Captive (Social Experiments #1) (5 page)

But this wasn’t a fair fight. This was stone cold vengeance.

“You fucking fag, when I get off this floor I’m gonna kill you!”

“When you get off the floor? You could barely walk down the fucking stairs.”

Greg shambled to his hands and knees, then he lunged at me. I’d underestimated the pain-numbing effect of alcohol, so that was my downfall. The ground jumped up at me.

“Fucking pussy. I always knew you’d try some shit like this.” He punched me once, his fist a sledgehammer to my face. I blocked the second, but he drove his knuckles into my body instead and crushed all of the air out of my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, but I recovered enough to tussle with him on the workout mat.

I reached for the nearest thing at hand.

A ten pound barbell I’d bought for Yvonne crashed into Greg’s skull and promptly ended the fight. He jerked once, and then his body became limp weight. I rolled the bastard off of me and to the side.

Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I relaxed and savored the moment’s reprieve. I even inhaled a few relieved breaths, aware of how absolutely quiet the basement became. I ignored the explosion of pain in my ribs and sat up for a look at my rival. “Dumb asshole.” Greg didn’t respond. His chest didn’t move either.

“Shit,” I whispered. I quickly scurried onto my knees and touched two fingers unnecessarily to the side of his neck. Greg didn’t even have a feeble pulse. A finger beneath his nose confirmed a lack of humid air escaping his lungs. I’d hit him too hard, evident by the dark, gooey blood seeping from his open head injury.

I had a dead man in my basement. “Fuck!” My fingers shook as I ran them through my hair. Darting my gaze around, I tried to think what I needed to do. I had a dead man in my basement. I’d
killed
.

The cops would question my motives and wonder why I brought him here. They’d investigate my past, my dad, mom, and my relationship with Yvonne. Someone would draw a damning conclusion about my love for her and Greg’s untimely demise.

Greg had openly struck her at the party, after all. Everyone saw it.

Even if I won the case for my self-defense, his family would sue me for wrongful death. They’d take grandpa and grandma’s home. A judge would award them every penny from dad’s military benefits and mom’s life insurance. I couldn’t let that happen, but I didn’t know what to do.

The answer came to me with sudden clarity.

Yvonne and I liked to jam to hard rock in the basement during our workouts, but we had elderly tenants and a single mom above us. Earlier this year, I paid contractors to refinish the main basement level and soundproof it. Then I stumbled across a treasure trove of Boston history behind a loose cabinet.

My family’s brownstone hid a proud secret from the 1800s. My great, great grandparents were proud abolitionists and helped hundreds of slaves escape to Canada thanks to a deep underground bunker beneath our basement. It was my greatest discovery, and I only wish my grandfather lived to see it. No one, not even Yvonne, knew about it.

It was a perfect hideout.

The perfect place to hide a body.

***

It took me most of the morning to bury Greg’s corpse and the evidence. By the time I concluded my work, I was drenched in sweat, my hair was plastered against my face, and my t-shirt clung against the contours of my torso.

Originally, the small crawl space behind the ancient armoire led into a rough chamber with a tunnel that stretched nearly 200 feet before it reached a collapsed wall. Like many old basements, a dank and cool weight hung in the air - perfect temperature for an adequate wine cellar. Two brittle sconces, rusted from age and years in the damp environment, held the remnants of old torches. The brick and mortar ceiling sloped down into reinforced walls topping a concrete and packed earth floor.

And it was now Greg’s final resting place.

I threw the trowel away and returned to the main basement without a minute to spare; Yvonne appeared within the doorway at the top of the stairs just as I shut the circuit breaker panel. That was my addition. An armoire looked too obvious, so I believed I was honoring the wishes of my ancestors by installing a more believable safety measure.

