3. Dahlia
Drake wrappedme in his arms, and I rested against his chest, basking in the afterglow. Beside us, Judah lay ruined and oozing blood.
“What do we do with him?” I asked. The thought of disposing of the body had been the last thing on my mind in the last thirty minutes.
“I’ve got some things in the trunk of the car. I’ll be back in a second. Hang on.”
“Wait, can I have a shirt?” I asked. My naked torso had gooseflesh all along my arms and breasts.
Drake pulled his sweater off over his head and handed it to me, leaving himself with nothing but a white undershirt. “Here. Put that on. Stay warm.”
The fall nights in Greece were warm, but not warm enough to stand around half naked. Drake departed, jogging toward the front door. While I waited, I stood gazing at my handiwork. Judah was no longer a person. He was nothing more than a thing. Muscle, bones, nerves, all of it already beginning to decay. Anything within him that had been the real person inside was gone, shredded away from this reality. I’d done that. Me and only me. With my own hands. A year ago, I’d have vomited, screamed, or had a breakdown. Now? The sight of him like that was already making me slightly wet again. The control I’d had, the power of life and death in my hands, and the vengeance I’d visited upon him. Whatever Drake had awoken, I never wanted to lose it.
He returned a few minutes later with a huge, heavy-duty trash bag, a hack saw, and some handheld snippers.
“You may want to take that back off.” He nodded toward the sweater I wore. “This is gonna be messy.”
“God, you know how to talk to a girl,” I said with a smile.
Over an hour later, we’d chopped the body into small pieces and shoved them into the bag, tying the top and placing it in the back of the Porsche. Afterward, Drake used the hose to spray off the bloody pool that lay drying under the chair, as well as all the tools before also placing them in the car.
The sun had fully gone down by the time we pulled away. Drake angled the car south, heading into the countryside.
“Where are we going?”
“A perfect place to dispose of this trash,” he said, his tone placid and calm.
I’d learned to always trust Drake. In my entire life, I’d never met a man so self-assured and confident. Almost as though he always knew what was coming and what to do. Sam’s betrayal had been the only time he’d been fully surprised.
Nearly a half hour later, Drake turned his headlights off and pulled to the side of a tiny country road that looked to have been last paved around the time the Spartans were fighting Persians with spears.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice hissing in a whisper.
Drake glanced up and down the road, obviously checking for oncoming cars. The rolling countryside looked fully deserted for miles. Finally, he nodded to himself and got out of the car.
“A place I found when I was driving around. Exploring. Come give me a hand,” he said.
I exited the car and joined him at the back hatch. Before we’d even managed to get the bag of body parts out of the trunk, a weird snuffling grunting sound became audible behind us. Turning, I found an ancient looking wooden fence. Beyond it two or three dozen massive pigs came waddling toward us, their fat bellies swinging inches from the ground.
“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” I asked, staring at the pigs in wide eyed shock.
“They eat anything. Even human bone,” Drake said with a grunt as he pulled the bag down to the road.
I helped him balance the bag on the fence, then he took a pocketknife and sliced the bag open. Chunks and pieces of human flesh, organs, and bone tumbled to the ground. The pigs squealed in delight and tore into the buffet we’d given them. As I watched them gorge on Judah’s remains, I made a mental note to never fall into a pig pen full of hungry pigs.
“In a day or two, all that will remain of our friend Judah is some pig shit,” Drake said as he carefully rerolled the trash bag, making sure not to get any blood on his clothes.
“You’re brilliant,” I said.
“Just very well read, Dahlia. I’m nothing special.” he put a finger beneath my chin tilting my face toward the moonlight. “You? You are something beyond words. An angel. An angel of death, but an angel nonetheless.”
I couldn’t help but blush at the words. “Thanks,” I mumbled.
“No thanks are needed. Everything you are was already inside you, I just helped you find it.”
We departed the pig farm and headed back toward the beach house, stopping along the way at three different dumpsters to dispose of the bag and tools.
“Can we stop at the market on the way home? I want to get some more of that feta cheese.”
Drake chuckled. “You’ve acquired a taste for regional fare, I see?”
I shrugged. “It’s not something I ever got to eat before. I love it.”
“Well, I’m glad your first taste was from the source. Those blocks of plastic they sell in American stores can barely even be categorized as true feta.”
The market sat only a mile from the beach house and was nothing like the big supermarkets back home. Very little plastic packaging, everything fresh and even the potatoes were still covered in dirt. Something about it was quaint. Drake grabbed a few other things: sheep’s milk, a sack of fresh olives, and some sort of Greek sausage called loukaniko. While he browsed some fruits, I made my way to the rear of the store where a small refrigerated-cheese section stood. The cheese I wanted sat in a bin of brine, multiple blocks and a pair of tongs to grab what you needed. Another thing I’d never seen in America. Using the tongs, I broke off a quarter pound hunk and placed it in a small plastic bag.
Turning to join Drake, I bumped into someone I hadn’t seen as they walked behind me.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” I said, putting a hand to my mouth. “I didn’t see you.”
