A Slow Dance with Entropy

Submitted into Contest #174 in response to: Write a story where someone says, “Everything is changing.”... view prompt

34 comments

Contemporary Fiction Crime

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

Dolores looked dispassionately at the man she was about to kill. It would not be a pretty kill, but none of them were. This one would be particularly gruesome, and she would quietly love every second of it.

Randall McTavish, the man who had been dubbed ‘The Screwdriver Killer’ by the more sensational printed media rags, was lying on Dolores’ kitchen floor. He wasn’t restrained but he couldn’t move. He didn’t know why. The chill he felt in his soul and in his bones deepened, washing over him with irresistible force. For the first time in his adult life, he felt fear.

“Pancurium bromide. One of the drugs given to death row inmates at the time of execution. It paralyzes the body.” Dolores said. She straddled the supine man and started undressing him. Clothes would only inhibit her plan.

Dolores hummed a tune as she worked on unclothing her victim. ‘Tiny Dancer.’ She loved the lyrics because it reminded her of her at this moment. She was a blue-jean baby. She had a pirate’s mind, if not a pirate’s smile. And now she was lying near McTavish, with no one near, and only he could hear her speaking to him softly. Today would be a busy day for her.

“You will die today. Let’s just get that straight right now. You will see your death coming and you won’t be able to do anything about it. I don’t know if you’ll feel the pain from the drug, but I pray to a God that I truly believe in that you will.”

The whispered words caused McTavish to groan and try to talk, but all that came out was a guttural grunt and lots of drool. Dolores patted the man’s cheek and took his clothes to the burn pit.

After thoroughly dousing the clothes with gasoline, she tossed a burning stick onto the pile. The whoosh of the accelerant caused Dolores to take a step back. She watched as the clothes caught fire, smoked, and turned to ashes. Soon, the fire would burn out and the ashes would be nothing more than cold, powdery flakes.

Dolores strode back into her house and sat down in a chair in front of McTavish. She smiled at him, a smile that contained no warmth or comfort.

“I bet you never thought that this would be the last day of your miserable life, did you?” Dolores lit a cigarette and smoked most of it before putting the glowing end of her smoke to McTavish’s neck, watching him intently. He groaned and tried to scream, but nothing came out except a wheeze and some flecks of spit. Satisfied, Dolores tossed the cigarette into a commode and flushed it.

“We have about twenty-five minutes before the drug starts to wear off, and we can’t have that happen, can we?”

God! I wish I had the words to describe this, to illuminate how I feel.

Dolores caressed McTavish’s forehead and wiped the sweat from his eyes.

Hemingway would have the words. Hemingway could have written my story. Or Flannery O’Connor. No one reads O’Connor anymore. Pity.

“You were easy to catch. Once I figured out that you were a free-lance photographer and you spotted your victims buying orange juice, I knew how to catch you. I turned blond and I dressed like a slut. And I bought orange juice.”

Dolores chattered on, aware of McTavish’s distress but unwilling to empathize with him. Or unable to empathize. She still wasn’t sure about that, after all these years.

“You had the perfect cover, Mac. Photographer, and a good one. I’ve seen your work in National Geographic. Do they pay well? I’m a fan of the mag.”

Or maybe Nabokov. He was good with guilt and redemption – I think. Maybe I’m thinking of Dostoevsky. Or Chekov. All those Russian writers were fucking incredible with guilt.

McTavish grunted some more and tried to move, but the body didn’t respond. The girl was looking at him with an intensity that he didn’t understand. He should have understood because that’s how he always looked at his victims. Like specimens displayed behind glass, pinned to a board and suitable for study.

“I spiked the orange juice, in case you hadn’t figured it out by now. Using your victims’ orange juice to make yourself a drink or two before killing them is pretty gauche. But I know why you did it.”

A scuffling sound came from the back. Twelve pigs were penned up and they were hungry. Dolores had deliberately withheld feeding them for almost a week.

“You hear my babies? They will be the last thing you see before you die. You will smell their odor and you will hear their hungry squeals before they tear into your flesh.” Dolores squatted in front of McTavish to observe his eyes. They widened with fear. The tears came, along with a strained whistling noise from deep within his throat, sounding like terror.

Dolores stared into his eyes.

“Did you tell all those women you killed to stop crying? I bet they were terrified, just like I hope you are. Or did you just gloat and enjoy their tears and terror? Hmm. I wonder.”

