that is just another excuse I'm hiding behind.
It's myself I'm protecting. I'm terrified of how deeply she's worked her way under my skin, how the careful control I've maintained all these years crumbles whenever she's near.
It's past time I stop being afraid and clear things up. The tension between us has built to a breaking point. Whatever happens tonight, I'm sure as hell not stopping it this time, I'm done fighting it.