Whisper
Tim Marquitz

Despite the scores of women I've killed, all thoughts of which I've cast aside as easily as their broken bodies, I couldn't get the raven-haired beauty out of my head. 

I'm not sure what it was, which had so inflamed my desire, but I knew from the very moment I saw her, she had to be mine. Perhaps it was the tantalizing scent of her perfume that beckoned to me as I crept up behind her; the tempting allure of feminine musk and raw sensuality. Maybe it was the way she walked; her shapely legs extending from her short skirt, the muscles rippling with the lean strength of a lioness. It might have been the fire I saw flare up within her sea green eyes when I wrapped my hands around her ivory throat.

I believe it was the latter that enthralled me. She didn't go quiet to the grave, but fought with every ounce of her being. Unlike the rest who looked up at me, doe-eyed and pathetic, begging for mercy or offering me their flesh in trade for their lives. 

As if I couldn't take both. 

But she was different. My nameless queen never once stooped to whoring herself so she might draw another breath. She never broke down and cried, nor tried to scream. She punched, and kicked, and clawed until her eyes bulged from her beautiful face, the veins in her temples pulsing under the pressure of my grip. She even managed to bite me once when I leaned in too close, overeager in my need to experience every aspect of our final moment together. 

It was a good wound, just above the collarbone; one I'd cherish forever. 

 But ultimately, even she could not defy me. With little more than a subtle, quiet sigh, her life slipped away. My rampant pulse slowed, like her heart, fading into silence. My infatuation, however, could not be so easily extinguished. 

As had been my wont so many, many times before, I photographed my now lifeless princess, capturing the ephemeral moment. 

The bruises of my tender caress stood out black against her porcelain neck. Her voluptuous lips, stained in the moist crimson of my blood, seemed to me a siren's call, a lure of promises unfulfilled. I know not how I resisted her ethereal charms, the need to take her there and then, but I did, tearing my eyes from hers with a sigh of bitter regret.

With time set against me I finished the immortalization of my fallen angel, then prepared to hide all evidence of my crime. It was at that moment I realized pictures alone would not satisfy my appetite. I wanted the ignorant masses to grieve as I did, so I might learn more about my fiery queen through their commiserations. Sound bite by incessant sound bite, I would explore the life she had led before, the world along with me. Our existence would be better for having known her, if only in death.

Immediately, I knew what must be done. No matter the consequences, I chose to leave her body where it lay, splayed out for all to see on the cold, asphalt street. And when the light of day would rise to pay homage to her beauty, its luminescence would pale beside her radiant divinity. Humanity would know its goddess.

Frantic, like an adulterer fleeing the tussled bed of a lover before we might be discovered together, I raced from the scene. My heart pounded out a crescendo of deafening beats deep within my ears until I was safely ensconced at home. The sound of the door, as it slammed shut behind me, set my whirling thoughts at ease. 

And though I knew it to be too soon, I hurried to the television to seek news of my beloved. For hours I sat perched on the edge of my chair, breathless and giddy, searching the channels for a sign she'd been found. Yet, I heard no mention. And as the day awakened and the golden orb of the sun crept into the sky, visible through my living room window, I had become impatient.

Several more hours passed and my excitement had waned considerably. I began to tire, my energy spent. My hand ached from clutching the remote, but my heart ached far worse. Saddened they had yet to find my love, or had chosen not to reveal they had, I consoled myself with my memories. How warm she had felt as she lay beneath me, how passionate she had been when I held her life in my hands. 

With amorous thoughts beginning to replace my discouragement, my patience had been redirected, pressed tight against the seam of my pants. Thinking now that news of her was more like a Christmas gift, which sits beneath the tree waiting for morning to be unwrapped, I chose to sleep so time would pass much faster and the wait would be less arduous. Once within the blanket's embrace, visions of my pale darling flittering about inside my head, I drifted off.

