Chapter 7 – Lily
LILY
Crime: My ex’s new girlfriend keyed my car
Preferred Punishment: Leave a ten-pound bag of flaming shit on their doorstep
How To Find The Target: [Shown after job is accepted]
“Looks like you had a big lunch, buddy,” I coo at the pitbull attached to the leash on my wrist while I scoop his second dropping and throw it into a bag with the rest of the day’s collection.
There are times in life where I ask myself, How the hell did we get here?
Dog walking for hours to gather shit for a poop bomb is one of them.
Thanks to the pet sitter app I downloaded, I’ve earned $154 and just secured the last fecal deposit needed for tonight’s Karma.
After returning Sal to his owner, I head towards home, desperate to rid myself of this heavy, putrid bag. I lined the inside with plastic, but the smell is still absolutely fucking wicked.
Driving was preferred, but Liam insinuated if I got a speck of dog crap in the truck, front or back, I wouldn’t live until tomorrow. He’s joking, I think, but I still don’t want to risk his wrath. He goes all Detective Dick on me. It’s annoying.
When I turn the corner, a familiar face has me sucking in a breath.
Crossing the street towards a convenience store is my current obsession, Aster Blake.
Memories of the red-hued room and horrific photos flash through my mind.
The same photos that appeared in the Solarium crime section two days later, claiming zero relation to Kodak.
Although a body, or rather the dismembered pieces, were left behind, so I guess that tracks.
Does that mean we have another psychopathic body-chopping murderer on our hands? I shake my head, willing the thought away. I can only focus on one infamous unaliver at a time.
Aster’s part in all this is still unclear, but either way he’s a damn good lead. Biting my cheek, I weigh my options.
Go home, take an hour-long shower, prep for operation shit stoop, and avoid a run-in with a potential serial killer.
Follow Aster and see if I catch him doing anything suspicious.
Public recon is way less risky than going to his house again…
Cursing under my breath, I cross the street, attempting nonchalance.
As nonchalant as a person can be while carrying around a ten-pound bag of dog crap.
If this were a cartoon, those green little squiggles would be floating off me to form a cloud.
Peeking through the tinted window, I spot Aster filling a cup at the soda machine.
My face scrunches as he presses the Dr. Pepper button. Who the hell drinks Dr Pepper?
“Excuse me,” a frail voice says, and I turn to find a smiling old woman. Her hair is frizzy, clothes tattered, and there are dirt smudges on her face. “Do you have a couple of bucks to spare?”
I glance back inside. Aster’s still finishing his drink, seemingly searching for a lid. My bleeding heart has me reaching in my purse and pulling out a twenty. “Here you go,” I say with a gentle smile.
“Oh, bless you, sweetheart.” Her eyes well with tears, and my chest cracks in half.
It’s simply unfair how so many of us have the wealth of never knowing what it’s like to go hungry, and another’s life is changed by twenty damn dollars.
Twenty dollars can be enough that they eat today.
Find fresh water. Get the medication they need to survive.
The woman walks away, and I return to my sleuthing only to discover the soda machine now lacks a bystander. Shit. My chest tightens, gaze panicked, as I stumble along the wall, continuing to search the store through the long window. He’s nowhere in—
My body slams into a hard wall, and I yelp as freezing cold liquid covers my chest, seeping into my pores.
“What the—” a gruff male voice says, and my eyes widen when our gazes meet.
“Ah.” He smirks. “I was wondering when I’d run into you again.
” Aster Blake, all dripping in sex 6’5 of him, stands before me, clutching a busted Styrofoam cup now lacking liquid.
Because it’s all over me. My mouth opens and shuts, unable to conjure up a single word.
He’s caught me. He’s caught me, and I’m his next victim.
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘I’m sorry,’” he snarks, snapping me out of my panic spiral.
“I’m sorry?” I huff, backpedaling and glancing at my white T-shirt that’s now transparent. “You’re the one who should be sorry.”
“Me?” he scoffs, shaking the liquid off his hand and throwing the remainder of the busted cup into a nearby trash can. “You ran into me.”
“Mmmm. I don’t recall it happening that way.” My heart pounds. Has my cover been blown? Did he catch me staring through the window? His eyes fall to my chest—my now exposed chest—and the corner of his lips quirk as his gaze returns to mine.
Murderer, Lily! This man’s a cold-blooded killer. Allegedly.
“This is my favorite shirt,” I say, referring to the white baby tee with the words “Love me and burn down the world” across it.
