Killer Date

No one suspects a good-looking man. He’s too handsome to be a killer. And that’s exactly what Michael Holloway used to his advantage. He spent hours at the gym shaping his already good genes into a chiseled mask. It also helped that he was charismatic, with a smile that made most women double-take. He had brilliant green eyes from his mother, paired with light brown hair from his father. At six feet in height, he was just a six-pack short of a photoshopped model.

Michael knew he was different from a young age. He was seven years old and on a family trip to Vermont to visit his grandparents. He was an only child of two loving only children and that meant he naturally got a lot of attention.

One night, as the adults were out back drinking and talking next to the fire pit, Michael was following his grandparent’s old dog around the house. A chirp from the wall clock signaled eight o’clock - food time. Right on cue, the dog’s medicated kibble dropped into its bowl in the laundry room. He watched as the dog slowly scarfed up the food.

Towards the bottom of the bowl, there was a clump of kibble that had not broken into smaller pieces. The old dog ate it up without noticing.

It gave an abrupt hiccup-like sound and then started wheezing. Michael jumped back at first but watched intently as the dog struggled to breathe. The hard clump of kibble blocked its windpipe. He did nothing as the dog walked around, not knowing what to do and unable to get air. It moved toward the doorway but Michael stood up and closed the door. The dog looked up at him, its foggy eyes not comprehending what was going on.

Michael waited until the dog collapsed. He brushed its soft fur gently until its pulse was gone. That was the first death Michael had witnessed and so began his secret obsession with the morbid. He knew it was wrong, yet it got him excited like nothing else. Not alcohol. Not drugs. Not sex.

Now he was in his twenties, a year out of college, living on his own in the big city. After years of reading and fantasizing about it, he was finally going to make his move.

There was an old diner near his apartment where he often went for late-night meals on his cheat days. Eventually, the staff had gotten used to him and his usual order - a lettuce-wrapped burger with a side of saltless fries.

One of the servers, a pudgy man with an acne-scarred face, told him on a particularly slow night that the diner was going broke.

“We don’t even have real cameras,” he said with a laugh. When he noticed Michael look up at the camera on the ceiling, he added, “Those are empty. Pretty much a toy. Just to scare people from getting any funny ideas.”

Michael laughed, flashing his pearly white teeth. The server laughed too. Unaware of the mistake he had just made.

It was a Friday like any other for Michael. He got done with work early and went to the gym for two hours. To Michael, the only thing that got close to the feeling of a kill was a good pump. He loved feeling the tension of each muscle swell with each rep. Almost as if he could feel them growing.

Back at his apartment, he took a long shower before getting ready for the night ahead. The first order of plan was to masturbate. He had a big night ahead and he was not going to let testicular impulses ruin it.

Whatever Michael had done to fulfill his darker fantasies in the past, he did cautiously. There was no room for error. Especially now. If he were to get caught, he’d rather die than go to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life.

He had gone over the plan over and over in his head, working out any kinks in the logic until he was confident in a plan he could execute. He wanted a pretty woman - someone easy on the eyes - who had moved to the big city on a whim. She had to also be living alone, with no one to check up on her.

That is, of course, if he even met a girl that night. He didn’t want to rush things - the last thing he wanted was to get overzealous and overlook something stupid.

Most importantly, he couldn’t get attached.

He repeated those words like a mantra as he waited for his food. The bell on the door dinged him out of his head. That’s when he saw her.

- - - -

Susan Bennett wanted an uneventful night. It had been a long week and she wasn’t looking for any action. But she knew Michael was the one as soon as she saw him across the diner.

Her mind began to race and she did her best to quiet it down. Keeping her eyes low, she followed the server to the booth right in front of the brown-haired model. If she had a type, Michael was it.

She asked for water with no ice to buy her some time and pretended to read the menu. In reality, her eyes kept darting toward him.

Her left hand crept into her handbag to check if she had what she needed should the night get frisky and breathed out a sigh of relief. She also felt around for the pepper spray to use in case of emergencies.

Her gaze swept over the menu as she tried to figure out how to approach him. With a head of shiny blonde hair and a curvy body, she wasn’t usually the one to make the first move.

She didn’t have to.

“Is this seat taken?” Said a smooth voice.

Susan looked up to find Michael standing in front of her. His smile distracted her but she recovered fast.

“No,” she said, flashing a smile of her own. “It is not.”

Michael slid into the seat across from her and she caught the scent of dirty vanilla. She liked it.