After what seemed like only minutes, because of the anxious nature of my sleep, I awoke to what I believed was someone whispering. I shook my head to clear the haze, the wound at my collar throbbing fierce, and listened close. At first I believed I only imagined the sound, caught up as I was in my pleasurable dreams, but then I remembered my deed. I sat upright, eyes wide, my ears pricked for any noise inside the house. For a terrifying moment I remained still, daring not even to breathe, but I heard no further evidence of the sound. Restless, my heart a thumping cadence, I crept from the bed and searched the house from cellar to rafter, but I could find no one there. I then went to the windows and scanned the darkness to see if perhaps I had been found out. I saw nothing in the streets that made me think I had been; no wailing police cars nor shadows observing me from the fluttering tree line.

Assured it had been nothing more than imagination, I returned to the television to hear tale of my beauty. I was to be disappointed once again. 

I could find no reference, of either her death or her life, on any of the news programs. Enraged at the callous disregard of my beloved's passing, I dressed in a rush and left the house to find her. While I knew this was unwise, the act of an amateur revisiting the scene of my crime, I could not bear the thought she might still be lying on the street unnoticed, undiscovered. That was unacceptable. I had to make it right.

When I arrived at the spot where she had breathed her last, I was torn between relief and confusion. She was no longer there. Not only was she gone, but there were no lines of caution tape to mark the scene, no detectives searching for clues; nothing to show she had ever been there. I was instantly appalled. How dare they sweep her away like dirt from the gutter without so much as acknowledging her existence? Blasphemy!

My fury raged like a kettle set to boil. I paced back and forth across the walk in my search for some sign of my beloved's whereabouts, any sign. I could find nothing.

Soon, my anger began to dissipate, anguish growing at the loss. My eyes began to moisten, my tears held at bay only by a fleeting professionalism. 

And as I knew would be the case, returning to the scene like a neophyte, my suspicious actions had been noticed. A shopkeeper, a robust elderly man from the closing grocery store across the road, confronted me. My first thought was to flee, to run from his questions and subtle accusations of guilt; desperation, I was emboldened to risk everything to find my love. I stood my ground.

I lied, saying I had heard tale of a murder that had occurred at that very spot the night before. I was simply curious to see what I could, as morbid as that might seem. The look he returned was one of mild disgust, tempered by something that appeared to be pity. He stared for a moment without saying a word, but then relented. I suppose he felt sorry for me, explaining there had been no one killed there, neither that night nor any before, that he could recall. 

Sensing no dishonesty in the old man's words, I held my emotions in check as I thanked him, then turned away. I felt his disapproving eyes watch me go. Under their gaze, I headed for home in a fog of hurt and confusion. My thoughts were in chaos, my cheeks wet with sorrow.

If the police had not found her, the coroner had not taken her away, and the old shopkeeper had never seen her, where could she be? That question reverberated deep inside my head. Where? It repeated itself over and over until it nearly drove me mad. Then suddenly, my heart broke with a crack, my knees going weak. I feared collapse as I imagined a scenario that could explain her disappearance. Could someone else have found my love and claimed her as his own? I died inside.

What right did he have to do such a thing? A hurricane of emotions stormed inside as I feared my queen would forever be lost, her name a mystery never to be solved. I sank to the floor in despair clutching at my head, my tears now running in torrents. 

It was then, when the darkest of moments had settled in upon me that I heard it again; a quiet whisper barely audible above my weeping grief. I froze, and with tendrils of silver and snot streaming unheeded down my face, I listened. For several minutes I heard nothing more, then just when I had chosen to give up, I heard it once again. Like a breeze rustling through the crisp branches of an autumn tree, I heard a voice. And though I had never heard her speak a word, I knew right then it could only be her: my queen.

Roused from my lament, I jumped to my feet wiping at my face in an attempt to make it presentable. And again the disembodied voice called out, but from whence it came I could not say. This time, however, I was sure I could make out my name within the willowy syllables, which floated to my ears like a seraphim's choir on high. Certain this could be no one else, I cried out to my love, begging for her to show herself. The joy in my voice was like that of a leper, learning of a cure. 

