The Animal Kingdom

Beth stared out of the train window, watching the afternoon shadows grow longer with each passing mile. It would be dark soon, but she liked the dark. Beth did her best work when the sun had gone to sleep.

Tonight, Beth cut loose. The Sunset Limited served alcohol, and Beth did her best to seriously deplete their supply of tequila and hot tea. A weird combination, granted, but Beth was a big believer in satisfying one’s palate. The bitter tea coupled with the tang of silver tequila comforted her as very little else could, the lone exception being the dispatching of deserving souls to hell.

The dining car was empty, save for a youngish woman in the corner reading a book and sipping red wine. Ughh, thought Beth. Red wine is for tofu eaters and pacifists.

“Why did you kill me?”

Beth looked up from her reverie to see a bloody body that had been deformed by some powerful force. She looked closer. Ah! Bradley Simmons.

“Because you tried to rape me.” Beth looked away, a little queasy at the sight of Bradley’s crushed skull and a jaw that didn’t stay in place. His eyes were also severely damaged, that when he looked at her he did so from eye sockets that had…stuff…hanging from them.

“But I didn’t,” Bradley whined. Beth didn’t know that departed souls who came back to visit the living could whine. This was her first experience in such matters. She found it irritating.

“But you tried. I was drunk, passed out on a bed. When I woke up, you had all my clothes off and getting between my legs. I had to fight you off.”

Bradley looked at her (sort of) and shrugged.

“You were at a frat party. What did you expect?”

“I expected free alcohol and the opportunity to maybe – just maybe – find some decent guy to hook up with. The chances were slim that I would find someone I would actually like, but there was that free alcohol thing.”

Bradley sunk into a blue funk, thinking about that night. It had been the perfect scenario. He spotted a very pretty blond girl who had thrown down shot after shot of cheap vodka. Soon, she was stumbling and had the classic glassy-eyed expression of someone who was about to pass out. Bradley escorted her to an empty bedroom and had undressed her, except for her bra. Wow, he thought. Beautiful curves in all the right places. This girl must work out!

He undressed quickly and then tried to get her bra off. That’s when she woke up. She seemed pretty sober at that point, kicking and screaming. Bradley left for a restroom, got dressed and skedaddled. Yes, skedaddled. He would never her again, or so he thought.

Seven years later, he picked up a beautiful dark-haired woman from a bar near his workplace. The bar was frequented by lawyer types and women looking for a husband with financial means. The woman was willing to go home with him, but only after they had a few more drinks. To get me in the mood, she said. Bradley was happy to get her in the mood.

When they got back to his place, she insisted on having more drinks, but out on the balcony. She loved the view from the twentieth floor, you can see the entire city, let’s do it on the balcony, sweetie.

“You pushed me off of my own balcony, you bitch!”

“Yes I did. Say, when did you realize who I was? Or did you?”

Bradley looked at her, frowning.

“Yeah, when I was going over the edge. I knew who you were then.”

They remained silent for some moments, each thinking about that night. Beth had felt so good watching Bradley plummet towards the concrete below. Bradley was screaming and terrified and mortified that his life was ending so soon. He had a promising practice and enough money to buy whatever he wanted. He wanted a spacious apartment on the twentieth floor in an upscale area of downtown. What he didn’t want was to fall to his death from there.

“It was embarrassing, you know.”

Beth looked at Bradley, cocking her head.

“What?”

“Dying with my trousers off.”

“Sorry, Bradley.”

“Bradley,” Beth asked after another moment of silence, “what is hell like? I mean, you obviously qualify for the place.”

Bradley shifted in his seat. His bones were all broken, so finding a comfortable way to sit was problematic.

“It’s like a twelve-step program. We have to acknowledge our sins, blah blah blah. So I’m here to apologize to the people I hurt. You’re the last one.”

Beth threw down another shot of tequila and stood up.

“Time to go, Bradley. Your apology is accepted.”

Bradley scoffed gently.

“I should hope so. You killed me.”

Beth glared at him.

“I’m going to the restroom. You need to be gone when I return. Enjoy hell, Bradley. Maybe I’ll see you there some day.”

“I’m looking forward to that, bitch. Don’t expect me to lay out a welcome mat!”

