Read Online Killer Career by Morgan Mandel - Free Book Online Page B

his nostrils, he stifled a sneeze.
    He crossed the threshold and continued down the hallway to a
partially opened bedroom door. Inside, the glow of a nightlight
illuminated a woman’s supine form. A satin sheet covered her from
the waist down. Fascinated, he watched the pear-like breasts rise and
fall in cadence with her soft breaths.
    She looked tiny and helpless, warm from sleep. Even in the dark, her
wispy golden hair shone like a halo. Something stirred deep within
him, making him harden. He knew her. Only last night, he’d tasted
her skin. She’d teased and touched him. He’d plunged himself deep
into her warm wetness.
    Then she’d spoiled it by saying he wasn’t the only one. For that,
she’d pay.
    He stared down at her sleeping form. She was lovely, but he’d not
be dissuaded. With renewed purpose, he inched closer.
    A floorboard creaked as he reached the side of the bed. Her eyes flew
open. When she recognized him, she frowned.
    “How did you get in? I thought you left the key.”
    “Can’t keep track, can you?”
    “Don’t cop an attitude. I want you out.”
    “I need to do something. It won’t take long. Then you won’t see
me again.”
    Her forehead puckered in confusion. He raised his arm to enlighten
her. The pick glinted in the soft light.
    Her eyes widened. The veins in her neck expanded.
    She jerked upright. “What are you doing?” Her voice sounded
husky from sleep.
    “Let’s call it getting even.”
    Ah, this was the fun part. Smiling, he waved the pick back and forth
and watched her eyes follow its dancing rhythm.
    Like a kitten pouncing at a string, she sprung for it. He laughed and
snatched it away.
    She pursed her lips. “I don’t care for your nasty little game.”
    “It’s not a game. Say a quick prayer.”
    He swung the pick down in a wide arc. She caught his hand and jerked
it in the opposite direction. Her talon-like fingernails dug into his
wrist. He’d underestimated her.
    “You bitch,” he said, wincing at the pain.
    He’d dole her some of her own medicine. With his free hand, he
grabbed her by the wrist and pushed it sideways until it snapped.
    She gasped. His hand was free.
    Clutching one palm over the other, she stared up at him, her mouth
twisted in a grimace. “You’re crazy,” she whispered.
    “And you’re dead.”
    A rush of power filled him. He felt supercharged as, grasping the
pick, he watched her cringe.
    The fun was over. With a whoosh, he plunged the instrument down,
straight into her neck.
    A soft gurgle escaped, then all was silent. Warm blood skewered onto
his glove, splattered over the sheets. A smell of copper permeated
the room, as the clock in the kitchen chimed ten times. Nine minutes
were all it had taken to slide a human being from this world to the
next - - an awesome accomplishment.
    He smiled in satisfaction. He’d purchased his peace. She’d never
torment him or any other man again. It was time to leave. Still, he
couldn’t resist one last look.
    Marring what had once been a graceful neck, the pick jutted sideways,
a symbol of primitive justice for everyone to see. One less deceitful
woman to taint the earth.
    “Goodbye, my darling,” he whispered.
     
    * * *
     
    Early morning sunlight peaked through the mini-blinds of Tyler’s
spacious office above Lake Michigan. He blinked against the glare.
Damn, he was tired. That chapter of his new novel, Goodbye, My
Darling, had proven incredibly intense.
    He felt dizzy, as if he’d been drugged. In a way he had been, but
by something more powerful than any known substance, his imagination.
Like an addiction, something drove him into the fantasy world. He
couldn’t live without it, though each time he emerged, he felt more
drained. The pain in his abdomen made him reach for the antacid
bottle next to the monitor.
    As so often happened, bits of reality shifted from one world to the
next. He rubbed his sore, reddened wrist. He’d have trouble typing
tomorrow, but he would. He had to.
    Sudden