Dolores stood up quickly and went into the storeroom to get out the cleaning supplies that she would need after the kill. It gave her a particular thrill to parade the cleaning supplies in front of McTavish. He was not a stupid man, and he would divine what the supplies were for.

“Yep. Have to clean up the blood that’s left after my babies finish with you. Bet you figured that out, huh? The things is, I’m erasing you.”

Dolores set down the cleaning supplies and knelt in front of McTavish again. The darkness that had pervaded her soul for the past two years had lifted, if only temporarily. She could smell the stench of his sweat and she could almost taste his unheeded, silent cries for help and mercy. She calculated how much longer she could prolong McTavish’s ordeal. Forever, her soul screamed.

“After my babies finish with you, all you’ll be is pig shit and teeth. No one will remember you. Pfft! Pig shit and teeth.”

Dolores stroked McTavish’s brow as she quietly reflected on the events that led to this moment, this very necessary moment. The cold rage and hot hunger inside her could only be assuaged in a very specific way.

He is terrified. His eyes give it away. And his scent. The sickly-sweet smell of fear is intoxicating. The feeling of creating the circumstances for a death is exhilarating. When I die, I want to smell just like this.

“It took two years to get you to attack me. I feel a little insulted, Mac. Here I was, following you all around the country, following you inside supermarkets, buying orange juice right in front of you. Why did it take you so long to latch on to me? I have to tell you, I felt like I was losing my touch. I had to resort to getting blonder and wearing fewer clothes. I hate that shit, Mac. I don’t like going around in public without a bra. And I really don’t like wearing those ridiculous cut-offs that barely cover my private parts. Good girls don’t dress like that.”

Dolores was unaware of the irony in her last sentence. Morality, to her, had a far different face than it did for most. Had she given any thought to the flawed syllogism that she purported, she might have laughed.

“I love entropy. And I hate it. I’ll tell you why because I see that you’re dying to know. I got that wrong. You’ll know right before you die,” Dolores said. A soft smile, complete with sad eyes, graced McTavish’s last moments.

“The second law of thermodynamics, you see. Energy dispersion tends towards equilibrium, which increases entropy. What I mean is that everything always changes. That’s the way the universe works. I love it because disorder gives me a reason to live. A reason to hunt, if you see what I mean.”

Dolores stood up, dusting off her knees, and sighed. Her slow dance with entropy was coming to a close. Dolores went to the back door and opened it. A dozen pigs met McTavish’s fevered eyes, all rushing towards him.

He felt the pigs tear into his flesh; all parts of his unprotected body were attacked. The pain was horrific but he couldn’t yell or scream or flinch. All he could do was watch and feel as the pigs bit huge chunks out of his legs and torso. One pig started chewing his face, and this is when he mercifully (for him) passed out of consciousness and out of this world.

Dolores watched it all with a grim detachment that belied her true feelings. Her body sang electric, her nerves tingled sonic, her soul swooned romantic. Crunching bone and blood smears were her love language.

Peace reigned in her heart as she bent to the task of cleaning up the blood from the kitchen floor. There wasn’t much; her babies were amazingly efficient eaters, and they licked up most of the blood that had seeped on to the cheap linoleum floor. She loved her babies.

Dolores stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the burn pile, along with the rags she had used for cleaning. Another liberal dose of gasoline and fire served to eradicate what was left of Randall McTavish. She took a shower, ate a microwaved pizza, and went to bed. Dolores fell asleep almost instantly, and slept through the night undisturbed by the calls of the coyotes or the yowling of the feral cats. She had had a very productive day.

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

It took two years to get the fucker to target me, but I had everything ready when he did. The pancurium bromide was laughably easy to obtain. The storage facility where it was kept was not difficult to break in to. Why don’t they protect it better? Seems like they should.

I knew he was waiting for me last night. I walked in and saw him. He counted on me being shocked, but I wasn’t. I had to act like it, though. He strapped me down in a chair and did his little ritual of drinking Screwdrivers before killing me with – get this – screwdrivers. Pretty fucked up, wouldn’t you say?

Like I said, I was prepared. I had modified the chairs so that they would come apart easily when I stood up. After McTavish fell to the floor, I stood up. I have to say that I’m very proud of this part. I’m sure he was surprised as well. I hope he was.