The man, though it could have been a woman from the build, grunted and nodded to me. I had to hold in a gasp. Their face was twisted in awful, bright-pink scars. They’d pulled up a hoodie and had big black glasses on, obviously to hide their disfigurement. The person, probably a man, hurried away, and I watched them go, feeling awful for them.
“What’s wrong?” Drake asked as he walked up, seeing the look on my face.
“That poor person.” I looked at Drake and then at the back of the departing stranger. “Did you see their face? How terrible. I couldn’t imagine.”
“What was wrong with their face?”
“Horrible scars. Their lips were all twisted. Whatever happened must have been really painful.”
My heart hurt for them. The one good thing that had happened in my life was that I’d never been disfigured in all the tribulations I’d gone through. As shitty as it was to admit, life was a bit easier when you were attractive, and the only thing my parents gave me was a somewhat pretty face. I couldn’t fathom going through life when most people thought you looked like some sort of monster or something.
“Nothing you can do,” Drake said softly, putting a hand on my back.
“Oh shit,” I said, looking at him. “I didn’t notice this.”
“What?” He frowned at me.
I licked my finger and reached up to rub away a smear of blood on his ear. “Can’t walk around like that, can we?”
He smiled and touched his ear. “It was dark, what can I say? Anyway, what do you want for dinner tonight? Chicken or pork?”
I thought about what we’d just done. The slavering jaws of the pigs as they’d ripped and tore at the human flesh. The snap and crackle of the bones as they bit into them. All I could do was wrinkle my nose at the thought.
“How about chicken?”
The beach house had spotlights outside, items Drake had ordered on our way here. They were battery operated and held on with simple plastic straps. He’d installed those along with an alarm system and cameras. The alarm system was one that required no additional wiring or hole drilling. Everything could be removed when we left, with no one being the wiser. Until we caught up to Sam, we couldn’t be too careful.
Drake took the linen sacks of groceries inside. From across the street, a tiny mewling sound, and when I turned, I saw a gray and white cat tiptoeing toward me. A stray from the looks of him.
“Oh, hello, baby,” I said, kneeling down. “Pst-pst-pst,” I made the little sound everyone made when trying to get a cat to come.
I loved animals. Part of what I liked about Greece was the constant bark and yowl. The place seemed to be filled with stray dogs and cats. Most people might have considered it annoying, but I enjoyed it. I’d always wanted some sort of companion but could never justify the expense. I’d wanted a dog for protection and companionship, and a cat would have been lovely to cuddle with on cold mornings. There were times when I’d daydream about nuzzling the fur as I fell asleep in my shitty little apartment.
The cat came forward and weaved its way through my legs, letting me pet it, but when I attempted to pick her up, she bolted back across the street, diving under a bush and turning her yellow eyes back toward me, quietly judging and assessing.
“Fine then. Be that way. I’ll put some food out for you though,” I said and turned to join Drake inside.
While he cooked some sort of lemon chicken and pasta dish, I found a jar of tuna in the pantry. Not a can, but a jar. Packed in honest to god olive oil instead of water. The thing had cost seven whole euros. An exorbitant fee for tuna in my mind, but Drake had insisted and had bought six of the damned things. Though, I had to admit, he was right. It was a far cry from the dollar cans I’d sometimes splurged on to get protein back in my old life. It was delicious.
After opening the jar, I dumped the contents out onto a small dish and took it outside to place on the lowest step. Across the street, the kitty was still eyeing me warily. She lifted her head, sniffing the air, catching a whiff of the treat I’d set out for her.
“There you go, sweety,” I said. “Dinner.”
Back inside, I set the alarm. The device was attached to the wall with removable adhesive strips. Drake had placed sensors on every window and door. If any were open after being set, they’d trip the alarm. Everything was connected via Wi-Fi. He even had a few outside that would alert us if anyone came near the house.
Drake set the table with dinner and wine. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said.
The chicken had been simmered in some sort of lemon cream sauce. On the side was an orzo pasta dish with olives, tomatoes and pickled peppers, along with a platter of roasted and seasoned eggplant.
“Good lord,” I said, eyeing the food as he placed some toasted pita bread. “You’re looking to get laid again later?”
“Perhaps,” he said with a grin and took his seat.
The food was just as good as it looked. It seemed there was nothing Drake was bad at. We ate and chatted, sipping wine. After some time, it was hard to really remember that we were on the run: the hunting and the hunted. It all slid away in the bliss of a pleasant evening. That was until the alarm started chiming.
Drake froze, wine glass on his lips, eyes darting to the door. He set the glass down and rushed to his laptop, pulling up the web app for the system.
“What is it?” I asked, grabbing the knife off the table and holding it, pointed down, ready for a fight.
Drake tapped on the keys and brought up the outdoor cameras. I watched his shoulders slump as he relaxed.
“Just a guy jogging with a dog. All good. He’s out on the road beyond the gate. Must have barely been in the motion sensor range.”
I let out a trembling breath, setting the knife back down. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Drake returned to his seat. “It’s fine.”