“Hi,” Michael said with an outstretched hand. “My name’s Michael.”

“Susan,” she said. His hand was cool to the touch.

Susan was wearing a low-cut tank top - not for grabbing attention but because she thought she looked good in it - but she didn’t mind as Michael’s eyes quickly glanced down during their handshake.

They exchanged some pleasantries and got to know each other. Susan found out that Michael works as a fitness coach and Michael was amused when he found out that Susan was a freelance designer.

“I didn’t need to be in the city,” she admitted to him. “But things at home were rough and I kind of just needed an excuse to get out of there, ya know?”

“I get it,” he said. “Parents can be a lot to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was low. “I just feel guilty about ignoring them sometimes. I mean they raised me, put a roof over my head, and fed me. It feels the least I can do is call them once in a while. Just to let them know I’m okay .”

Michael sat back and studied her face. It was beautiful with the sharp features of her nose and jaw accenting the curves of her cheeks and lips.

“When I was in college, I took a Philosophy class with a pretty eccentric professor. One of the exercises he loved to do was hand out cards with random topics on them and encourage you to debate from that point of view. One day, I got a card that said parents don’t deserve anything from their children. Now, I don’t think anything is quite that cut and dry but, for the sake of the exercise, I went with it.”

Susan sipped at her water as Michael went on.

“The point starts with a sort of analogy. Take your phone, for example. The person, or more likely people, who made that phone will never use it. In fact, they make it knowing that it’s not for them. There was a demand and they were meeting it. It is a societal role that they choose. My argument was that it was the same for a human. There is a demand, an ecological need, to reproduce. To keep the species alive. A person who chooses to have a baby is, in effect, meeting the market demand. To expect something back, monetarily or otherwise, once your job of raising that child is done, is not part of the contract.”

Michael sat back with a deep breath.

“Of course, there are holes in that argument, as my classmates pointed out, but you get the gist.”

Susan watched Michael as he got a sip of his own drink- an iced tea lemonade.

“Switched tables, I see,” said the server, sliding a lettuce-wrapped burger in front of him. “Here’s your order, Michael.”

“Thanks, Brittney,” Michael said. He looked back at Susan to find her smiling at him. He shrugged. “I come here often.”

Susan’s server came back to take her order.

“A buffalo chicken wrap please.” She said.

He scribbled it down and left to place the order.

The conversation continued, nearly uninterrupted, for an hour. By then, Susan had already made up her mind on what she wanted to do. And so had Michael.

Michael paid for the meal, refusing Susan’s attempts to pay him back.

“You saved me from a lonely dinner. This is the least I can do.”

The city air was cool and it gave them an excuse to move closer to each other as they walked.

“Um,” Michael said with calculated hesitation. “I apologize if it’s too soon, but my apartment is a block away. I was thinking maybe we could go up for a couple of drinks. Hangout?”

Susan felt like it was her lucky day.

“That sounds nice.” She answered.

“If we cut across this ally, we’ll be there in 5 minutes.” He paused and then added. “If you’re okay with that.”

She said she didn’t mind and they turned into the alley that led to the back of Michael’s apartment building. It was quiet inside the halls and they shook the chill out of their bones.

“I live on the sixth floor. We can go wait for the elevator or we can just take the stairs here.”’

“I can’t disappoint Mr. Health Coach now, can I?”

“Stairs it is,” Michael said, holding the door open for her.

Things were going better than he could have hoped and he did his best not to let his anticipation show. However, as they walked up the stairs, one thing began to bug him. A nagging voice in the back of his head that asked one simple question.

Do you love her?

He told himself to not get attached and pulled out the door to the sixth floor.

“It’s the second door on the right. 607.”

The hallway was empty and there were no cameras in the stairwell. No one knew that she was there.

Michael opened the door to his apartment and let her step inside first. He had lit a candle while he got ready and though it had been nearly two hours since it was out, the fragrance still hung in the air.

“This is a nice place,” Susan said.

The studio apartment was sparsely furnished but everything felt purposeful. A rustic red couch paired with an oak coffee table. A matching oak dining table sat in the corner of the kitchen area. Numerous paintings hung on the beige walls and a few plants bordered the sliding door to the balcony.

“Thank you,” he said, taking her coat from her and hanging it in the front closet.

He brushed his hair out of his way and smiled to himself. She was here. Everything he wanted. He took a second to admire her a distance as she looked at his record collection.

“So, what would you like to drink?” He asked.

