Russell Andrews - Icarus

Jack realized he was sweating heavily. He wiped his forehead as perspiration dripped down into his eye. "Can I open a window?" he asked. "It's very hot in here."

"Open whatever you want," she told him.

But when Jack went to the living room window, he was surprised to find it was already open. The air was cool and blowing and he realized that now he was shivering slightly.

"Somebody caught you?" he asked.

"You got that fucking right. They were gonna cut my fuckin' hands off if I didn't make good on it in twenty-four hours. Yeah, like it wasn't already up my fuckin' nose."

"Five thousand dollars," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"How much did you steal?"

"Hey, it wasn't stealing. I mean, it didn't really belong to anyone, it was, like, gambling money, you know?"

"You took five thousand dollars, right?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Half to himself he said, "The Entertainer's money."

"You're really weird, you know that?" Samsonite announced.

Jack felt as if one minor key had been unlocked. "That's why he needed the money. Kid gave you the five thousand dollars."

Samsonite sat up now, excited. "In a flash. I mean, that day. It was, like, amazing. Like he was some kind of angel, you know? I paid those assholes back ASAP and it was, like, totally cool."

Jack was sweating again. He realized that his shirt collar was sopping wet and his hands were moist. He felt like he had a fever. He was suddenly dizzy.

"But… you're still working there," he said. His voice sounded strange to him, as if he were in an echo chamber.

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't they fire you?"

"Hey, good people are hard to find."

He felt himself rocking from side to side. He thought he should sit down but he suddenly didn't think he could make it to the couch. Talk to her, he thought. Keep talking. Focus. You'll snap out of this.

"His other women… Did Kid ever talk to you… about… his other women?"

She was standing now. Walking around the room. Circling him, he thought. Like a vulture.

"Oh, he talked," she said. "He was a good talker. There was the rich old lady in the 'burbs. She was hot, he said. Wild. And there was a stripper; I remember that 'cause I wanted him to bring her up here, do a little threesome thing. I always wanted to be a stripper, you know. I think it'd be cool…"

Jack felt himself go down on one knee. He wasn't aware of his body touching the floor, though. It was as if he were in some kind of dream. Disconnected from his body. Looking down, seeing himself sag and fall.

"Then there was this Miss I'm So Perfect Downtown SoHo Art Bitch. He used to go on and on about her. Oh, man, it used to make me puke. And it takes a lot to make me puke."

She was standing in front of him now, staring down at him. She didn't look concerned. Just predatory. He felt his hands start to tingle. The left one went numb. He reached out to her, wrapped both arms around her hard thighs, fell forward.

"He used to talk about you a lot," she said.

She seemed so far away… so out of focus…

"Christ, what I don't know about you. Your stupid red-meat crematorium. Your fantasy apartment. The whaddyacallit, the balcony that you're terrified of. Your big affair in London. How you tried to have a baby but your wife had an abortion. Kid told me everything about you. Stuff he didn't even know he was telling me…"

It sounded like she was speaking in slow motion. Everything was in slow motion. His hands slid slowly down her legs. Her skin felt so smooth, so warm. His legs fell out, ever so slowly, from beneath him. He was stretched out on the floor now, his chin resting on the top of her bare foot. With her other foot, she nudged his chin and he felt himself roll over. Twisting, turning, on the wood floor…

"I know why you're here," she was saying now. Her voice was even slower, and deep, like a record being played at the wrong speed. "I know what you want me to say. I figured it out, too. But when he came to buy the fucking acid, I didn't know who it was for. I didn't know what he was going to do with it…"

The rest made no sense to Jack. It was too slow. Too deep. He was drifting. He was almost gone. His last thought was Goddamn you, what did you put in the drink…?

Then he was still, not moving at all. He was lying on his back and Samsonite was kneeling over him, straddling his chest.

"This is going to be way cool," she said. "Way fucking cool."

He never knew what he dreamed or what was real. Not while it was happening, not after it was all over. It was all so distorted and twisting. Twisted. Sometimes delicious. And funny. Sooooo funny. He couldn't stop laughing, it was impossible to stop the laughter. Nothing ever felt so good. Until it felt bad. And then nothing was funny. He couldn't stop crying. It was excruciating. Terrifying. Unbearable.

Sometimes he was naked. Once he was on the bed like that and he couldn't move, he didn't know why but he couldn't, and Caroline, sweet Caroline, lovelier than ever, was on top of him, riding him, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, saying over and over again, I love you, Jack… I love you, Jack… I love you…

Then suddenly it wasn't Caroline. She was gone and instead it was Samsonite. Laughing and moaning. And dripping something. What was it? Dripping all over. It was red. Wine. Blood. Red red red everywhere…

How did Grace get there? She was naked, too, spreading her legs, climbing over him. She was delectable. Petite. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone. She was saying something, yes, she was saying, The Destination. She drew it out, Desssstinaaaashunnnnnn, so it sounded like a train, chugging far away, around a bend and gone forever, He was inside her. She was on top of him and he could feel himself inside her. She was leaning forward, bending down low breasts grazing his bare chest, and she was very beautiful. So beeeaaaauuutifullll. Her lips were soft and moist and he kissed her. Her tongue was inside his mouth, exploring his teeth and the hollows of his cheeks. Her breath was sweet, like wisteria brushing up against his face. But then her tongue got too big to keep in his mouth. It was so long, like a snake. It was a snake. It hissed and licked him but it kept going, slithering out past the bed, along the floor. So thick and getting thicker. Growing. Expanding like a balloon being pumped up with air. It was filling up the room. And getting longer. Going out the window…

The window… out the window… he was going out the window…

No, not the window. The balcony. Kid's balcony. He was going over, he was falling. Plunging! Going faster and faster and faster and faster. He was going to hit!

He heard the screaming. Was he screaming? Yes, yes, it was him, because the red was everywhere now, covering him, flooding the room in a rushing wave, filling it up to the ceiling. Everywhere he looked, there was red and more red. More red everywhere.

And he was fucking them all now, one at a time. And yet all together. How could that be? But it was. Steady, hard, rhythmic fucking. The Rookie. So beautiful, so gentle. The Entertainer. Grinning at him, a knife in one hand, a long needle sticking out of her arm. The Mortician, her long nails scratching his back, ripping his flesh. Samsonite. Her sharp teeth biting his neck, then his shoulder, before she exploded in a burst of red and he began screaming again. And even Emma! Sexy, delicious Emma from long ago. But then Caroline was back… perfect Caroline. Calming him down. Loving him. Making him safe…

He wanted to say to her, I can't be safe. I've almost done it, I think I've found them all, but there's one missing. No one's safe until we find her! They were missing the Murderess. Where was the Murderess? Why couldn't he find the Murderess?