Savage Lane Page 11

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “You…”

  “I? I what?”

  A deep breath then, “You have to get tested for crabs, Karen.”

  AT FIRST Owen didn’t know Deb was dead. He didn’t really know what he was doing or what the hell was happening. He was just angry—at Raymond, at his mother, at Deb, at everybody—and he wanted the whole world to shut up and leave him alone.

  Then it was silent and that was when he knew. He removed his hands from her neck, was looking at her eyes, so totally still, like the eyes of a stuffed animal. He liked her eyes like this, how he could see nothing in them except his own reflections—a little pale Owen face in each pupil. He knew it should probably bother him that she was dead, but it didn’t. He was actually glad she was gone, that she couldn’t talk back anymore. Then he remembered how she’d said she wanted to be friends, how she told him he needed help. Friends? Yeah, right. She was not his fucking friend, and how the hell did she know what he needed? He felt the anger, the rage, wanted to kill her all over again, and then he was doing it, squeezing her throat so hard he could feel her neck bone between his clenched hands. Telling him he needed help after he told her that Raymond had been fucking him? Actually he’d been lying, Raymond was a prick but there had never been any real abuse—no ass-fucking anyway—but this didn’t matter because Deb hadn’t known that. As far as she knew he’d been getting ass-fucked for years, and she still didn’t care. She was such a bitch; he wanted to kill her again and again forever.

  He stopped, not because he was through being angry, but because he was scared—not of how she looked or what he’d done, but of what might happen next. He was in a high school parking lot with a body in the back of his car—well, his mom’s car, but that made it even worse. There was no way he was going to jail because of her, because of this—that just wasn’t happening. He needed a plan, some way out, but he wasn’t panicking. Coming up with plans, acting, was what he did best.

  At least no one was around. The rain had stopped and the only sounds were cars going by on North Salem Road, way at the other end of the lot. If it was during the day and they were somewhere else, like in that classroom, this could have been a lot worse so he had to keep thinking about the bright side, or at least the not so dark side. But he had to be smart about this—think through everything every which way before he made any moves. He knew what cops were like, what kinds of questions they asked, and he’d seen enough CSI to know his hair fibers, or spit, or whatever, were probably all over her body. Even if he got her out of his car and put her somewhere else, like in her own car, and even if he cleaned his car ten times and took ten showers he’d be fucked. He had sex with her before, at the school, with no condom because she had one of those IUD things, so tons of his sperm were probably swimming around inside her, and if they found one sperm, one fucking sperm, he’d be fucked.

  He hadn’t moved this whole time. He was still on her body, a few inches away from her face and her stuffed-animal eyes, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, he realized, because what if he coughed or sneezed and got even more DNA on her? Her body was already getting stiff, or at least it seemed like it was. It was weird how he wasn’t scared at all; he actually liked this. He loved that Deb was here, but gone at the same time, and that he was in total control of everything now.

  “I own you now,” he whispered to her. “You’re mine.”

  He knew what he was saying didn’t make much sense, and he wasn’t even sure why he was saying it, but he didn’t care because it was making him feel good.

  “I know you like it like this,” he said. “This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”

  He would’ve loved talking to her like this for hours, it was such a rush, but he knew the sooner he got out of there the better. Eventually Mark or somebody would come looking for her. She also had a phone, two phones, and her iPhone had GPS, so eventually somebody could track her down. He maneuvered off her, then found the phones in her purse and turned them off, but that wasn’t the most important thing. The most important thing was figuring out what to do with her.

  He had to get her out of there. Okay, this was good, he was thinking, making progress. It was only a matter of time till the answer came to him, till everything clicked.

  He got out of the car. No one was around—he was sure of it, and the cars on the road were so far away that no one could possibly see, and it was so dark that even if someone did happen to look from so far away they wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on. So he grabbed her by her arms, up by her shoulders, and dragged her out. He liked holding her this way, feeling her cold skin. He tried to carry her, but she was too heavy—he probably should have expected this—so instead he dragged her toward the back of the car and then, as he reached into his pocket for the car keys, he suddenly panicked, thinking, Fuck, security cameras. He didn’t know if there were cameras in the parking lot—he hadn’t even thought of checking—he was angry with himself for not thinking of such an obvious thing. Cameras were everywhere these days and if one was on him now, it was over, he might as well just figure out a way to kill himself.

  Looking around frantically, he didn’t see any cameras, though. There weren’t any attached to the fence near the football field and even if there was on the actual school building, it was so far away it wouldn’t matter. The biggest danger was the trees near where the car was parked. He didn’t think there would be a camera in a tree, but it was too dark to see, so there was no way of knowing for sure. He continued looking around, searching for cameras, not seeing any, and then started to relax, realizing there probably weren’t any and even if there was one in a tree, it was so dark where he was, barely enough light from faraway lampposts to even see where he was going, that it wouldn’t pick up much.

  Confident he was okay, that he wasn’t being filmed, he popped open the trunk and saw he had another problem. His mother had put those old PCs in the trunk the other day to take to a computer store so they could remove the hard drives, but she hadn’t gotten around to going. The PCs didn’t take up a ton of space, but he wasn’t sure the body would fit with them; it would’ve been a tight squeeze anyway. He thought about moving the PCs to the back seat but was afraid the body would fall down if he left it and maybe some blood would come out or skin would scrape off and the forensics guys would find it. So instead he did the smart thing and tried to stuff the body into the trunk.