**************

Beth returned to her seat in the dining car only to find that a pudgy middle-aged man was already there. She rolled her eyes and sat down.

“Is this free night in hell?”

Benny Bunson looked at her and smiled. It wasn’t a great smile because his eyes held a sadness that seemed permanent. Beth wanted to feel sorry for him, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do that. The man tried to kill her.

“We all have to do things there to atone for our sins. I’m here to…”

“Yeah, I know. Apologize.”

“I saw Bradley on the way here. He didn’t look happy.”

“You know Bradley? Well well well,” Beth said in mild surprise.

“Yes. Hell is a very big place, but we’re in the same group on Wednesdays. We call it the Beth Calderon group. You’ve killed a lot of people, Beth.”

“All deserving individuals.”

Benny nodded. They were all certainly deserving of hell. He himself had been a serial killer – the infamous Screwdriver Killer. He would tie up his victims, make himself a Screwdriver (vodka and orange juice), and then plunge a screwdriver into his victim’s brains after taunting them about their impending death. He would then have another Screwdriver before leaving.

“How did you know who I was?”

Beth looked at Benny and smiled.

“All the towns you went to, to find your victims? They all had one thing in common.”

“UFO museums,” they said in unison. Both laughed at this. Beth poured herself another shot of tequila and ordered another pot of hot tea. Extra lemon, please. Hot tea without lemon, she believed, was a sin. Like trying to kill a woman just because she was blond and young and pretty.

“It was a stroke of luck. Sorry. A stroke of luck for me. I had been at loose ends, bored out of my mind since my last kill, and decided to research you. Once I figured it out, I made a plan.”

“You went to a place I hadn’t been and waited,” Benny said.

“Yes. And I was your type.”

“As perfect as could be, dear.”

“And then I killed you.”

Benny stared at her and shook his head.

“No. You let a bunch of pigs kill me. And eat me. Do you know that I felt every bite, every rip of my flesh when the pigs got at me? After a couple of minutes, I couldn’t feel any more pain. I think I passed out then, and when I woke up I was…well…down there,” Benny pointed downward.

“Is it really below us? I mean, that’s always been the belief.”

Benny shrugged.

“I have no idea. They don’t tell us much about our location.”

Beth took another shot of tequila after the hot tea arrived. She sipped the tea and added even more lemon and sugar. Just right, she thought. Hot, sweet, and tart.

“You know, I really do feel remorseful about my actions when I was alive. I mean, I’m very sorry for all the pain and terror I caused those girls. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I hated pretty blond girls so much.”

“I think men see us as fairly inaccessible. Like we can’t be had.”

Benny looked at Beth’s bottle of tequila. He wished that he could still drink. A shot of something alcoholic would make the afterlife a little more bearable. He would even stoop to drinking tequila instead of vodka.

“I used to have dreams, Beth. Real dreams that didn’t involve killing blond girls. I was a good photographer and had dreams of being a wildlife photographer for National Geographic. I don’t know where I went wrong. I guess I just had a disease.”

Beth reached for his hand but she felt nothing. Benny tried to touch her arm and all she felt was a slight chill. They both withdrew, not willing to talk about their limitations when it came to physical contact.

“You know, Benny, we could have been friends if you hadn’t been a serial killer.”

Benny grinned.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

They shared a chuckle. It was true; serial killers didn’t really make many friends. They tended to stay to themselves and concentrate on their next victim. Benny, however, had a dog. Beth took him after she killed Benny.

“Minnie Pearl is doing well,” Beth mentioned his dog.

“Thanks for taking care of her. She deserved better than me.”

“Yeah. She deserves better than me, but sometimes we get stuck with who we get stuck with.”

Benny stood up and brushed himself down, for no apparent reason. He was a spirit, and spirits didn’t need to brush themselves down.

“Gotta go. Again, I’m sorry for what I did to…well, what I tried to do to you. Thanks for stopping me, Beth. You probably saved a lot of lives.”

“Yep, that’s me. A force for good,” Beth said. The melancholy bitterness in her voice was unmistakable but neither party acknowledged it. Both knew that Beth would eventually wind up where Benny and Bradley were. It was best to leave all of that unspoken.

