Secret Radio Murders - Chapter 15

Twenty was a wonderful age. At twenty you flipped your ID, not like at eighteen when you brandished it demanding, “Look at date.” At twenty your hormones were still raging, but you had a lock on them; you could hold hands with a pretty girl and not advertise your desire like you did at sixteen. Yes, twenty was where it was at, you didn’t wake up with a pimple glistening on your nose or smashed into the corner of your mouth. You could cultivate a mustache, or even a slight beard to hide a weak chin. And Amy—Amy didn’t giggle at your silliness anymore.1

Since fifteen and the first day of High school, he’d tried to find a way to impress the petite, mahogany-haired, brown-eyed goddess. She laughed with him, cheered at his sport prowess—clapping so loud he could hear her tiny voice above all others when he made a basket or drove in a run. But those oval eyes in the elfin face gleamed only for John.2

John was his buddy, they grew up together in the parochial confines of St. Sebastian’s primary school, had each other’s back when thrust into the completion of JFK middle school, and burst as a single entity on to the sport arena of West Glen High. John matured physically much quicker than his peers. His body mimicked a man’s while the others still appeared as lanky oversize boys. When they hit the field or danced on the court, John stood out from his teammates. 3

John put his hook in Amy before they were comfortable in their sophomore year and he started to reel her in. More than once he’d tried to tell John to back off. He hated to watch the way John treated Amy. He became furious when John would say, “Get lost bitch.” But he said nothing as Amy ran off sobbing. 4

Then she would turn to him. Her tears would wet his shirt. She’d denounce that spoiled bastard who thought he was God. She’d swear they were finished. He’d take her for pizza or a burger and fries. Together they’d watch a screen that he couldn’t concentrate on. Listen to music that he barely heard over the pounding of his heart. And then John was back in her life. When the girl John came with left in a huff, Amy danced more with John at their junior prom than she did with him—though he’d purchased their tickets.5

When their senior ball was nearly a replay, he headed off to college determined to forget her. If she wanted to be a fucking pushover, stay with a guy who treated her like crap, John could have her.6

Then he was twenty, and so amorous with being twenty that his world sang. Amy sang. Her fragile tones lifted in volume as she spotted him coming down the aisle. She smiled and moved further into the pew as if to make room for him. He took the offer and stepped in beside her. 7

He came home for another friend’s wedding and found a broken hearted Amy. Sorrow never dimmed her delicate beauty; she appeared a porcelain doll who only absorbed life when manipulated by another. 8

Two wonderful weeks they spent—wonderful for him. They would talk long hours and seemed to have so much in common. One afternoon they made love. Since it had been unplanned, it had been a fantastic experience for him. She promised that she would break permanently with John. He was deeply moved.9

He took her promise with him back to classes. They spoke on the phone every day, made plans for Spring Break. He hunted for the perfect diamond. Practiced how he would propose.10

One day she called him up and said, “I'm pregnant.” 11

He could tell she had been crying. “That's okay, I'll raise it as though it was my own,” he promised magnanimously.12

“But I’m with John again. I’m so sorry.”13

For days she didn’t return his calls and then finally she did.14

“John doesn't want a child. What am I going to do?” she whined. “Besides I think it’s yours.”15

“Leave him! Now!”16

“I can't. I love him,” she whimpered.17

“But you said you loved me,” he reminded her, his heart sinking. “You've got to have the baby! It's our child!”18

“I can't, I just can't.” She hung up.19

She got an abortion. He hated her for it. She threatened to kill herself, 20

“Go ahead.” He told. “Don’t make too much of a mess.”21

Two weeks later he went to her funeral.22

”Women like her are useless.” He consoled John. “The world is a better place without them.” 23

‘Yes, twenty was a wonderful age.’24

He stepped back from the glass door. Moved to quietly into the foyer. 25

He’d been a bit concerned when the police questioned him, but felt confident that they would be unable to pin the suicides on him. He'd been extremely careful. Severely depressed suicidal women were easily coerced into taking their own lives-- with his assistance. He grinned. He knew all about women.26

Women who paid for his extravagant lifestyle had been easy enough for him to find, and satisfy. Over the years he’d lost count of the number. He hardly remembered their names. A role player himself, he drew his partner into whatever type of game he felt inclined to indulge in. The more money they lavished on him, the more subservient they treated him, the longer he stayed.27

His present domineering bitch and her aging husband spent most of their time apart in separate residences. “He's an old fogy,” she told him, “Can't get it up half the time.” Possessing so much wealth, boredom was slowly aging her when he came to her rescue. She relished the sneaking around bit, adored the idea of using the handsome, so much younger male as a sex toy. She didn't care if her husband found out. 28

During the past few encounters, he felt a slipping away. She was becoming fond of him—trying to please him. That just wouldn’t do. He’d rather she hated him. Time for new rules, he snickered to himself as he shuffled quietly to the bedroom. 'Hell, she'll probably eat it up.' He laughed aloud.29

She was on the phone when he entered the bedroom. “Hang up.” 30

She looked up at him surprised. “Now!” he demanded.31

Her eyes met his eyes for a moment and then she said, “Nancy, I've got to go. Talk later, hun.”32

He pulled her out of the chair to her feet and twisted her arms behind her waist.33

“Owe! Have you gone mad?” Her cheeks flushed and she threw her head side to side. She was not expecting the role reversal. 34

“This time we do it my way,” he said turning her around and pushing her so she staggered. He let loose of her wrists, spun her about, and grabbed her shoulders throwing her backwards onto the bed. She sort of bounced as she landed, a comical sight that made him laugh.35

She was wearing a white silk blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons and a black wool-blend pair of slacks. He yanked her blouse open popping several of the buttons off.36

”Damn!” she yelped. “I like this blouse.” 37

“Shut up bitch!”38

“Whaaat” She gagged. He slapped her face.39

He yanked her loafers off, and then tweaked her bare toes. He slid her slacks down over her hips--and off. They sailed through the air to puddle on the rug. 40

He tried to tear her nylon panties from her, but they proved too tough to rip so he slipped them down her legs.41

She laughed and he said, “I'll give you something to laugh about.” And again smacked one side of her face and then the other.42

Her hands few to her face. “Are you insane,” she screamed as he ripped the cups of her bra apart.43

“You better believe it baby.” He squeezed her breasts until the tears filled her eyes, and then plunged his tongue deep into throat so she couldn’t cry out.44

“Renee,” he mumbled into her chest as he struggled out of his jeans.45

“What?”46

“Raining, I hate rain.” He plunged his rock hard, throbbing appendage deeply inside her. ‘Renee, my lovely Renee has escaped for the moment. The police could be a problem but he had put in too much time stalking her to just let her go.’ “Bitch,” he growled. “Put some life into this.”47

She met him with nearly equal force, gyrating her hips to his motion. Soon they were both panting and sweating. She came faster than she ever had and followed it with another orgasm. He climaxed about five minutes later and then they rested breathing heavily.