A gentle tap at the window behind me answered my call. I whirled about, my heart fluttering like a million butterflies in flight. There through the glass did I see my beloved. Her raven-haired tresses flowed, waving serpentine in the gentle wind; her sensuous lips still stained with the crimson of our secret encounter. I blinked hard to clear my eyes of their flowing tears, so I might see her more clearly. In the moment it took me to do this, she had vanished. 

Aghast, unwilling to lose her again, I raced to the window and threw it open wide, shattering the glass in my zeal. I ignored the pelting shards, which rained down upon me, while I leaned against the windowsill to look outside. She was nowhere to be found. My fluttering heart had become a stone cast into a desolate sea. It sunk beneath the surface and lay heavy within my chest.

Then, as dread threatened to engulf me, I called out to her again, pleading for her to show herself so I might be blessed by her beauty once more. There was no response. In desperation I dropped to my knees in humble supplication amidst the broken glass, the shards cutting deep wounds that flowed red with proof of my dedication.

My scarlet entreaties must have moved her, for it was then she graced me with her delicate voice; a plaintive cry for love; to be held; to be worshipped. And I, ever her adorer, promised her all that, and much, much more. 

I rose from my bloody altar of self-flagellation, paying no heed to my wounds, while I begged for her to appear. To be denied sight of her was heart-rending. I could take it no more. 

She whispered a reply, but her voice had quieted some, the words unintelligible. I repeated my appeal and she responded, but still her voice seemed without strength. Fearing I could lose her still, I implored her to come and stand beside me, so I might hear her words and bask in their glory.

Suddenly, I felt her breath on the back of my neck, the cold chill of the tomb. I turned slowly so my rabid enthusiasm would not scare her. Then at last, I came face to face with my love. Her emerald green eyes stared at me and I could see myself reflected within their glorious depths. Her beauty enraptured me as I reached to touch her delicate face, so I might confirm she was truly there. 

Like a cat, yearning for affection, she leaned into my palm, lending her strength to the caress. With a smile men would conquer nations for, or even kill their very mothers, she spoke to me. But as before, her voice was but a tenuous wisp. 

As these were the words of my goddess, I swore I would not be denied them. I pulled her in close, her soft breasts pressed hard against my chest, my hand tangled within her obsidian locks. She lovingly obliged me, seeming to understand what I intended. She nuzzled against my neck, near to my ear. In praise of her, I beseeched her to repeat herself as I held her in a tight embrace; a shroud of impassioned desire. She did just that... 

...right before she bit down upon my neck.

Her teeth sunk deep into my flesh, the wound paralyzing. 

"Fool," is what she had been whispering. She had called me a fool. And as I stood there, eyes clenched tight in pain, unable to move while the blood was drawn from my veins, I felt compelled to agree. 

I had believed it was I who had chosen her when first we met, but it had been the opposite. She had lured me in and now, I had become her prey.

With the end fast approaching, I could see the ghosts of all of my victims standing in a defiant line behind her. Their angry eyes glared as they cheered my demise. Their spectral voices cried out for revenge. An agonizing moment later, their cadaverous will was done, though it seemed my life was far from over. 

I opened my eyes to see my mistress hovering above, the crumbling dirt walls of a grave surrounding me. With a frightful laugh, which sent angels scurrying for the light of their Lord, she told me of my fate. 

I was forever to remain within my casket, buried deep within the earth. I gasped as I heard the sentence pronounced. She but smiled as the scent of my terror reached her. With malevolent amusement, she spoke words of hollow comfort, assuring me I was not to be alone in my imprisonment. The ghosts of all the women I've murdered would be bound to my tomb, as well. 

For all eternity, their whispered, vengeful voices would creep inside my skull like the roaches soon to crawl upon my worthless flesh. And for evermore, I would hear nothing, save for my victim's spirited scorn and the sound of my own pitiful screams, until madness drowned them all.