“Hmm,” she said. “Anything strong? Like a whiskey?”

Michael knelt down and picked up a bottle of aged Kentucky bourbon.

“Will this do?”

“Works for me.”

Michael took out two glasses and dropped in two thick blocks of ice.

“This a sweet collection you got here,” Susan said. “Do you mind if I play one?”

“Go right ahead.”

The records were alphabetically ordered and Susan slid her finger along the slide until she made it to Kind of Blue. She slipped it out of its cover and put on the record player.

Michael froze when he heard the first few notes of his favorite record and then shook his head.

“Great choice,” he said. He took up the glasses and walked over to her.

They sat down together on the sofa - sipping at their drinks and taking in the music.

Susan closed her eyes and laid her head back. The sight was so dizzying that Michael placed the cool glass against his temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

He placed his glass on an old jazz-themed coaster and walked into the bedroom. He got what he needed - a candle and lighter - but stood in the dimly lit room a while longer. He pictured his hands around Susan’s throat and his heart rate picked up. He held his breath for a few seconds and then slowly let it put. Then once more. His fingertips began to get tingly and he knew he was ready.

When he went back into the living room, Susan was staring out the sliding door. She jumped when he flicked the lighter.

“Do you like vanilla?” He asked.

Susan nodded and then returned her attention to the city outside. Michael grabbed his drink and downed the rest of it.

“Did something catch your eye?”

“No,” Susan answered. “It’s just this city. Always so alive. So big. It just reminds you how small you really are.”

Michael adjusted his posture and approached her from the back.

“Not to me,” he whispered. “Not in here.”

Susan turned around to face him.

“You think so?”

“From where I’m standing. You’re all I see.”

He leaned forward slowly and waited - eyes locked - for her to move in. She hesitated for a second and then closed the distance. The kiss was explosive. Once their lips met, they did not separate. Michael closed the blinds with one hand while the other caressed Susan’s face. His thumb gently brushed her smooth cheeks.

Michael’s hands snaked down and - without missing a beat - he picked her up. His firm hands supported her thighs as he walked toward the sofa.

It wasn’t until he laid her down on the sofa that their lips parted. Susan glanced at the one empty glass on the table and grabbed her own to finish as Michael made a show of unbuttoning his shirt. His pecks were dusted with curly brown hair and Susan ran her fingers across his chest.

Michael bent back down to kiss her once more. His hands ran along her body - his mind resisting the urge to carry out the plan he had set out on. Every time he worked up the courage to move his hands to her neck, his heart pushed them down. Susan moaned lightly under him and he thought of his own pleasure. His heart rate picked up once more and the tingling sensation returned to his fingers.

As they kissed, he put his left hand around her throat and began to give it some pressure. Susan didn’t react - either unaware of the sensation or unbothered by it. After a few moments, he tightened his grip.

Susan pulled away from him but still didn’t fight him. She simply stared up at him. Her breath caught in her throat.

Doing his best to keep his heart rate under control, Michael closed his hand around her throat even further. Worry flickered in her eyes but panic didn’t set in until Michael put his right hand around her throat too. His hands wrapped all the way around her delicate throat and she began to flail as she realized what he was doing. Her hands slapped at his biceps and then reached hopelessly for his face.

She tried to croak something out but he tightened his grip further still. For a moment, he thought he saw her laugh to herself but it was soon replaced by a deadpan expression as her brain lost oxygen. Her eyes rolled back in her head and he kept squeezing with both hands, watching her intently as the life left her body.

Her body stopped moving but he didn’t relent until he was sure of what he had done. There was no going back.

As he pulled his hands off of her, her body gave one final shudder.

Michael’s breathing was heavy and a thick layer of sweat coated his head. He stared at his hands. If not for the fact that he could see them attached to his body, he felt as if they were not his own. He started to stand up - to move to his room to grab his camera - when he stumbled to the ground.

Disoriented, he sat up on the ground. His foot had knocked over Susan’s purse and a small white bottle rolled out.

His vision grew blurry as he reached for the bottle. Inside were the remnants of a fine white crystalline powder. Michael rolled the bottle over until he saw the writing on the side in cute little letters - aconite.

He dropped the bottle and tried to stand but his muscles refused to hold him up. He collapsed on the ground.

Michael’s heart began to skip beats and all he could do was lie on the carpeted floor and stare up at Susan’s outstretched hand. Lifeless. The last thing Michael saw was the tattoo of a dog on Susan’s wrist. It’s black eyes staring down at him.