|I See Dead People
By Stephen A Abell
Number of Words: 494
“I see dead people.”
“Yeah kid,” Detective Hunter snarled sarcastically at the plasma screen, “you and me both.”
“What ya’ say?” The over-made-up bitch on the couch asked. God, he knew how to pick them.
“Nothin’. Watch the movie. I’m gonna take a dump and get a drink.” He wondered how he always ended up with the dregs of humanity for girlfriends. Because they really know how to fuck, his mind replied.
He hardly noticed the naked dead girl in the bath anymore. The upright slashes on her wrists now a washed out pink since her blood ran out. Without missing a heartbeat, he undid his belt, button and zip, dropping his trousers and underpants to the tiled floor he sat on the cold porcelain seat.
“You killed me, you bastard.” The dead girl's head turned towards her killer, “Why?”
The only reply was a massive expulsion of air followed by hollow plops as waste hit water. The once vitally alive girl pulled her head back and screamed in anguish, torment and misery, “WHY?”
He wiped, and redressed. As he washed his hands, the girl stood and opened her arms in supplication, “you made it look like suicide,” he wiped his hands dry, “my parents’ lives were ruined.” Before he closed the bathroom door he turned and looked the girl in the eyes, and as he did every time before, he smiled and closed the door; and as usual, he listened a few seconds to her mournful sobs.
In the kitchen, the blonde lay on the floor with her back propped up against one of the unit doors. Her throat was slashed and blood ran down her neck, over her ample bosom and uncovered breast. Drop by single drop fell from her nipple onto her lap. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist and her black panties were pulled down to half-mast.
Hunter placed a foot on her crotch and watched with satisfaction as it passed through the prone apparition.
The blondes eyes snapped up at him, full of hatred and she made to grab him. Her hand passed through his torso and he pressed a hand over his mouth to stop the laugh. This one tried to talk, at least his bathroom buddy taught him one thing, the cut in her neck had severed the vocal chords. No words of reproach would come from this cunt.
He filled the kettle, boiled the water and made two mugs of instant coffee for him and his present “girlfriend” while the past scribbled blood letters on the floor, taking time to dip her fingers into the well at her throat. “I was nothing but good to you. Why? Why kill me?”
The writing never smeared as he carried the drinks into the room.
“You didn’t have to pause it, you know,” he handed her the drink.
“Didn’t want you to miss anything,” she pressed the button on the remote.
“I see dead people.”