I had fastened a razor blade into a door jamb so that I could cut myself loose. Another proud moment for me. I’m getting to be quite the handywoman.

I considered letting the pigs eat his hands and feet first and then inject him with some adrenaline to keep him conscious. In the end, I decided against it. Yeah, he killed a lot of women but he didn’t rape them. Small mercies deserve small concessions.

The normal length of time for me to feel ok is about a month. After that, I have to hunt again. A month to keep the monsters at bay. I’ll have words with God about this when it’s all said and done.

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

Dolores put her journal away and made a mental note to buy another one; this one was filled. She would put it away in a safety deposit box when she got back to Chicago, along with the other two journals. She would begin her next hunt then, hiding away in her house and spending hours online looking through newspaper articles and doing Google searches. She would spend time at kill sites. She would sleep with whoever might have information she could purloin. And she would hunt in a far different way than the authorities.

It took Dolores a week to dig through the pigs’ effluence and find the thirty-one teeth that belonged to her latest kill. She cleaned them up and then trekked out into the countryside, dispersing the teeth amongst the sagebrush, mesquite thickets, and the prairie grass. I feel like Johnny Appleseed. Or Cadmus.

A nice couple had taken care of Dolores’ pigs while she was away, for which she paid them well. They never asked why she wanted pigs in the first place, but the topic was a rich source of discussion at the couple’s church. The consensus was that “the girl ain’t all there,” followed by a tapping of the temple. Sinister motives were not considered.

She sold the pigs to the nice couple at an absurdly low price after dispensing with McTavish, thereby cementing the community belief that she was a little crazy. Marjorie and Thomas Beadle were thankful for the windfall and duly donated 10% of the profits made from the pigs to the church. They were, like all of their neighbors, big believers in contributing to God’s coffers in exchange for a preacher telling them to be nice to people.

Dolores loaded up her much-battered Jeep and drove away, looking forward to the open highways through Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri, Indiana, and finally Illinois. It would take several days but they would be fine days, albeit the last of the fine days before the hunger to hunt invaded her psyche and her soul again. She would then have to find new prey. Prey worthy of her talents and her inclinations.

Pulling in to a roadside stand, Dolores bought a plastic cup of iced tea and sat on a bench underneath a small shade tree. The sun warmed her face and the condensation from the cup beaded and eventually trickled down its own labyrinthine path to the table. She lit a cigarette and watched the smoke go from shade to sunlight, curling and undulating to a rhythm that only it knew, dancing slowly upwards before disappearing into the heavens. It all made her smile.

Entropy, she thought. You gotta love that shit.

November 30, 2022 10:51

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34 comments

09:38 Dec 03, 2022

The story really held my attention. Everything works. And some of the little quirks like she's upset it took two years to get his attention made it feel even more real. The detail of picking up his teeth and taking them out to the sagebrush was very police procedural, clever. I feel like the character of Dolores has a lot of back story and could have a full novel someday.

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Delbert Griffith
11:24 Dec 03, 2022

Thank you very much for the nice review, Scott. Truth to tell, I am actively working on a novel about Dolores. I think she has a back story, a present story, and a future story. It may well be that she could be a series, full of her murderous exploits. I need to make her likeable, though, don't you think? The beauty of fiction: one can make a murderer a sympathetic character. LOL Thanks again for your sharp insights, Scott. You have a fine eye for analyzing stories.

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12:21 Dec 03, 2022

Yes, for sure, Dolores can be likeable if her back story explains why vigilante missions, and she has a lot of relatable interests, likes/dislikes and quirks. My recent scifi-horror story for this week didn't spark much interest and then I realized the MC was 'neutral'. We either need to love or hate the MC. Your story sort of managed both at the same time, that was good. For criticism, I think the action part was awesome, but the epilogue section maybe could be shortened a paragraph or so as the tension is slowing down and there isn't an...

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Delbert Griffith
20:34 Dec 05, 2022

Thanks for the advice, Scott. I will take it to heart.

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Tommy Goround
03:03 Dec 02, 2022

Tiny dancer, yes. Nabokov, no. Pigs is like Harris. Cleaning supplies, yum. Entropy, definition 2:a lack of predictability. Good. Lol @her love language Yay for vigilante (Thinking of Joseph Mangle and Reservoir Dogs still). "Small mercies deserve small concessions." Nice moralizing. That part is fun. Death with meaning. Art always makes good killers "crazy". Clapping

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Delbert Griffith
10:47 Dec 02, 2022

Thanks so much for the 'clapping,' Tommy. I appreciate the nice review. The pigs in the Hannibal Lecter saga would be the obvious reference, but, truthfully, I got the idea from the movie 'Snatch.' LOL Thanks again, Tommy. I always appreciate your splendid critiques.

