Appalachian Galapagos (30 page)

So here I am, walking down the street. Up ahead is a streetlight that's been broken by some kid with a rock. This is where I'll make my getaway. As soon as I'm in the dark, I jump into the bushes. Instantly, I turn my light clothes into dark and my ski mask is on my head.

As soon as I pull the mask over my face I am filled to the rim with power.

I feel like I'm unstoppable.

I'm now behind the bushes of my friend's yard, Paul Russo. Well, he's not actually my friend, but we do carpool to work every day. Paul is the most macho guy at the office. He's always sticking his chest out, talking about how he's been working out, and all these chicks are coming on to him, and
blah-fucking-blah-blah-motherfucking-blah
. You can just imagine how interesting I found it when I peered into his basement window one night and saw
Paula
Russo. Yeah, Paul's a transvestite. Every night he goes down to his basement and lip-syncs to Donna Summer disco songs in the drag. The next day at work, he was once again up to his testosterone-filled speeches, but I know the real score.

Don't ever try to fuck with me, Paul. I know things about you that your momma doesn't know. And, oh yeah, I got me some real
interestin
' photographs. We wouldn't want someone to accidentally fax them someday to the office, would we Paul?

See what I mean about power? My nightly observances have caused me to boil over with omnipotence.

I walked over to the back yard and jumped the fence. Now I was in the yard of another one of my co-workers, Jimmy Mosley. Now Jimmy never wanted to go to any of the business receptions, he always kept to himself. He was a nice enough guy, but I didn't really respect him until the night I peered into his upper window. I actually had to climb up a trellis, which I don't need to remind you is highly dangerous. I got to the top and looked through the window. My mouth dropped open when I saw Jimmy
doin
' it.

Jimmy was sucking his own dick.

Yep, you heard that right—it's the weirdest thing that I have seen thus far. Now I don't hold it against Jimmy when he refuses to go out with us guys, instead I have the utmost respect for him. I tried it, but failed because it was too damn small. I guess I have to reluctantly say that is a good thing. Shit, if I could do what Jimmy does, I'd never leave the house either. Can you blame him?

I looked up at Jimmy's window and contemplated going back up for a rerun of his amazing feat. Nah, I got a new one to check out tonight and it's only three houses down. When I get to the new house, I climb the wooden fence and enter the dark back yard.

Near the back of the fence is a two-car garage. The house was built in a pseudo-Victorian style. The upper floor has a balcony, which is going to make my job very easy. Would you believe that God was good enough to conveniently place a large oak tree that would enable me to get to that balcony with no trouble at all?

As I walked through the yard, my foot sinks into some mud. Cursing, I pull my boot away, trying to shake some of the wetness out. It had rained this afternoon. A room by the balcony was the only room that was lit up. In front of the tree, up on the second floor, was a window.

I got to the base of the tree and began to climb. It was an old tree, thick limbs. The window was shaded up—I wasn't going to see a damn thing from here. I could see shadows dancing across the shade, indicating that someone was inside. I eyed up the balcony reluctantly, wondering if it was really worth the risk. Once I was up there, I was in a very vulnerable position if the people inside decided that they wanted to come out and enjoy the cool evening.

I was about to swing over and jump to the balcony when the whole yard filled up with light, the back door opening. The man with the slicked-back hair came out, carrying a garbage bag. He moved through the yard, carefully stepping around the muddy area. I prayed that he wouldn't look up into the tree and see me. If he noticed the wet hole that I had left with my shoe, he didn't show it. He walked over to a garbage can by the garage, threw the bag inside, and disappeared back into the house. The light went back out. He never looked up. I waited about ten minutes for my heart to calm down and I climbed over to the balcony, doing a kind of daredevil move that I have to say made me proud. It's a shame that no one was there to witness me do it.

On the balcony was a three-person couch. Upon a small table was one of those scented candles that everybody seems to be buying these days. It smelled of lilac, which was a scent that I always liked. A sliding glass door led into the house. It was covered with a drape, but there was at least a two-inch crack that I would be able to see through.

I crept quietly up to the window and peered inside.

A woman was lying on the bed, totally nude. Her dark hair was cut short, a style that I had always found attractive. She had the most amazingly high cheekbones and a body that would put any of the girls to shame in the pages of
Playboy
. Much to my surprise this was a different woman than the one I had seen when they had first moved in. This was a good thing, because to tell you the truth, I kinda liked this one better.

I was beginning to sweat so I pulled off my ski mask and shoved it in my pants. She was staring at the ceiling, her eyes rolling around as if she was drunk or high.

The bedroom was the kind of place that you would bring a girl like this. It was decorated almost entirely in red, even the pillows. Erotic pictures covered the walls, many of them depicting scenes of hardcore S&M.

A shadow fell across the bed, disturbing my sexual fantasies of what I could do to her. There was a television on the dresser, pornographic images on the screen.

A man, entirely dressed in skintight leather, stepped in front of the bed. There were no sleeves and his muscled arms protruded out. He was holding what appeared to be a black leather mask in his right hand. His whole ass was showing through a hole in the back of the pants. It was the same man with the slicked back hair that had taken out the garbage about ten minutes earlier.

The girl looked up, smiling drunkenly. He put the mask on his head; it had a zipper on the back, which he promptly used. Now all I could see was his eyes, nose, and mouth. In seconds, he was upon her, his hips thrusting roughly up and down. I guess foreplay wasn't part of this guy's repertoire.

