On The Outside Looking In

He throttled it slow, so as not to bring any attention to a speeding car, I assume. We moved from the alleys. How much time or distance passed from the time we began to move, and the time we finally stopped, I really don’t know. It was dark, though.

Moments later, we were in his dim apartment, almost at the exact same spot and location where we first met. Perkins did the grunt work. I was waiting inside when he made the trip back down to his car. He came back up stairs with a large turquoise blanket wrapped around a body, which he let fall to the floor. I only knew it was a body, the first of many, because when he un-wrapped the crimson soaked blanket . . . I was who saw it, and I was the one who worked it over.

Perkins and I were very cautious to make sure things were done in a precise manner. I’m very meticulous about what I do, as is Perkins. He went to a nightstand near the bed and opened the drawer. He pulled out a camera and snapped a picture of his work. The flash reflected off my face and after a moment, I saw that it was a female lying there. By the end of the evening, the body was disposed of, his need and desire fed.

In the end it was messy, but we cleaned up well.

And, as I said before, Perkins still carried that look of being hurt. For me to speculate why he was hurt, whether it was because of what we were doing, or some level of emotion ignited for this passionate human act . . . I honestly don’t know. When he entered the car after his business with the trunk, he looked over in my direction, and I felt his eyes. I felt his slightly cocked smile and felt the warmth from the licking of his lips. His face appeared hurt, but perhaps it was also tinged with some sort of exhilaration. He exhaled in short, staccato bursts, followed by a "whew." In the end, Perkins found a type of reassurance in this act that made it seem that this was acceptable to do.

When it happened again, there was no sunlight. We abruptly left Perkins’ apartment and headed down to his car. He seemed very tense and fidgety.

"We can’t screw this up," he said to me. "This one means something."

I don’t have any sense of danger. Unlike Perkins, I don’t get any feelings or a sense of caution. I stay cold and calm, precise like a chemist’s scales or a surgeon’s scalpel. I was built that way, which is why he specifically chose me for this.

It was still dark, although we drove for a long time. We stopped, and as I joined Perkins I noticed we were in front of a house. It was a small home with a well kept lawn, and I noticed the area seemed very remote. No noticeable neighbors or houses around to approach. It was cold, and I saw the foggy puffs of air escaping from Perkins mouth, reflecting light from the fading moonlight. In the driveway was a clean white car. Just one car.

Perkins was able to get us inside of the house. It was twice as dark inside, with only a faint yellow glow of a night light. Perkins whispered something, but I believe it was to himself rather than to me. As we moved in the shadows, it seemed that he knew exactly where we were headed.