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Wendy Kaminski
16:45 Nov 30, 2022

omg this gives me so many great ideas - thanks for the primer, Delbert!! Seriously, though, I have a huge affection for fictional science, and you have found it completely. This reminds me of Dexter, in that heroine does the "wrong" thing for the right reasons. What better reason to flaunt morality? :) Your ending wrap-ups were just right, too, and provided the prologue and epilogue info I really wanted to read more regarding. I liked their positioning! I also really liked the "teeth" in this one, such as free use of profanity and badgir...

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Delbert Griffith
21:20 Nov 30, 2022

Wow, thanks so much, Wendy. The kind words and the nice review warms my heart. You are either prescient or a witch, for this is the woman I'm planning on writing an entire series around. Yes, she has many exploits, all of them bad (for good reasons), and yes, she is basically the female version of Dexter. I actually have my women being bad and often profane in my stories. It's such a rich and relatively unexplored female persona and the characters pop much more so than male characters with the same traits. Thanks again for the stellar rev...

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Wendy Kaminski
21:23 Nov 30, 2022

You are very welcome! (And mmmaybe. :) I hope you will share them somehow (prompts willing...), because I truly would love to read more!!

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Delbert Griffith
00:19 Dec 01, 2022

Absolutely, Wendy. Again, thank you for everything.

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Wally Schmidt
15:46 Dec 22, 2022

Gristly and captivating. Could definitely be a full length book of film. You decide.

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Delbert Griffith
16:20 Dec 22, 2022

Thanks so much, Wally. I am, in fact, expanding the story. Good call, my man!

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Susan Catucci
19:28 Dec 08, 2022

This was a gruesome, gristly, grabbing delight to read. Dolores is a fascinating, scary smart killing afficionado I would love to know more about - a lot more (I think). Great job giving her life!

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Delbert Griffith
20:42 Dec 08, 2022

Wow, thank you so much, Susan. The kind words and the nice review warm my heart. So many of the good writers on this site - you included, of course - have expressed a liking for this murderous madam. I must find a way to tell more tales about her. She is oddly fascinating, I agree. I can't believe I came up with this character! LOL Thanks again, Susan. Your comments mean a lot to me.

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Susan Catucci
01:21 Dec 09, 2022

Have fun exploring, Delbert - she is a gift.

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Susan Williams
03:29 Dec 08, 2022

Hi Delbert, You had me hooked beginning to end. Like the others who commented, it brought to mind other fictional and some real life murderers. It reminded me a bit of Stephen King's Misery. You made me feel a whole range of emotions about Delores. I was scared of her, felt sorry for her, hated her, and couldn't wait to see what she was going to do next. Glad to hear you are developing her and this story into a novel. Great work!

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Delbert Griffith
10:44 Dec 08, 2022

Thank you for the kind words and the nice review, Susan. I appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on my story. I never thought of the similarities to the nurse in 'Misery' but it rings true. Nice observation.

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Marty B
04:33 Dec 07, 2022

I love the opener. IMO -maybe move the italicized section up to get more suspense on how they got to the kitchen, before the dastardly deed. Good story! BTW I love Flannery O’Connor!

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Delbert Griffith
10:47 Dec 07, 2022

Thank you for the kind words and the nice review, Marty. I want to expand this story a little, so an in-depth look at how everything transpired is definitely what I want to do with this lovely young killer. Yes, Flannery O'Connor is fantastic. She pulls no punches and has a way of getting the most out of her characters without making them say much. I love that about her. Again, thank you. I appreciate it a lot.

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Michał Przywara
01:21 Dec 07, 2022

An enjoyable vigilante story :) I am reminded of a number of things. Dexter, certainly. I see you mention the pigs are inspired by Snatch, and yes, that's certainly memorable :) I was also reminded of the latter scenes of 1984, as fear played big role here. She's compelled to kill, and hints for people that deserve it. But I always wonder in cases like this, what would happen if she couldn't find a target? Crime's down, police have unusual success, the well is dry. Well, that's a different story of course. I enjoy the erasure of people be...