My chest heaved with exertion. I must have looked like a crazed man to her, and if she thought that, she isn’t too far from the mark. I just killed her boyfriend and hid his remains within the wall of my grandparents’ basement. I’m now a murderer. There’s no going back. I can’t undo this. I don’t have any choice but to truck on and pray I don’t see his face in my nightmares.

An uncertain smile flitted across her features, and then her blue eyes traveled over my dirty sweats and sweat-stained tee. “Are you okay? What happened to your face?”

“Yeah. I’m cool. Nothin’ big. Thought I’d work out in the basement for once. You know. Get some exercise. Tripped over a barbell I left on the floor.”

Yvonne didn’t buy my excuse. “Uh huh. Are you hiding Christmas gifts in the basement again?” she demanded.

Christmas gifts? In summer? I stared at her. Did she even remember last night? “Yeah… That’s it. You busted me. Christmas gifts.” That part is true at least. Last year I hid presents for all the tenants and a few of our mutual friends in the basement. I did it again last week, stowing a pair of stiletto heels in a storage bin. I saw her eyeball them too hard through a department store window downtown, so I rounded back the next day and bought them.

I will never understand why heels can cost 200 bucks. There’s barely any material.

“Gonna get a shower,” I mumbled. I avoided eye contact to slip past her into the narrow hallway instead, eager to avoid more awkward questions. Part of me thought that if we locked gazes, she’d see the truth and know the reality of my crimes.

“I made lunch-”

“Not hungry.” I shut the bedroom door in her face and huddled on the floor for a half hour, struggling to process the morning’s events that had caught up to me.

I killed a man, buried him in an abandoned sub-basement, and now I had to pretend everything was okay with his girlfriend. I was going to go to prison for the rest of my life; my future was ruined.

“Jake?” she called again through the door. “Are you-”

“No, I’m not fine. Just leave me alone, okay?”

“Jake… Is this about last night? Look, I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

Sorry didn’t erase the hard cock she left me with half the night. I bit back a sharp retort and refused to acknowledge her apology. “I’ll be out in a few. Just getting some stuff together so I can shower. I’m sweaty and gross and I overdid it with the weights.” Heaving around a dead football player was the ultimate workout apparently. I’d feel it by evening.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not mad. I’ll be in a better mood and ready for lunch once I get a shower.”

“Okay… I’ll make you a plate,” she spoke up hopefully.

About a half hour later, I left the bathroom and encountered a full blown luncheon. When Yvonne wanted to butter me up, she usually prepared a feast. Today was no exception.

“The hell is all this?”

A plate stacked tall with roast beef and horseradish cheddar sandwiches waited for me on the table next to a bowl of my favorite chips. That part was easy enough, sure. But she’d also made broccoli slaw and her mom’s German potato salad. Mint sprigs floated in a pitcher of iced tea. My eyebrows rose toward the top of my skull when she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven. Was I in the shower long enough for this?

“A meal?” she replied. Her puzzled response sounded like a question to my ears. Like she didn’t know what the hell she was doing either.

“You haven’t gone into full Betty Crocker mode in months,” I pointed out.

“Well… Finals are over now… and I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Something nice for me would have been giving me a blowjob instead of fleeing to her bedroom last night. But I had worse things to worry about, like the dead man a few hundred feet beneath us. Would he start to smell? Had I buried him deep enough? Certainly the fresh layer of concrete mix would do it.

More importantly, would someone piece together the disappearance and realize he’d last come to my home looking for his girlfriend?

“So sit and eat already, okay?” She poured my drink and set it down in front of me.

I stuffed my face to swallow the taste of her rejection. Eventually, the awkward air between us cleared, allowing friendly conversation about the upcoming graduation and pinning ceremony. She looked forward to that, and truthfully, so did I.

Yvonne’s nursing degree guaranteed a good, stable job. Sure, she might get some crap hours to start, but I couldn’t afford to put her up for pennies anymore.

“Hey, Jake?”

“Yeah?” I reached for another cookie from the plate centered on the table.

“Thanks for being a good friend.”

