Who: Gilman and Dahlia. What: Blood for the blood album!! Where: Gilman’s trailer. When: January 4th, 8pm. Rating: A blind lady and her dog get murdered.
No interruptions, this time. Though he’d been wary of going through her trash to get a better idea of her schedule – Gilman could not be suspected, not for this – Gilman had done everything but, and tonight seemed like the night. His trailer had more pictures of her now, going from spooky to downright terrifying. Shots through her windows, close-ups of her face. Now it was happening. Now the album would finally get what it was owed. What had been stolen from it. It was only right, to put things back into their proper order. Gilman was a fan of order, of keeping things neat, of keeping it all tidy. He parked in front of her house (an oversight, perhaps, but it was dark and he wasn’t a criminal mastermind) and approached the door, knocking firmly so she could hear.
“It’s Gilman,” he said, shifting the bouquet of flowers in front of him. It was from yesterday’s batch so they were a little wilty, but they still smelled strong, and he needed to continue to play the part of the romantic idiot.
There was a bowl full of rat-poison laced ground chuck waiting for her dog, and even worse was in store for her. But Gilman was smiling. It was unfortunate that Dahlia couldn’t see the mad gleam in his eyes.
No interruptions.
---
The knock at the door shattered Dahlia’s music-induced reverie, and she nearly let the music box fumble from her pale fingers. Her breath hitched, unseeing eyes went wide, and she grasped it even tighter than before. It’s fine, she assured herself, gingerly setting the box aside so that she could reach for her phone to find out what time it was. According to Siri, it was eight o’clock, but that couldn’t be right. When she first sat down to listen to her music box, it was only one in the afternoon.
Had she really spent seven hours on the couch?
Her knees and back throbbed in agony when she did move to stand, an all too clear reminder that she hadn’t taken her anti-inflammatories for the day. “Shit,” she muttered, taken aback by this entire situation. It wasn’t like her to just waste the day away without so much as remembering to take her medication, and poor Lucy was probably itching for some attention. “Coming! Just give me a second.” There was no way she’d be going to the door looking like a hot mess. The only times Gilman had ever seen her had been after Jenny took the time to help her dress and do her hair and makeup. Today, her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and there was nothing glamorous about her high school tee-shirt and jeans. It would have to do.
After taking a moment to compose herself as best she could, she navigated the easy path to the door and pulled it open, hoping her smile would make up for her obvious lack of being put together. “Hey,” she greeted, already stepping aside to let him in, if he so pleased. “This is a nice surprise.” Their last date hadn’t exactly gone as either of them planned, and she still felt guilty over the entire thing. “Sorry it took so long to get to the door. I was --” Listening to my antique music box for seven hours? No, that didn’t sound right. “I passed out on the couch.”
When she realized she didn’t have her sunglasses on, Dahlia balked, instant wanting to apologize. Instead she retreated back into the living room and tried to remember when she’d taken them off last.
---
When she invited him in he outright scowled, his expression dark and angry, but he stepped inside anyway.
“Sorry if I woke you,” Gilman said, following her into the living room and lurking behind her, “I brought you flowers. I... thought we could give that New Years date another try. I even brought flowers to sweeten the deal.”
He wanted to be selfish, but like always, he would fucking wait.
“Are you all right?” he looked around the room, but everything looked like it was in place, “Did you lose something?”
---
Dahlia’s cheeks flushed a bright pink at the mention of flowers, and she paused in her search for the glasses long enough to turn back to face him - or, more accurately, where she assumed him to be. “Flowers?” she asked, her smile more genuine now, more natural. “That was sweet of you.”
There was no point in lying to him, was there? If he wanted to be in a relationship with a blind girl, he should have had a clue by now as to what he was getting into. “I, uh, I can’t find my glasses,” Dahlia admitted, fingers skimming the nearby coffee table, waiting for the familiar shape of the glasses she didn’t leave home without. “I guess I sat them somewhere before I laid down, but I don’t remember where.” They weren’t in their usual place, so all bets were off.
Finally, after feeling around for a minute or so, she thought to feel within the couch cushions and found them with a small sigh of triumph. “There.” She slid them on with practiced ease and smiled, already feeling more put together. Gilman knew she was blind, but knowing it and having a pair of useless, sightless eyes right before your own was something else entirely. “I’d be more than happy to give our New Year’s Eve date another shot.” Dahlia even sounded more like herself. It was amazing what a pair of sunglasses could do for a person.
