An intro to Jack:
Blood sluiced down the drain of the eggshell colored sink as he washed his hands. The red jarred the senses as it moved over the white.
He liked to think of himself as "Jack". Jack's were always the best characters in the movies. He loved Jack the skeleton, Jack the pirate, Jack the crazed father of the special boy and Jack the defender of unicorns. There was also the real man: Jack the Ripper, which made him laugh.
Jack watched the swirl of light red with less fascination than he’d watch grass grow. To keep from getting caught gloves were the norm, but sometimes the thrill of getting dirty outweighed the need to be safe. A jugular slice here or a gutting there made the endorphins rush through him and put a smile on his gaunt face.
The water began to run clear, so he reached over to turn off the faucet. The handle still squeaked a little, and he shuddered at the piercing noise. He filed away a reminder to himself to get more lubricant.
Jack snuffled a little--a cold threatened his recent work-- and got a good whiff of the bleach the bathroom had been doused in. Jack couldn't recall the last time the bathroom hadn't smelled like bleach. He sneezed into his hand, the bleach smell aggravating his tender nose. Jack scrunched his nose at the snot and washed that hand again.
He dried his hands on a clean white towel. The cotton almost disappeared in the pristine white bathroom. Jack opened the plain white wood cabinet above the sink and removed the antiseptic, surgical tape and gauze. He calmly avoided his reflection in the mirror.
Jack applied the antiseptic liberally over the cut on his knuckles and the bite mark on his left forearm. The cut didn't need stitches so it just received a Band-Aid. The bite mark he covered with gauze and surgical tape. This one fought back, but he never worried. Everything went back into its proper place.
The search of the room for any missed spots was quick. Nothing extra resided in inside the whole room but the bare necessities. No pictures, rugs or extra toiletries. There’d be a five minute rule if food dropped on the floor.
Jack stripped down out of his charcoal painter jumpsuit and bundled it up with great care not to get blood smears anywhere.
The A/C kicked on as he left the bathroom, sending a delicious chill over his bare skin. He smiled to himself in pride for fixing that too. The house had been practically free for a reason.
A trip to the basement incinerator was in order, so he walked across the cold hardwood floor, made a right, and opened the heavy steel door covered in locks. Jack spent much of his time in the dark, so he didn't bother with lights as he wandered down the wooden stairs. His descent had a bounce to it, and his footsteps echoed. He walked across the cement floor to the giant furnace reveling in the coolness against his bare feet.
After opening the door, he shoved the jumpsuit in, peeled off his underwear to throw them in, and stoked the fire. A forensic team would have a field day.
Jack slammed the door shut, shuffled across the room and headed back upstairs.
He took an intensely hot shower where he scrubbed his skin until it resembled a mild sunburn. Jack kept no dead skin on him. If it wouldn't be so noticeable, I'd love to burn off my finger prints too, he thought, as he turned off the water, for perhaps the tenth time.
After the shower, he stood naked in front of the mirror to shave his head clean. No hair could mean no DNA. His body hair was lasered off many years ago. He didn't look at his face much as he shaved. The wide grey eyes with metallic flecks in the mirror sometimes seemed depthless as they sat in his pale face. He didn't want to drown.
Finished, he went to nap naked on the chaise lounge on his balcony while his clothing burned. Killing made the best sleeping pill.
And one for Delilah:
Delilah Winter hated smelling like dead bodies.
She sat alone on the bus, her nose shoved into a thick forensic thriller, trying to give others space. If I keep to myself, maybe they’ll ignore me. Delilah felt eyes on her. Too late. She nonchalantly glanced up through her silver framed glasses.
An older woman that just got on and sat two seats away from her wrinkled her nose. Her brown eyes bore into Delilah for a second as she gave her an once-over and then they flicked off. Her upper lip curled in disgust. She got up and moved to another empty seat.
I’m not homeless I swear, she wanted to say. Delilah had changed clothes-a plain black tee and clean blue jeans--but it didn’t matter. The scent clung to Delilah’s freckled peach skin and infused her brunette hair. It took her two-three shampoos sometimes. Today might be one of those days. She sighed and willed the trip to go faster. I wish I didn’t repulse people after work. Smelling like formaldehyde didn’t help matters either, but such is the life of a coroner. Mostly, she didn’t mind. Dead bodies are puzzles waiting for me to help solve.
*****
She took a light shower before work the next day, put her hair in her signature double plaits and slid on her silver framed glasses, which brightened her green eyes further. Delilah wore no make-up.
After getting dressed, she stood in her bedroom a moment looking at herself in her full length mirror. The navy jump suits that made up her state issued uniform hung around her gangly frame and nearly swallowed her whole. Shopping in general was hard for her at 5’11 and naturally 130 pounds, but the jump suits that fit her height obviously wouldn’t fit her weight. If only I weren’t built so little.
She turned left and right as she studied her diminutive features. “I look like a teenage boy.” She sighed.
Delilah then turned away and went to make her four-poster bed with the lilac sheets. Her bare feet swished over the brown carpet as she moved to fluff her pillows.
Delilah paused for a second to glance at the framed picture on her wooden night stand of her and Charlie.
They smiled mega-watt smiles and held each other. Charlie’s black hair was disheveled as always. As an art student, he was perpetually ruffled and covered in either paint or chalk. A year and a half already, Delilah thought as she kissed the tips of her fingers and put them to the glass on his forehead above his deep brown eyes.
She slipped on a pair of black Crocs over her rainbow socks and grabbed her ID tag, phone and an energy bar as she headed out the door. Delilah never used a purse.
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