Benny opened the window and jumped out. Beth closed the window and sat back down. Seventeen, she thought. I have killed seventeen men, and Benny, the worst of the lot, was the one she liked the best. She took another shot of tequila and went to the restroom again. She didn’t expect any more visitors that night, but she was wrong in that assumption.

**************

Beth was on another pot of tea when a shadow darkened her seat. She looked up to see the girl who had been in the corner, reading. Beth smiled at her while she studied her. Dark hair. Cute, but not pretty. Nice smile. Hazel eyes.

“Hi, I’m Belinda.”

“Beth.”

Beth gestured for her to sit down. The girl was no ghost – she hoped – and therefore no threat. She would also not be Beth’s next victim, for Beth only killed men.

She hated to admit it, but she was lonely. Terribly lonely. Her lifestyle kept her from any serious relationship and this was the biggest drawback to her career. She wanted someone to come home to, to hold hands with, to watch silly movies while snuggling on the sofa.

“You’ve been sitting here all night and I thought, why not make a new friend?”

Beth smiled and nodded. A friend would be nice, if only for a little while. The girl was a little bookwormish in appearance. Her glasses and her modest attire screamed that she was a librarian or an English professor, maybe an author. She was reading “In Search of Lost Time,” by some guy named Proust. Sounded French. Looked pretentious.

Belinda looked at Beth looking at her book. She closed it and spread out her hands.

“I know. Everyone says that you have to read Proust if you want to be a writer. It’s damn hard to read, though. I feel like the man is saying a million things on each page and I don’t get hardly any of it.”

“You’re a writer?”

Belinda laughed and shook her head.

“No, not really. I enter a few writing contests but I never win anything.”

“Belinda, do me a favor. Hold my hands,” Beth leaned forward with her hands out to Belinda. After hesitating a moment, Belinda took her hands. Beth sighed contentedly. Not a ghost. A real person.

“You aren’t…uh…well…” Belinda didn’t know how to ask.

“Lesbian? Well, yes I am, though I didn’t admit it until I graduated college. I always wanted to meet a nice guy, have kids, the whole kit and caboodle. But it never worked out. I guess I always knew but I never wanted to be that kind of different.”

“And now?”

“Now, I find it liberating. Men can be kind of gross. All hairy and burly and grunting and sweating and…”

Belinda laughed, holding up her hands.

“Ok ok. I get what you’re saying, and I agree.”

Beth and Belinda were still holding hands. They both realized it at the same time and quickly let go, laughing at their actions.

“Yes, me as well. A lesbian, I mean. But I knew it early on and my family let me embrace my sexual orientation. And I agree with you: it’s liberating.”

Belinda held out her hands again and Beth took them. She felt serene at this moment, enjoying Belinda’s warm hands and gentle ways. They stayed in the dining room car and chatted for over an hour, neither saying much of import. It was that kind of night.

“Would like to…uh…” Belinda hesitated.

“I would. I really would,” Beth said lightly. It surprised her how much she wanted to sleep with Belinda. The staid woman just felt safe. And maybe, just maybe, she would not be so staid in bed. Beth tingled with anticipation.

Belinda stepped behind Beth when they reached Belinda’s sleeping quarters. Long arms wrapped around Beth, and she sighed contentedly. Belinda kissed her neck. Belinda caressed her throat. Belinda strangled her.

**************

“The bitch strangled me. Me!” Beth wailed to the group. It was Wednesday afternoon, and she was there with all of her victims.

“Now you know how I felt,” Bradley whined.

“Same here, Beth. I had a good thing going, you know. Killing blond girls and drinking while I did it. Guess I got too cocky,” Benny said.

Others in the group echoed Bradley’s sentiments. A few admitted to being like Benny: cocky and feeling untouchable. Beth looked around. No snacks. Of course not. They were in hell. Well, so much for her love of tequila, she thought mournfully. She also hated herself for getting so drunk. She let her guard down around Belinda and it cost her.

Beth stood in front of the group and spoke for the first time.

“Hi, I’m Beth, and I killed people.”

“Hi Beth,” everyone in the group intoned.

“I had a problem and I admit it fully. I liked killing men who deserved to be killed. It all started in college…”