Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

watched, starting later this evening. I came to warn you. If you mess her up anymore, they’re going to start asking questions. You need to leave, Mr Donnelly. Now. Please. For your own sake.’

There was another long, intimidating silence, until eventually Donnelly threw his head back and laughed manically. He approached Andy slowly, a sinister grin on his face. ‘Well, well, well, you’re not the completely useless piece of shit I thought you were.’ He patted Andy sharply several times on his face. Tucking the knife back into his waistband he headed towards the door.

‘Sort that out,’ he said, gesturing towards Markita without even looking back. Andy and Markita remained rooted to the spot for several moments until certain he was gone. Then Markita began to cry hysterically, like a wailing banshee, and it took all Andy’s best efforts not to join in.

50

Maya had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor and was now dead to the world. He lay on the pillow next to her watching her sleep. He grinned widely to himself as she let out a sudden snore. God, she was beautiful. Her long lashes framed her cheeks, her hair a mass of untamed curls spread across the pillow.

He could quite easily lay his head next to hers and succumb to some much-needed sleep, but he knew he had stayed too long already.

Maya let out a little snort as she turned suddenly, rolling onto her side. Her face was now turned towards his and he found himself catching his breath as he gazed at her, thoroughly mesmerised. She was so close. Her breath tickled his face, and he could still smell wine. It had a sharp sour smell, but he didn’t mind. He was too captivated by her beauty.

He could lie here all night, just watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful. She looked so perfect. She was perfect. Unable to resist any longer, he leant forward and very lightly, very gently, kissed her on her cheek. Unexpectedly, Maya’s eyes flew open, wide with shock.

‘Hello,’ said Lurch. ‘What’s your favourite colour? Your dad wants to know.’

51

Mark Posner. Drug dealing piece of shit. It’s laughable how much of his lengthy prison sentence he actually served. The system is a joke. When I think of the number of lives lost because of the dodgy batches of gear he supplied over the years. It’s heartbreaking and an insult to the families. The junkies that survived caused so much misery for themselves and others, they’d have been better off dead. Justice isn’t always issued in court though.

To think how he ended up. He’d made a point of never touching the drugs he sold. He knew what a slippery slope it was. He was smarter than that. He’d witnessed the effects of addiction first-hand and would never be so stupid.

But he’d only been inside a fortnight and was hooked. He’d take or do anything to temporarily anaesthetise the harsh reality of prison life. His baby-faced looks had served him well when he was dealing. His sharp suits and swagger had the addicts flocking to him. Inside, that same pretty face made him easy prey. And he was equally sought after. Now he was out, he was homeless and giving head for the price of a bag of smack. Poetic justice really.

With everything that was going on, I’d been unable to sleep that night. I’d been so preoccupied thinking about who to kill next. I hadn’t even intended it to be Posner. He had just presented himself as a glorious opportunity. There was something soothing about strolling around undesirable areas in the dark. I was goading trouble. Tempting fate. The next thing I knew, I found myself in an area frequented by the homeless and drug addicted.

Bridge Street is a stretch of canal on the edge of town, shrouded by an old railway bridge. The towpath is covered in pools of vomit that glisten in the moonlight. The cover and lack of CCTV footage in that area gives them the perfect place to come and go without being observed. They move like ghosts here. Unseen and unheard. Unclean and unrepentant.

He was alone when I found him. I almost didn’t recognise him. He’d aged so much. Toothless and cadaverous. Slumped across the towpath with lungs full of spice. He was a zombie. He didn’t react when I nudged him in the ribs. He was already half dead. It didn’t take too much effort to roll his skeletal form over a couple of times until he dropped into the moody water.

Splash.

52

Maya was trapped in a living nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She willed her legs to move, but they remained paralysed. The giant’s face was so close to hers, she thought he was going to kiss her again. She could smell his foul breath and stale sweat. Slowly he backed away, not once breaking eye contact. Then, surprisingly deft for a man of his considerable size, he swept softly out of the bedroom. Despite the deafening sound of her racing heart, Maya heard him quietly click the door behind him.

She remained frozen on the bed. Frantically listening out for signs that someone else might be in the apartment. She could still smell the man’s presence. Still feel the weight and see the indentation on the bed where he had lay. She suddenly became aware of the feel of his wet kiss on her cheek. Retching, she ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time.

Vomit pumped out of her ceaselessly until she was empty, leaving her wobbly-legged and coated in sweat. Still dry heaving, her stomach was wracked with pain. Barely able to stand, she knelt up towards the sink and grabbed her flannel. She scrubbed frantically at her cheek. Scrubbing away the dirtiness of the kiss. What the fuck?

Her limbs were shaking. A combination of fear and the after-effects of having vomited so much. She plucked a pair of nail scissors out of the container