A boyfriend-killing friend, I thought, but I wisely kept the remark to myself. I used her cookies as an excuse for silence. Yvonne hadn’t made eye contact with me yet. Things weren’t going to recover after all.

“What for exactly?” I finally inquired after the third cookie. She refilled my glass of tea to the top and began to collect the plates littering the table.

“Cheering me up last night.

If I didn’t see the evidence with my own eyes, I’d have never discovered Greg’s abusive tendencies. Yvonne had applied her makeup well. Aside from the slight puffiness bordering her lower eyelid, no other trace of the damage remained. That kind of work required both talent and practice, leaving me to wonder one thing: how many bruises had she hidden behind foundation and powder? I’d never know.

The thoughts made me regret my actions a little less. I had even less remorse for the intimacy shared between us. If I had it to do again, I’d repeat my actions in a heartbeat.

“I’m gonna swing by Greg’s place and talk to him. Don’t wait up for me, alright?”

Good luck there. Butterflies of anticipation fluttered in my belly. I didn’t want to face the consequences of my actions, and now that I’d moved the body, buried him, and contaminated the crime scene, I couldn’t possibly phone the police and claim it was an unfortunate accident.

I didn’t even know if it was an accident now. Greg had it coming to him, and deep down, something in my subconscious rejoiced.

Yvonne dipped down to kiss my cheek in passing. Her lips left a warm feeling in their wake joined by an indescribable longing for more. She mussed my hair, grabbed her purse from the chair, and left me with the dishes.

All the while that I cleaned and restored the kitchen to its state prior to Hurricane Yvonne, I anticipated the possible outcomes of Greg’s disappearance. How long would it take for the police to suspect foul play? Without a body, they couldn’t prove anything.

Callers began to phone Yvonne for Greg by the end of the day. When visiting his apartment by bus didn’t work, she tried to ring him again on his cell. Thankfully, I’d taken the battery out of his phone and buried the device’s smashed remnants with his cold corpse. Nobody would be tracking that baby with GPS.

By the second day, circulating gossip revealed that he’d spent the night drinking, smoking pot, and getting head from a skanky girl at the party. No one saw him leave afterward and no one knew where he’d gone. His car remained on the road until a building resident had it towed Tuesday evening. Thankfully, nobody knew he’d ever walked to my home.

I was wrong to expect our friendship to return to its usual dynamic. Yvonne distanced herself from me over the days since our near-tryst on the sofa, and she accused me of lacking empathy.

It all came to a head on the morning of her graduation, after her parents phoned and announced they would arrive soon to fetch us both. I’d planned to drive her to the ceremony originally and meet her parents, but they were too thrilled to wait a second longer. Her mother told us to sit still.

Waiting gave us another chance to argue.

“I can’t believe Greg is going to miss his own graduation. I just don’t know what the hell has gotten into him.”

“More drugs probably,” I replied under my breath.

Yvonne jerked her head toward me. Her eyes narrowed and blushed heat spread over her face. Since we were waiting for her mom and dad, we sat in the lobby outside of our apartment door. I kept a wooden bench outside in the main foyer tucked between two heavy planters tended by the tenants on the fourth floor. Thanks to the smoky windows set in the thick wooden doors, indirect sunlight spilled over the African violets and lush foliage.

“That’s a shitty thing to say, Jake.”

“You heard what everyone said about him at the party, Yvonne. I’m surprised he hasn’t called for a bailout. The graduation’s probably better off without him.”

“Greg’s missing and you don’t even care! How could you be so mean?”

“The asshole punched you in the face and spent the rest of his night getting his dick sucked. Am I supposed to care?” Of course I didn’t feel bad.

“You’re just pissed off because I wouldn’t screw you.”

I flinched. I gave Yvonne ten years of loyal friendship, and this was the payment I received. I couldn’t speak to her, but I swallowed the furious explosion of rage boiling in my belly.