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A clatter rings through the entire house as the night's unlucky victim collapses to the floor. The intruder had shoved her husband’s hunting knife directly into her spine. The lady twists as she falls, hand grasping for a decorative porcelain statue of a dalmation as she falls to the hardwood with a thunk. Black and white spotted shards scatter across the room. One of them slices through the victim’s cheek, her convulsions sending her right into the path of a careening porcelain shard.
Behind painted lashes and a perpetual smile, the intruder admires her handiwork as she catches her breath. The soon-to-be corpse thrashes wildly, a rhythmic THUNK of flesh against hardwood joining the chorus of cicadas outside. The showman in the woman wishes she could have found a way to play something more appropriate on her bougie sound system.
Nothing to be done now, but the others would have gotten a kick out of something hokey and on the nose like Bad Case of Loving You blaring over those expensive speakers as she ended the good doctor. Would it be a little too specific? Maybe. Do they love this kind of shit? Absolutely. Under the mask a wry smile rises at the notion. A missed opportunity but one she will keep in her pocket for later the next time they run into someone in the field.
Instead, everyone would have to be satisfied with the spasmodic twitching and gurgling death rattles of the doctor and the gentle wobble of destroyed kitsch. Idly she wonders how much all this cost. Her eyes flit up from the dying doctor to the opulent television mounted to the wall. A rustic fire poker protrudes from a leaking LCD. It almost looks like the display is bleeding just like its owner bleeding out on the floor. That thing alone had to have cost a few thousand dollars. Along with countless expensive little trinkets, tonight’s excursion had to have at least ruined a couple million dollars worth of hideous shit.
As the woman silently takes inventory of all the smashed belongings around her, she becomes aware of her own labored breathing. It's hard to breathe under these masks and the newly dead doctor definitely did some cardio. Inhale. Exhale. It's over.
Heavy footfalls behind the intruder draw her attention. The haze of the chase still in her mind, she instinctively turns to face the owner of the sound. Her favorite companion looks around the room, admiring the carnage. Privately, he confessed to her one day that he likes it when she smashes their belongings in the middle of their excursions. How could she say no? It was satisfying, and she knows what it does for him.
The excitement was written all over his body language. The masked man stopped moving so languidly. He had to be beaming under there. Her favorite home invader looks from the shards of the dog back to her. She tilts her head towards the wall and its colossal mounted television. Dutifully, he follows her request and looks up.
It wouldn’t be long before he would be on her. The intruder raises her arm, and offers her hand to her lover. Every bit of destroyed kitsch in this opulent living room was a secret token of affection shared between the couple. Unthinking, she interlaces her fingers with his blood-stained glove. She can’t stifle a light chuckle as he releases her hand to remove the glove. He takes her hand properly; she feels the man’s warmth spread through her. Idly, he traces arcs on the back of her hand with his thumb. In their brief time apart this night, he missed her. She could tell. Maybe they’ll gut the next one right beside each other. Ventilating some poor unsuspecting fuck hand in hand sounds transcendent.
Wrapping herself around her beloved’s arm, the pin-up masked woman rests her head on his shoulder. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breath relaxes her. Inhale, exhale. Her own breathing slows as she matches his.
Thunk. Thunk.
thunk.
Silence fills the room as the doctor’s death throes finally end. For a moment, all she hears is her love’s breathing and the choir of cicadas harmonizing outside. It’s a much quieter end to their dance than they usually have. Will he lament the lack of an intense ending to their gory little hobby or would this be enough for him? She wonders as she nuzzles into his shoulder further. The smell of exertion is nice on him. It seems the husband didn’t go down as easy as they initially thought.
How will her lover gush about the night's events when they get another moment? A smile tugs at her lips under her mask as she considers it. The private excitement they share means more to her than he knows. Dreamily, he’d muse about what their Dateline specials would look like when this all comes to an end. They’d talk about names they’d be called. How they’d try to rationalize their motives. Would they even know about what she shared with him?
The masked woman untangles herself from her lover and moves to face him more directly. This time, she observes the spatter that had soaked that smiling burlap mask. He was anointed by the events of the night. It kindles the butterflies in her stomach to life. Her mind races with the possibilities. She shivers with anticipation, thinking of him shoving his axe into the husband’s waiting flesh. Draping her hands over his shoulders, she draws him closer. Under her mask, her lips part. As frustrating as it is, they had to stay on for now. Their work is not fully done until they’ve left.
How many times have they done this together now? The man tilts his head down to meet her. The woman presses her forehead to his. The cheap plastic mask makes a sound at the contact. Even through their masks, they can feel each other. They can enjoy the quiet of the now empty McMansion. Later, he will ask her about how it transpired with the quickly cooling corpse at their feet. It wasn’t clean. She’d confess to him through a wistful smile, sparing him no gory detail. He is going to look at her with rapt attention, beautiful blue eyes meeting hers as she tells him how the victim whimpered while she pursued her.
He has such nice eyes. When the light hits him a certain way, A contented hum escapes the intruder as she breathes in her lover’s warmth. What was better than this?
“Are you two done?” That caustic tinge in their young companion’s voice could only mean one thing. She was ready to leave.
“Not quite.” The woman deadpans under her breath, a private response just for him. She pulls herself in tighter, embracing her favorite killer for just one more moment before releasing him and turning to her second favorite.
“We’re done.” The intruder responds to the younger woman. “Nothing left here for us.” Her rising smirk bleeds through her tone of voice. Her eyes meet his. They truly were such nice eyes.
Anticipation rises in the woman’s stomach. It never gets less exciting to leave behind such a tableau, knowing what waits for her afterwards.