“Mine now too,” he replies, but I don’t miss the way his eyes remain on mine, not dropping once. His nose scrunches, and he glances around us but says nothing. Oh my god. Panic seizes my muscles. He smells the poop pack.
“Well.” I clear my throat, backing away and taking the putrid stench with me. “It was lovely seeing you again. I’m gonna go find a wet T-shirt contest to enter.”
He chuckles, the sound far too beautiful for someone whose extracurriculars would involve chopping someone into tiny pieces. “Wait.”
Pausing mid spin, I meet his gaze. He opens his messenger bag and digs around, then pulls a piece of fabric out and tosses it my way.
Catching it, I let it fall open, finding a black T-shirt with a white Death tarot card on it.
“Maybe it’ll be your new favorite.” He winks, turning to walk off before I can utter another word.
I’m left standing there with crap on my back, the shirt from a potential sexy serial killer in my hands, and my mind entirely empty. For the second time today, I find myself asking, How the hell did we get here?
A branch stabs into my side as I crouch behind a thick bush, sweat dripping down my mask-covered face while awaiting the front porch light to turn off.
Come on, let’s get this show on the road.
Thirty minutes have passed, but it feels like days due to the rotting feces in the brown paper bag before me.
I’ve tossed in wood chips and added a handful of dryer lint for flammability.
The target’s porch is void of plants, so low risk of flames spreading.
The lighter is burning a hole in my pocket, because if I must smell this rank for another minute, I will absolutely be adding puke to the mix.
A rustling in the neighbor’s bushes causes me to jump, my heart in my throat.
I remain absolutely still. So still I could be mistaken for a statue in a wax museum.
It was likely a bird or rodent, but there’s a tingle skating across my skin that I only have when eyes are on me.
Another snap of a twig, and I scan my surroundings.
Nothing. The squeaking of a fence gate has me sucking in a breath once more, and I gag instantly, then crane my neck for a single molecule of fresh air.
Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake off the anxiety.
All the stalking has made me paranoid.
And after the run-in with Aster, bump that paranoia to a thousand. That’s what I get for going off-script.
The one single time I choose spontaneity, and he catches me wet-T-shirt-handed. And was still so damn charming. When his gaze fell to my chest in appreciation, I should’ve told him to stop being pervy. Instead I wanted to drop to my knees and bark like a fucking dog.
I am pathetic.
A pathetic, touch-starved, sex-deprived loser.
My mind wanders back to his darkroom. That’s where I’ll end up if I get caught. Just another photo on his drying line.
The porch light flicks off, yanking me out of my horny pity fest, and I exhale a sigh of relief.
Finally.
Go time.
Slipping out of the bushes, I ignore the skin-crawling feeling of being watched. Even if I am, my mask will keep them from knowing my identity.
I rush up the front steps, set the open paper sack before the door, and retrieve a metal lighter from my pocket.
Flicking my thumb against the flint wheel, a flicker ignites a small paper accelerant, and then I drop it inside.
The bag bursts into flames faster than expected.
It appears the wood chips were a good add.
I take a photo for punishment confirmation, then sidestep the bag and bang on the door. One. Two. Three. I fly off the porch as fast as possible, sprint to the street, and hide myself behind a car.
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.
That’s how many seconds it’s been since I alerted the homeowner of their gift.
After a minor pyro snafu a few months ago, I vowed to supervise all burnings until the karma receiver doused it.
While a requester’s sexually harassing boss was deserving, I didn’t intend to burn down the entire office building. That was a fun one to explain to Liam.
The light flips on once more, relief flooding through me as the door swings open and a shriek floods the air.
The karma receiver has found the fire. Time to get the hell out of here.
My feet pound the ground as I dash up the street, not risking looking back. Shuffles against the pavement echo behind me.
Did they catch me?
Glancing over my shoulder, I see nothing.
No one.
Only a bare leaf blowing across the sidewalk like a tumbleweed in an old Western film.
The familiar thump of feet against pavement quickens, placing enough fear in my chest that I don’t bother looking this time. Instead, I bolt toward home as fast as I can.
Is it Aster?
I don’t stop running until I’m through the front door of the house and slamming it shut.
Did he follow me after our run-in earlier?
That’s not possible. He walked away first after giving me his shirt.
Why is he so charming?
My chest heaves as I lean against the door.
Sweating. Covered in dirt. Smelling like shit.
Nearly caught and/or murdered.
Only two things are on my mind at the moment.
A steaming hot shower, and Aster Blake.
It’d be best if one thought remained separate from the other.