It took her two hours to clean up all the blood. She was getting better at this. The last time the clean-up took almost the entire day. Practice, practice, practice she mumbled to herself. The apartment had to be cleaned and repainted when she left anyway but she still prided herself on her attention to detail.
She had rented the room for three weeks to accommodate her killing schedule. A low rent, run down, rat infested room costs her $185 for three weeks. It was ideally located near the airport so the sound of overhead jet engines would muffle any screams that may escape during her ritual routine of mutilation and ritual beheading. She had memorized the major airlines landing schedule.
Her tool of choice was a DEWALT 15-amp 12 inch sliding miter saw with rolling miter saw stand. It cut right through bones with little resistance. This model allowed her to put her victims on their back for easier access. She thought it was a pretty good deal at $599. She had made sure she kept the box it came in so she could repack it so the movers she would call to move her furnishings would not be suspicious.
What was left of Bill oozed out of the large trunk she had purchased from Ebay. You’re getting sloppy she said to herself. Perhaps, she thought, she should contact the seller and write a review of how the trunk needed a better liner and post it on line. Now that was crazy! But Betty was slowly drifting in that dark direction. A path that she knew would end up in her own death. A death that she no longer feared. A death indeed she desired.
Most of her friends thought she was crazy anyway. She knew she was crazy! She knew she was crazy before she sliced Bill up into pieces with the large butcher knife that he had given her on her birthday. Now what kind of fool buys his girlfriend that type of gift on her special day. Just for that he deserved to die. But he had to die for more serious infractions than that. By the time her rent was up and the movers had arrived all the bruises and welts on her face and the ugly purple circles under her eyes would have healed. But not the memories.
“Join the crowd Bill” she hissed as she moved the trunk across the room setting it beside two other similar trunks. “Love Betty”, she murmured.
Well the gang’s all here she said aloud to herself.
Carol was neatly packed in the middle trunk. She spotted a small drop of blood on the floor beside Carol’s trunk. Have to clean that up before she called the movers. Good old prissy Carol. Killing that bitch actually made her feel good. Little miss know it all. Tell her a sad story and she would one up you with a sad story that was even more a tear jerker. But she was her best friend. Or WAS her best friend. She started talking to the trunk.
“Carol, you stupid bitch. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out that you were having an affair with someone else? And a guy on top of that. I lived for your touch. The memory of our first kiss still thrills me. You hurt me Carol. You really hurt me. That’s why I cut out your heart first. You broke mine so I’m taking yours. “Love Betty,” she murmured.
Darrell was in the last trunk against the wall. Darrell who thought he was God’s gift to women. Think again Darrell. After all his hype and macho moves he was a big disappointment when it came to actually performance. The sack where’s it’s at baby and you ain’t got it bucko. “Love Betty,” she murmured.
****** ****** ******
She started her prison sentence today in Jacksonville State Prison. She still remembered the jury foreman in his ill-fitting suit, a suit that had to be thirty years old, loudly proclaiming “guilty on all three counts.” She had declined my chances of a plea bargain. How could twelve people of my “peers” find me guilty of pre-medicated murder? But they did Betty, she said to herself. They did and now you will die a dried up an old angry prune.
“Peers.” She had no friggin peers. She had glanced up as each juror was polled and each said in turn “Yes” when the judge asked if they did indeed find her guilty of the three murders.
Walking down the corridor of “B” wing in the prison she noticed how noisy it is. Inmates shouting vulgar sayings. The rapping of tin cups on the bars. She is escorted, more like pushed, inside her new home for the remainder of her life. Ten feet by six with an open toilet with no lid. Everything is made out of concrete. A little cut out section in the door where they pass your meals to you. A bare bulb about ten foot off the floor gave off the only light. No sunshine in here. No sir!
She turned to the right and saw the blood red writing that said, “Welcome to the rest of your life.” Love Betty!
After a good opening, the story settles into repetition. Betty is not interestingly crazy. She just prides herself for clean meat-packing, no more. Petty resentments. This work needs to be rethought and repackaged.