The Butcher and the Wren(15)
Startled, she nervously chuckles, placing a hand to her chest and smiling.
“Cal!” she exclaims. “You scared the shit out of me. I swear, after three hours of this crap, I am in a complete daze.”
Even after an entire semester, it still takes a moment for Jeremy to react to his alias at school. He had registered as “Cal” using fake documents. It’s amazing what administrative burnout can allow to fall through the cracks. Even though he inhabited the role during school hours, he still couldn’t quite get used to the name. They begin walking side by side toward the auditorium’s exit as she chatters about the effects of lengthy lectures on students’ cognition post-lecture. Jeremy barely hears a word. His mind is racing as he goes over the next few minutes again in his head. There is no room for error. Even the slightest hiccup would be disastrous. They round the corner, out of sight from the Biology building. He begins to carefully manipulate the rag in his right pocket around a tiny, plastic vial of chloroform.
“Do you think we can use calculators for this exam?” she asks, mindlessly scrolling through an email on her phone.
He shrugs and discreetly pokes a small hole in the plastic vial in his pocket, using a prong that was purposefully bent outward from the ring he wears on his thumb. He feels the warm liquid soak into the cloth surrounding the vile as they enter the parking garage.
“You know they will probably just give us an abacus or something. Instead of preparing us, they simply ignore the fact that modern technology is used in the real world,” she continues as he clears his throat. She laughs as she takes her keys out and approaches her car door. “Well, if you want to go over the practical sheet this weekend, let me know.”
He smiles and nods. “Yeah, absolutely.”
A book slips from his messenger bag and hits the cement with a slap. Emily’s eyes lock on it briefly as he retrieves it and shoves it back into the open bag pocket.
“What book was that? I’m looking for some good mindless reading. You know, for ten years from now when I am finally a doctor and still have no time for it.” She grins widely, and he lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. He feels a little thrown and has to recalibrate.
“Oh, some horror anthology. Not exactly calming escapism.” He recovers and instinctively starts to run a hand through his hair before stopping himself. “But we’ll plan a study date for sure. I’ll text you. Drive safe now.”
“Of course. See ya, Cal.”
She turns her back to open the car door, and just as quickly he takes hold of her auburn ponytail with his left hand and jams a bent knee into her upper thigh, causing her to lose her balance. He arches her head backward and covers her mouth and nose with the poison-soaked rag before she can comprehend what is happening to her. Dropping her keys, she fruitlessly claws at his hands and attempts to regain control. That’s when the panic sets in.
He stares down into her wide eyes and patiently waits for complete incapacitation. When it finally comes, and her body falls limp, he throws her into the trunk of her own car and takes a quick moment to breathe and to collect his thoughts before proceeding. When his adrenaline has subsided, he snaps a glove onto his right hand, takes the vial of ketamine from his other pocket, and pulls some of it into a small syringe. Feeling around on Emily’s arm for a suitable vein, he locates one and injects the dose to ensure her continued confusion when the chloroform wears off. His eyes flicker to the ground, catching a glimpse of something shiny under the bumper. Her bracelet has fallen to the concrete amid the struggle. He bends down to pick it up, examining it up close for the first time. Only now does he see the delicate letter E engraved on one side of the heart. He places the bracelet into his pocket.
As an extra precaution, he wraps a zip tie around her wrists and pulls them behind her back before he picks up her keys and sits in the driver’s seat for the ride home. He lets out a long sigh and wipes his hands with a wet nap before moving a strand of box-dyed brown hair back into place in the rearview mirror. The temporary color has begun to mix with the beads of sweat on his forehead. He quickly peels off Cal’s sparse beard and massages his jaw with a satisfied grin.
“Well done, Cal,” he says to himself.
CHAPTER 12
“MAYBE I SHOULD JUST STAY in tonight,” Wren admits as she curls the longer strands of her hair.
One piece refuses to comply, falling limply among the others like a deflated balloon. She stands in the bathroom, staring into the medicine cabinet’s mirror. She’s freshly showered and wearing the black, lacy “going out” shirt she bought almost a year earlier. She doesn’t get out of the house much anymore, so just the act of putting on more than ChapStick marks this occasion as notable.
Richard walks out of the bedroom to her left. He has changed from his usual dress shirt and slacks into gray sweatpants and an old T-shirt. He rubs his sandy brown hair and shakes his head.
“No way,” he says. “Wren, you need to go out and think about something other than work for a night. You have earned the right to relax, ya know.”
“I know, but they will just ask me about work anyways. Everyone wants to hear the nasty details of the job, especially when they get a few martinis into them,” she replies, curling another section of hair and fluffing the sections she has already done. “Especially my friends.”