House of Skin

Dear Eddy,

I remember it was storming the night it began.

I’d been free for about a week, I think, and it seemed to rain every day. I took my time getting to San Francisco. I knew you’d still be there. That’s where they sent you, wasn’t it? After they’d let you out. It wasn’t easy finding that out. It would have been impossible had I still been at the asylum. But a year or so after you left, I was sent to the prison. I had limited freedom there. My family started getting money to me. I used it to bribe guards. It was a simple matter for them to track you down via the prison’s computer system. It links up with the state’s penal files where they keep track of people like you and I.

I went to your little apartment first. You weren’t there, but your landlady told me where to find you.

If she’d known who I was, she would’ve locked the door.

I hadn’t been in a bar in years. How many, I couldn’t remember. They hadn’t changed any. Why you’ d chose such a redneck establishment was beyond me. I went in and saw you soon enough. You looked at me once, but you didn’t recognize me. It had been some time, I suppose. All those other men were looking at me and thinking their thoughts. It gave me a charge. They probably wanted to get me out in their cars. They had no idea.

I sat down by you, remember? I ordered a glass of wine and you drank beer. You didn’t even look at me. You’ d sunk pretty deep.

“It’s been a long time, Eddy,” I said.

You looked shocked that I knew your name. “Has it?” you said.

“Oh, yes. You don’t remember me?”

“No.”

It hurt when you said that. But I’ d expected it. “I used to watch you walking in the yard at Coalinga.”

“You were there?”

“D-Ward,” I said. It was enough. “They never let us mingle.”

“So I heard. You got out finally?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

You laughed at that. The sound of your laughter was beautiful to me. It drew strange looks from others, though. But that was just because they’ d never been there, they couldn’t know our secret joke.

“Where are you heading now?” you asked. “What are you gonna do?”

“That all depends on you.”

Our eyes met and I think we both knew what was coming next.

“Who’s she?” a voice said.

I turned and there was a girl standing there giving me dirty looks. She looked like some kind of heavy metal whore in her leather and studs. Her face had a weary, worn look to it. I thought she was kind of attractive in a depraved sort of way. She had nice legs and a very elegant neck. I wanted to sink my teeth into it.

“She’s our guest, Christy,” you said.

“I thought we were leaving,” she said.

“We are. All three of us.”

Christy didn’t like the idea. But she didn’t argue.

You had a van outside and we climbed in. There was a Thermos of whiskey and some coke in the back. We sat in a circle and drank. After Christy did a few lines, she didn’t care who I was. The three of us got down then. She had her hands all over you. She didn’t give a damn that I was there. She wanted it and in a bad way. You obliged. She had her clothes off by then and so did you. It wasn’t long before mine were off, too. I held her head between my knees and squeezed her breasts while you rammed into her. She was really into it. I don’t think she’d ever done anything like that before, but she was hot for it. While you fucked her, I pressed myself against her wet mouth and she ate me. It had been so long since anyone had done that. God, how I came.

That’s when I took out the straight razor.

You just smiled.

Christy never saw it, never knew it was there until I drew it across her throat. Her tongue was still inside me. It was the best orgasm I ever had. She was bleeding and scratching me, but I held her there until I was done and her moaning was just a wet gurgling. You kept thrusting in her. I could barely stand it. That’s when you took the razor and cut her eyes out. I think she was unconscious by the time you finished. Maybe dead. It didn’t matter. By the time you got it out of your system, she looked like raw meat.

Then you took me.

I had wrapped my legs around you and you fucked me so hard I thought I was going to die. Maybe I did just a little toward the end. When we were done, my ass was red with Christy’s blood.

“She’s dead,” you said dully when you pulled out. “What do we do now?”

I remember smiling, her blood hot all over me.

The van was Christy’s and we left it in the lot. And her in it. We cleaned up ourselves the best we could with her clothes and then we got in my car and went to your place. A hot shower felt good.

And then we were cruising again.

I was driving and you didn’t ask where we were going. I think you knew.

There was nowhere else to go.

“What’s your name?” you finally asked.

“Cherry,” I told you. “Call me Cherry.”

“Cherry,” you said, rolling it off your tongue. It tasted sweet, didn’t it? “I like that.”

We had to get another car. That much was apparent. I didn’t like the idea of driving the one I had. It made me nervous. We drove for a long time. I kept expecting to hear sirens. But it would be hours if not days before someone decided to look in that van. There was nothing to worry about. I got us across the bridge to Marin and we kept driving.

I don’t remember the name of the first town. It wasn’t much of a place, was it? Just a little town with a motel and a couple of gas stations, the first place we came to after leaving the off ramp. The rain had stopped and the wind was blowing. I remember the moon coming out, huge, swollen, watching over us. We pulled into the parking lot of that little bar and waited. You put the hood of the car up and stood in the shadows.

It wasn’t long before that man came by.

“Problems?” he asked, more than happy to help out a woman in distress.

“Yeah. My car won’t start,” I said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you just let me have a look,” he said and dropped me a wink. Oh, men are so predictable. He’d get my car going again, but for a price. He had no idea how expensive it would be.

He bent over and looked at the engine. I was right behind him, pressing up against him. He liked that.

Until I jerked his head back and cut his throat.

Yours,

Cherry