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Delbert Griffith
10:37 Dec 07, 2022

I'm happy you enjoyed the story, Michal. I really appreciate the analysis. Your is always excellent. She will always have targets because America never seems to run out of serial killers. However, if there were no criminals to hunt, she would still be compelled to kill. It is a sickness that has no cure. I'm glad you liked the entropy angle. It seemed to fit. Again, thank you for your sterling analysis, Michal. Cheers!

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Mary Lehnert
17:29 Dec 05, 2022

Delbert There’s a cautionary tale in Yorkshire folklore about ducks eating worms that eat the dead, after slaughtering the pigs is it possible we all ate a piece

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Delbert Griffith
20:52 Dec 05, 2022

LOL yeah, and we've all breathed some of the air that Jesus breathed. We have similar cautionary tales in West Texas. They all deal with scorpions and cows and such, but never the dead. That could put one off of meat forever!

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Mary Lehnert
21:11 Dec 05, 2022

That is funny. Maybe grist for one your spine chillers?

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Delbert Griffith
00:02 Dec 06, 2022

LOL grist - not gristle.

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Mary Lehnert
00:20 Dec 06, 2022

Touche

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Lily Finch
04:57 Dec 05, 2022

Where to begin. I love the character of Dolores. Pigs, Johnny Appleseed, Cadmus. Well played, showing us the depths of her mind. Pigs munching on his face - truth, when I lived in Vancouver, a man named Robert William Pickton fed prostitutes to the pigs on his farm. They thought he had killed six, but he confessed to killing 49. Then she says she believes in a God and will have words with God. Great getting into the recesses of her mind. - Or maybe Nabokov. He was good with guilt and redemption – I think. Maybe I’m thinking of Dostoevsky. Or...

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Delbert Griffith
20:49 Dec 05, 2022

Wow, thanks so much, Lily. I really love that you appreciated some of the references I put in. And, yes, I did it to show a little of her character. The idea for the pigs eating the victim came from a movie (Snatch), but 'Red Dragon' also had that, I think. And the story of Pickton has stayed in mind mind for years after I read about that. Perhaps he was the true inspiration for Dolores' method of disposing of the body. I mean, it was pretty damn memorable. Thanks again for liking my little tale. Dolores is growing on me! LOL

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Lily Finch
21:02 Dec 05, 2022

So, she should! That is one classy killer! Intelligent too! You created the female version of James Bond! Woohoo! LF6

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Delbert Griffith
20:49 Dec 05, 2022

Wow, thanks so much, Lily. I really love that you appreciated some of the references I put in. And, yes, I did it to show a little of her character. The idea for the pigs eating the victim came from a movie (Snatch), but 'Red Dragon' also had that, I think. And the story of Pickton has stayed in mind mind for years after I read about that. Perhaps he was the true inspiration for Dolores' method of disposing of the body. I mean, it was pretty damn memorable. Thanks again for liking my little tale. Dolores is growing on me! LOL

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Edward Latham
21:19 Dec 04, 2022

Delighted to hear you're working on a novel Delbert! I feel anyone who has become or was born like Dolores must have a pretty interesting back story! I wanted to make the comparison to Dexter but I saw Wendy already did too. I remember one of the things that made me root for him in the series is the fact that despite his alleged lack of emotions he does have people he cares for and protects, like his sister. Be great to see where you take it in your novel!

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Delbert Griffith
20:40 Dec 05, 2022

Thanks so much, Edward. Yes, she needs to be likeable; she needs to care for someone, even if she struggles with caring.

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Mike Panasitti
00:46 Dec 04, 2022

Enjoyable crime fiction with a character that's part Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, part the non-fictional serial killer Aileen Wuornos portrayed by Charlize Theron in the movie Monster. However, I found that allowing the anthropophagous pigs to do the dirty work inside the house and leaving Dolores to clean up the mess somewhat weakened the intelligence of her act of vigilantism. Struggling to put McTavish into a wheelbarrow and dumping him into a pig pen would've been, to me, much more believable. Since you're planning to turn this into a...

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Delbert Griffith
20:38 Dec 05, 2022

Thanks for the tips, Mike. Perhaps a wheelbarrow trip to the sty would have been better. Nice suggestion. Thanks for liking my little tale as well. I appreciate it.

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