That little scare put a damper on the evening. Once done with dinner, we both decided to go to bed. It had been a pretty eventful day, and we were both exhausted. Drake finished the dishes as I headed upstairs, again taking in the house. Running my hand along the wrought iron railing. The house was the right size for the two of us, a couple of bedrooms and bathrooms, but whoever had built it had had an intense desire for open space and light. The entire wall of the living and dining rooms faced the ocean and from floor to ceiling, there was nothing but huge glass windows. The kitchen sat just off the dining area and also looked out at the beach. There was a small library or lounge on the bottom floor that Drake used as an office, spending day after day online using all the weird little tricks and tools he had to try and search for traces of Sam. He’d apparently also been looking for other pieces of shit who needed punishment—as tonight’s events revealed.
Upstairs, the two bedrooms were both as large as my entire apartment back in Savannah. Marble floors and bright white colors with accents of blue and green dominated both rooms. Each morning when I awoke, I had to pinch myself to believe this was really my life now.
Drake joined me a few minutes after I slipped under the covers, and as soon as his arm slipped around me, I was out. Drifting into a dream state. A dozen sights flashed through my mind as sleep pulled me deeper and deeper. Dreams of blood and screams, flames, pain, the wet stickiness of gore. It was a restful sleep if I were honest.
My dreams were shredded by the bleat of the security alarm. The beep-beep-beep sound of it stirring me. Groggy and flailing under the blankets, my relaxed state fled and was replaced by the noxious and bitter taste of fear at the back of my throat. The clock beside the bed read three in the morning.
“What?” I mumbled, stumbling from bed.
Drake was already moving, rushing from the bed to the dresser, lifting the laptop open. He was such a shallow sleeper that it appeared he had none of the dulled reflexes and disoriented mind I had.
“Hang on,” he said, his voice tense and tight as he tapped keys.
Fully awake now, I looked out the window, peering down at the small road that ran beside the house. I saw nothing, but did that mean there was nothing or did it mean Sam was already in the house? Fear clawed at my stomach as the seconds stretched out like days.
Finally, Drake let out a frustrated but relieved sigh. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a cat.”
“A cat?” I asked dumbly.
He turned and nodded, pointing to the camera feeds on the screen. “A cat. It’s on the front step eating that food you left out.”
I brightened. “Oh! She’s eating?”
Drake chuckled ruefully and closed the laptop. “Yes. She is.”
“Maybe we should change the settings?” I offered. “It’s been three months. Maybe…maybe Sam gave up?”
The idea was one of the fantasies I allowed myself. That Sam would forget about us. Let us live this amazing jetsetter life Drake had swept me into, and he would go on doing whatever shit he wanted to do. The thought of spending the remainder of my days in paradise with Drake was almost too much to hope for. Though, my newfound addiction to punishment would have to be satiated in some way too.
Drake looked at me like I’d gone crazy. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I know Sam better than you do. He’ll never stop. He’s like a starving dog on a bone. I’d rather get woken up two times a night the rest of my life than give him even the tiniest sliver of a chance to get to us. If I lowered the sensitivities on the motion sensors, I’d never be able to sleep.”
“Fair enough,” I said and crawled back into bed.
I dozed with a smile on my face, knowing the pretty little kitty was going to have a full belly in the morning. Maybe, if I played my cards right, I could coax her into letting me hold her. Drake would never let us have a pet, but a little daily nuzzle would be a nice way to spend the time we had left here. Those thoughts faded as a dreamless sleep dragged me under.
The next morning, I awoke first. Drake lay on his side, breathing deeply. Already, the craving for coffee gnawed at my mind. Since coming to Europe with Drake, I’d discovered that coffee could be so much better than the cheap stuff Clint and Maria had served at the diner, or even the high-quality brew that had been available in the playhouse. Over here, coffee was like a religion, and I’d become a convert.
After pulling on my robe, I tiptoed from the bedroom and made my way downstairs. The first rays of sunlight shimmered through the windows, and I could already see it was going to be another amazing Mediterranean day.
I pulled the glass jar of fine ground coffee down from a cabinet and turned the pot on to brew. This wasn’t the detail-oriented coffee making process I’d seen in some of the restaurants and markets Drake and I had been to since being here. This was a simple and plain American style drip coffee maker. That was fine with me, all I needed was caffeine, I didn’t care how I got it.
While that worked, I decided to see how much of the tuna was left on the front step. Before unlocking the door, I checked the window, scanning the small yard and parking area. No one was in sight. I unlocked the door and slid back the deadbolt.
Upon opening the door, I glanced down the steps and saw the little dish was empty, licked clean. I smiled and turned back, but that was when I finally noticed the door itself. Something was wrong with it. A pretty autumn wreath hung from it, a decoration I’d convinced Drake we needed. The problem was the color wasn’t right. It should have been yellow, orange, and red. But there was no gray and white.
My eyes adjusted, finally breaking through the confusion. Understanding and horror poured across me like a bucket of ice water. The glassy dead eyes. The ruffled and blood-stained fur. I backed away, jaw falling open. The gray and white cat, no longer so pretty, gazed at me, its head twisted backward, dried blood oozing from its mouth staining the fur and dribbling down the door. Above the wreath, written in smeared blood, a single word: Hello.
Before I could even register what I was doing, the word was tearing from my throat. A single terrified scream. “Drake.”