He brought his hands up, which were covered with tight leather gloves, and wrapped them around her throat. Her mouth opened and her tongue protruded out, but she wasn't trying to stop him, which totally took me off guard. As he squeezed her throat, he drove into her violently.

I was familiar with this kind of thing. I think it was called autoerotic asphyxiation. Supposedly, if you cut the oxygen off from your brain while having sex you will achieve a heightened orgasm. Some years back, teenagers were accidentally killing themselves all over the country doing this sort of thing, I saw it on
Oprah
. They tie a rope to the ceiling and then put a noose around their neck. They would then masturbate while doing this incredibly stupid thing. Of course, they passed out and then died because the rope was still around their necks.

Finally she attempted to stop him, her hands trying to pull him away. He kept going. The veins stood up on her arms as she struggled to save her life. He squeezed harder, leaning in with his weight, teeth clenched. She scratched at him, her nails leaving deep wounds in his forearms.

At this point, I could visibly see the strength leaving her body. A minute later, her hand hung limply over the side of the bed.

I was stunned. I felt as strangled as the girl on the bed. I had just watched a man murder a woman and had done nothing about it. I was as guilty as he was. One of those hands might as well have been mine.

He came walking towards the balcony door.

Not having enough time to climb off, I crouched on the side of the couch. I was just ducking down when the glass door slid open. He walked over to edge of the balcony and unzipped his mask. I prayed that he wouldn't decide to light the candle.

"Oh, blessed, blessed oxygen," he whispered.

He stood only feet in front of me, his hands running through his sweat drenched hair. After about a minute, his breathing became more relaxed. He turned around, threw his mask on the couch right near my head, and walked back into the bedroom. He left the glass door wide open.

I heard his footsteps going down the stairs and I was finally able to exhale. It was time to get the fuck out of here. I climbed out from the side of the couch and risked a quick glance into the bedroom.

The woman was still lying on the bed where he had left her. Other than the red finger marks embedded into her throat, she appeared very much alive. I had to know for sure; maybe she had just passed out.

I slid silently into the bedroom, listening carefully for any signs of my autoerotic friend. I could hear him clattering things around downstairs. It sounded like pots and pans. Have sex and kill a girl, cook a hot meal—now that's the perfect evening for sick fucks, eh? All you need is some
Enya
on the CD player.

I tiptoed towards the bed. Not that it mattered much because my shoes sunk right into the thick red carpet.

The girl was definitely a corpse, her bloodshot eyes frozen in death. There were glistening tear tracks going down the side of her cheeks. I felt for a pulse, but there was nothing.

A large plaster head of Jesus was on the dresser, his eyes looking at me sadly from underneath his bloody crown of thorns. It's a sick world that we live in, folks, when a Peeping Tom like myself becomes suddenly normal by comparison. How in the hell does a sick fuck like this factor Jesus into his sadomasochistic life?

Suddenly, I realized what must have happened to the first girl that I had seen two months earlier. I winced when I remembered the muddy ground outside. I didn't think that I was going to be visiting any graveyards tonight, but it looked like that was the case.

I looked down at the carpet and I gasped. I had tracked mud into the house.

I ran out of the door, throwing the ski mask back on my face as I went. I was down the tree and out of the yard in minutes. As soon as I felt I was at a safe distance, I made my way back to my house. I went into my back yard and quietly entered my house. I jumped into the shower, trying desperately to wash away the feelings of nausea that were slamming into me every minute or so. After showering for about ten minutes, I dried off and went to the kitchen. I poured myself a tall glass of iced tea and went to sit in the living room.

I didn't turn on any lights. I only sat in the dark trying to think of what to do next. Tulip, my dog, came over and nudged my leg. I pushed her away.

I couldn't call the police. What was I supposed to tell them? Also, I couldn't tell my wife, for she would most definitely just divorce me for watching in the first place.

I thought of the way in which the girl had died and I was astonished to find that I felt no pity or sympathy whatsoever. I thought about the way that her tongue protruded out of her mouth as he choked her and I was surprised to find that I had an erection. On some deep dark level of my psyche I had actually enjoyed what had happened. The nausea that I felt must have been only the fear wearing off. I had come uncomfortably close to getting caught. For one thing, I had left muddy tracks in his bedroom.

I smiled when I came to an inevitable revelation: tomorrow I would be going back.

I walked down the hallway and into our bedroom. My wife had left the nightlight on as she always did. I stood over the bed and watched as her chest rose and fell in the slow and relaxed breathing of sleep. I had never noticed this before, but she had the most beautiful throat. It looked regal. How many times had I looked at her face and never noticed that swan-like neck? I imagined my hands around her throat and felt myself becoming aroused. Oh yes, I would most definitely be going back tomorrow. I entered my bed and caressed my wife into awaking.

It was one of the most memorable nights of lovemaking that we ever had.

The next day at the office, I could not stop thinking about the murder. I even watched the scene from different angles, sometimes even picturing myself in the lead role while the murderer watched from the window.

I was definitely going back tonight. I figured it was unlikely that he would kill a girl so soon, but figured it was worth a shot. Hopefully this was something that he did on a regular basis. I floated through the day on an exhilarating natural high. Never had my nightly experiences left me feeling this way.