‘Fucking disgusting.’ Devon threw the clump of ruby hair in his hand to the dirt beneath his black boots. He stared down at the wriggling body, managing a total of three inches before he grabbed the tangled hair again. The quiet whimpers meant very little to him, in fact, it only encouraged him. The bitch could whine all she wanted – she’d still end up, three feet beneath the ground.
He dragged her through the narrow pathway; twigs and tree stumps protruded from the chilly ground. The bitch’s bare arms and legs must be freezing; her shivering limbs could only imagine what she had in store.
‘Stop wriggling – and stop your whining.’ He pulled the heavy load another few feet before he dumped her to the ground. With a thud, she landed upon a pile of leaves. He put his hands on his hips and glanced around.
Choices, choices, where was the best place to bury an ungrateful bitch?
She would always sit on the stump of the chopped down oak tree, waiting for her latest entertainment. For every pair of hands that ever touched her, that ever tainted his possession – he could smell it on her. Taste it in her kiss. Devon stared at her. ‘What’s the matter, honey? Are you cold?’
The whimpers settled down, and she nodded. A few tears escaped.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be warm soon. Very soon.’
She lifted her wrists bound by rope. The surrounding skin was red raw, traces of blood broke through, tainting to her snow skin. ‘No, baby, not yet.’
Devon stared out to the lake, admiring the shimmer as the moon’s beam reflected, rippling through. Such a peaceful resting ground. This was it. He tugged her wrists and pulled her towards the branch of a rotting tree trunk. He released her, gently this time. He searched through his pockets for a neatly folded rope. Perfect. He tied her carefully to the trunk, only inches from her mascara stained cheeks, pupils wide and black and the night. He kissed her forehead gently.
‘Will you wait here like a good girl?’
‘Good. Don’t move anywhere. Just stay here.’
She nodded again.
Good. Devon ran through the isolated forest to his car parked near the shadows beneath the branches; the leaves, slightly brown and crumpling as life sieved through them, had decorated his black Audi. He opened the trunk of the car and tugged his shovel out. Fuck, it was heavier than he remembered. He locked up his car and glanced back at it.
Devon returned to the bitch’s side. He stroked the body of the beautiful instrument, only the best for his girl.
She whimpered again. This time, he pulled the gag from her mouth and took great pleasure from the gasp for air. ‘Please don’t do this …’ Her plea was almost masterfully crafted to target his Achilles’ heel. Except he didn’t have one. Not anymore.
‘Do what, Melly Belly?’
‘Please, Devon …’
He smiled. As he grazed his knuckles against her cheek, she shuddered. He leaned forward, ready for a parting kiss. At first she was frozen, unresponsive. He kissed her again but this time she responded. A sharp pang of pain shot through him as her teeth pierced his inner lip. He pulled away quickly, his palm smacking against her cheek. His hand tingled as he cursed. She took a deep breath and he tugged the gag over her mouth, reducing her cries for help to muffles.
‘Fucking bitch.’ Devon grabbed the shovel and jabbed it into the ground. The dirt crumbled beneath the pressure. He dug for as long as he could, until his muscles burned, the adrenaline pulsated through his veins until a gaping hole stared back at him. Perfect. Everything fell into perfect place. He turned back towards her, the shovel slipping from his grip.
She wriggled, pulling her legs to her chest, her wrists tugged against her restraints.
‘Stop your whining.’ He untied the rope and watched it fall.
She wriggled away the second relative freedom was restored.
Devon grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder. He stood over the gaping hope and grinned. ‘Sweet dreams, Melanie.’ He dropped her into the hole.
The loud thud of her nine and a half stone body smacking against the dry dirt brought a smile to his face. He shovelled the dirt atop of her, but as she wriggled, it struggled to cover her. He never took his eyes away from her frightened eyes until he’d covered her legs, the pile growing until over her head remained. The final moments of life were the sweetest. Devon decided to take a rest and admire his handiwork.
‘You know, I’m going to miss you. Do you have anything to say? Any last words?’
Her words were muffled by the gag.
‘Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you.’
Tears trickled down her cheeks.
‘Good night, my love.’ He took the shovel again and she wriggled. ‘Death is easy. It’s like going to sleep. Close your eyes.’
She didn’t listen. She continued to fight against her inevitable end. With great pleasure, Devon hummed to himself, watching the shovel shimmer in the moonlight, how easily it sliced through the grains that would soon become her death bed.
Silence at last. He patted the dirt with the back of the shovel, decorating it with twigs and withering leaves. Good as new. As if his mind had been wiped clean, serenity overwhelmed him. Fuck, he hadn’t felt this good since the first he’d touched her skin.
Pity, she had potential.
There would be other women.
Devon held his shovel to his chest and glanced up at the brilliant moon beaming down upon him.
Peace at last.