  She was definitely too big to fit in straight across, so he put her in diagonally, feet first toward the back right corner. Her legs—with high heel boots still on—fit in nicely, but it was hard to twist the rest of her body around the PCs. He wedged it in the best he could, then added her purse. He tried to close the trunk a couple of times but, nope, it kept popping open. Then he figured out the problem—her head wasn’t fitting over the PCs. So he pulled her out and turned her around, forcing her head into the tight space in the back of the trunk. He was sweating and just wanted to get her the hell in already when there was suddenly bright light shining right on him.

  He had no idea what was going on—was somebody shining a flashlight on him? Was it a cop or a security guard? Holding Deb by the waist, right above her ass, he was terrified and numb, unable to move or think, as if somebody had shot him with a stun gun. Then maybe his brain jumpstarted and it clicked that it wasn’t a flashlight, it was the headlights of the car, and the lights weren’t on him anymore because the car had turned away and pulled into a spot maybe fifty yards away. Shit, this was fucked up, but first things first—he had to get the body into the car.

  Using his body to shield what he was doing from where the other car had parked, he forced her legs in, but the trunk still wouldn’t close. He was sweating worse now, like he was in the sun on a hot summer day, and he was afraid somebody was going to get out of the car and come over and see what was going on. He reached in and grabbed Deb’s hair, turning the head sharply to the left. He thought he heard something crack, but
he’d managed to squeeze her head deeper into the trunk, creating more room for the rest of her body, and that was all that mattered. He closed the trunk, maybe letting it slam a little too hard, and got into the driver’s seat of the car—worn out and relieved.

  But he knew he wasn’t out of trouble yet—he still had a lot of work to do. The other car was still in the light, but the headlights were off now. With a clearer head, Owen now realized that it was probably a couple of teenagers, out getting laid. While he was still worried that somebody could’ve seen him, he thought, Yeah, but what did they see? Maybe they saw him standing up in front of the trunk but most of the body had been inside, they couldn’t have seen what he was doing. Besides, when people are out to hook up do they really see anything? They were probably so busy thinking about getting into each other’s pants they didn’t give a shit about anything else.

  Feeling better, Owen did the smart thing and didn’t leave right away. He wanted to think it through first, make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. Deb’s car would stay in the lot, of course, but he didn’t see any way around that—he couldn’t get rid of her car. He didn’t want to take a chance with the teenagers, though, so when he was convinced everything was going according to plan, he backed out of the spot and drove away, going a different way than when he’d arrived, going around the whole football field, so he didn’t have to pass the teenagers and give them a chance to get a closer look at his car.

  A few minutes later, he was out of the lot, driving away, his confidence back in full force. He knew everything was going to work out, and he loved having Deb’s body in the trunk—just knowing she was back there, that he could take her anywhere, anywhere he wanted, and she had no choice at all, gave him an amazing rush. He actually liked it better when she was dead than she was alive; when she was alive she could be a pain in the ass. He wished there was a way he could keep her back there for a long time—a few days at least—but he knew this was impossible because it was his mom’s car and because the smell would get awful. Could he freeze her? He liked that idea a lot, but it sucked that it was just a fantasy. That was the shitty thing about fantasies—they were only there when you thought about them, you couldn’t stay in them forever.

  He didn’t see why he had to get rid of her right away, though, why there was a serious hurry. Nobody was going to miss her for a while—dumb, clueless Mark wouldn’t notice until maybe around midnight, and no one was going to start searching for her until probably tomorrow morning or afternoon. The body would be okay in the trunk for a while—it wasn’t rotting or smelling yet—so why not party?

  He drove for about ten minutes, to Dylan Ross’s house.

  Owen was a year older than Dylan and kind of knew him from just around. They’d never gone to the same schools, but when Owen was maybe five years old, they went to the same day camp, and they’d seen each other around at other places. Dylan seemed like a popular guy; he had a lot of friends anyway. Owen knew they must have talked to each other at some point in their lives, but he couldn’t remember ever saying a single word to the guy.

  The house was on a street with lots of big houses—it was a good neighborhood, better than Owen’s—and Owen parked on the grass alongside the street and then walked on to the house, already annoyed by the loud party music. Owen hated music. He knew this was weird, because he was supposed to like music, but he couldn’t change how he felt. To him, music just sounded like loud, fucked up noise. He didn’t get it at all.

  The beat was throbbing from right outside the house, and then, after he rang the bell and some too-thin blonde girl he’d never seen before answered, it got even more annoying.

  “Hey,” the girl said, smiling widely.

  Not in a smiling mood, Owen said, “Hey,” and went into the house, looking for Elana. There were maybe twenty people in the living room, and some more over by the stairs, but he only recognized a couple of them—this guy Jake, who Owen only knew because he had a brother Kyle’s age, and a girl with curly dark hair he’d seen maybe in high school. Owen knew people were looking at him, the way people always looked at a new person who comes into a room, but he wished they would just look the fuck away.

