Postcard Story IV: Dead Women

Two dead women have been found: one on a golf course and one on an ice floe. At last…I wondered if they would ever get to admire my handiwork. The young one was fifteen. I was idling my car outside her school. I knew she would be walking home alone. She is not pretty, and no one cares about her. Her red top has been washed so many times I’ve watched it fade to pink. I followed her around the corner to a residential street. I put the car in park. No one was around; you don’t get a chance like this every day. I grabbed her. I told her to keep her mouth shut and I showed her my hunting knife. She turned pale and she obeyed. I took her to my house, to the basement, and raped her. Then I took her to the golf course and hit her with my car jack hard enough to do the trick.

The other one I found drinking in a north end bar. She was twenty-nine but roughed up by life already. A face lined like a wood engraving. I could tell she would stay until closing time. She had argued with a man; I could hear her complaining. At two, when she wobbled outside, it was easy enough to follow her. I offered her a cigarette and we smoked while everyone else drove away. Then I forced her into my car. She kicked harder than the girl. I had to knock her out cold. On the journey, her head lolled around and finally hit the dash with a thunk. I wanted to rape her but when finally I undressed her, I was disgusted by what I found. Some dirty guy had spread his filth to her. I slit her throat clean. That’s the medicine she needed. I dumped her on the ice floe in the river and watched her float away.

No one would have given two shits about those whores unless I killed them.