  “Hey,” a guy said.

  Owen felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around suddenly, as if somebody had punched him. Then he saw it was just Dylan.

  “What’s up, man?” Owen asked, the music so loud he could barely hear his own voice.

  “Not much, bro,” Dylan said. “So, like, what’re you doing here?”

  Now Owen remembered that he’d always hated Dylan.

  “Oh, um, my friend told me about the party,” Owen said, scanning the room for Elana. He didn’t see her, but there was Riley Berman coming out of the kitchen. She kind of smiled at Owen so he smiled back while thinking, Man, her mom was so much hotter than her, it’s not even a contest. Owen had always thought this, but now that Deb was gone the difference in their looks was somehow even more startling. It made Owen miss Deb, but it made him feel better when he reminded himself that even though she was dead, she wasn’t really gone; she was right outside in the trunk of his car.

  “Who’s your friend?” Dylan asked.

  Owen hadn’t really made eye contact with Dylan, but he did now. Oh, man look at this jerk-off—short hair with pieces sticking up in front, probably some new hip style, in an Aeropostle shirt and baggy American Eagle shorts. He probably thought he looked so awesome, but he looked just like every other stuck-up asshole he’d gone to school with.

  “Elana Daily,” Owen said.

  “Elana’s my girl,” Dylan said.

  Owen didn’t have any expression but inside he was laughing like hell. He knew he could have whatever girl he wanted—old or young—that it was all up to him. It was so easy to get girls to like him—all he had to do was smile, be polite, say nice things. Girls were such suckers for that shit.

  After Owen finished staring at Dylan he went over to Riley and said, “Hey, is Elana here?”

  “In the kitchen,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Owen wanted to say, I just had so much fun strangling your mom, but instead he smiled, knowing he looked hot when he smiled like that, at least Deb used to tell him he did.

  When Elana saw him enter the kitchen she came over to him and hugged him tightly and said, “Oh my God, it’s so great to see you.”

  “Yeah, you too,” he said, feeling her ass, missing Deb’s bigger, softer ass.

  Then she pulled back and, squinting, looking toward his neck, asked, “What’s that?”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about. He’d felt some irritation on his neck while driving here in the car, but was so distracted he hadn’t give it much thought; now, though, it hit that Deb had scratched him there. She must have done it while his hands were around her throat.

  Touching his neck, feeling the sting, he said, “Oh, my cat scratched me before,” because it was the first excuse that came to him.

  “I didn’t know you have a cat,” she said.

  He didn’t have a cat, but said, “I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” as he had a flash of strangling Deb.

  On to something else already because she was so obviously turned on by him, Elana said, “I’m so glad you came. Seriously, I was so bored before you showed up.”

  “Of course I was going to come,” he said. “I wouldn’t blow a chance to hang with you tonight.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  God, how could anyone be that insecure? That was something he never got from older women—Deb always knew what she wanted and never doubted herself, which was so, so hot.

  Missing Deb, Owen said, “You know how into you I am.”

  Elana blushed, then with a flirty look said, “Wanna go hang someplace else?”

  “Sure,” Owen said, as he was dying to get away from this music—some song by some singer he was supposed to know—and all of these assholes.

  Elana went and said something to Riley,
probably, “I’m leaving with Owen.” Riley nodded, like she expected this, but she didn’t seem happy about it. Then when Owen passed her she didn’t even look at him, pretending to get distracted. Owen had no idea what her problem was, what he’d ever done to piss her off, but whatever, she was a girl and sometimes it was impossible to figure out what girls were thinking, so why even try?

  Then, when Elana opened the front door and Owen was following her out, Dylan rushed over, all panicked and shit, and went, “Hey, Elana, where you goin’?”

  “Oh, have to head out,” she said, “but I had an awesome time.”

  “Wait,” he said, “can we talk for a sec?”

  “She said she wants to go home, dude,” Owen said. “What’s your problem?”

  “You’re my problem, loser. You weren’t even invited to this party.”

  As he spoke, Dylan had sprayed spit in Owen’s face. It also annoyed Owen that Dylan’s breath smelled like alcohol because it reminded him of Deb.

  But it was the word loser that really set off Owen.

  Owen grabbed Dylan by his Aeropostale shirt, and pushed him up against the door, and then Owen had a flash of Raymond holding him up against the door before and how Owen had wanted to knee him in the balls. Without thinking, Owen kneed Dylan in the balls as hard as he could. Dylan groaned in agony and then, when Owen let go of his shirt, Dylan crumpled to the floor.

  Owen pulled Elana along over to his Sentra.

  Later, in the car, Elana was talking a lot, complaining about Dylan. Owen wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, picking up words here and there—“Asshole,” “So much, ” “All the time.” Then he zoned back in hearing her say, “I mean I know he’s into me, but I’ve told him like a million times I’m so not into him, but he won’t stop trying. It’s like he’s got some kind of problem or something.”

  “It’s cool,” Owen said, and he knew she was saying something else, but he’d stopped listening again, too distracted by the rush he’d gotten from kneeing Dylan, and now he was thinking about Deb in the car again.