---
“I don’t know, I’m intimidated now,” the joke was grating on him, but he was forcing himself to smile and to be sincere, “Only the coolest cats were sunglasses at night. You wouldn’t be too cool to come back to my place, would you?”
He cleared his throat, trying to sound awkward instead of impatient. Gilman had reached his limit for pathetic bullshit. He wanted her picture. He needed her picture. His sleep had been restless and there were dark circles under his eyes: TONIGHT. It would be now, if he weren’t such a patient, determined son of a bitch.
“I mean if it wouldn’t cramp your style or anything,” Gilman said quickly, “And I hope this joke isn’t upsetting you, because I’m running with it pretty far, here.”
---
“You know, I think I’m just cool enough to go back to your place,” she teased. “Just so long as you don’t mind the idea of a chaperone.” The chaperone in question was of the canine variety, and as if on queue, Lucy trotted up next to Dahlia and plopped down on her hindquarters, ready to lead Dahlia wherever she needed to go, her tail wagging eagerly behind her. She’d been cooped up all day, and her eagerness to go somewhere was almost palpable.
“Just give me a minute, and I’m all yours.” It took a little more than a minute - more like five, if she were being honest - but after taking her medicine (there was nothing that killed the mood like a sore back) and slipping on her tennis shoes, she was ready to go. “We can just pretend I’m wearing something sexy, right?” Dahlia asked, well aware that her outfit was nothing short of plain. “C’mon, Lucy.”
Sure to lock the door behind them, Dahlia followed Lucy out to Gilman’s car while fighting the urge to smile like an idiot. It had been a long time since someone surprised her with flowers and an impromptu date. She was allowed to be a little giddy, wasn’t she? “Thanks again for the flowers, Gilman,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “That’s really sweet.”
---
For a brief, angry second, Gilman thought she was going to call Jenny. He’d kill fucking both of them if that’s what it took.
But it wasn’t the blonde he was thinking of. It was one that he didn’t mind. He even smiled at Lucy. Unlike the other blondes in town, Lucy seemed very unlikely to get bitey. And he had a back-up plan, anyway.
“I’m glad it’s not too cheesy,” Gilman said, “It’s hard to navigate dating, anymore. When did I get so old and confused about the right moves?”
It sounded earnest because it was. Gilman’s head was clear tonight. Clear and laser focused. All he had to do was follow through. Lucy was loaded into the backseat and he drove out of the subdivision with his headlights off, turning them on once they were on the main roads that weren’t blessed with street lamps.
“I’ve got a tasty treat for Lucy,” he said, “To keep her busy. It’s okay if I give her some raw ground beef, right? I’ve got it all stuffed and frozen in a kong for her. Keep her busy.”
It was almost too easy, but he wasn’t going to count his chickens before they hatched, so to speak. He found the concept of god a laughable one, but the saying still stood: if you want to hear god laugh, make plans.
---
“For what it’s worth, you’ve made all the right moves so far,” Dahlia said, a hint of sheepishness in her tone. She never used to be confused about these kinds of things. All of her life, if Dahlia wanted something, Dahlia got it. Dating had been so commonplace once upon a time that she grew bored of it. Now she felt as though she was navigating stormy, treacherous seas after being on land for so long.
“You hear that, Lucy?” At the mention of her name, Lucy perked up and shoved her head into the front seat between she and Gilman. “You’re gonna get a treat when we get to Gilman’s.” It was almost tragic, really, how much Lucy trusted Gilman. Weren’t they supposed to have a sixth sense about that kind of thing? Lucy trusted everyone - even the people who planned on poisoning her, apparently.
The ride to Gilman’s trailer wasn’t particularly long, and it was filled with amiable conversation. Dahlia thought for sure that things would be awkward between them, since she got called away in the middle of their last date, but he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge, and if he was, Dahlia couldn’t tell.
Ever faithful, Lucy led her safely up to Gilman’s trailer, and after she waited on him to open the door, she and her canine navigated their way inside. “No spaghetti tonight?” Dahlia asked, merely teasing. “Color me disappointed.”
---
“You’re on the menu tonight,” Gilman said. There was quite a lot of sincerity in his voice, and he covered her mouth in a hot kiss. It wasn’t Dahlia that had him hot under the collar, though, but the absolute power he had over her. The walls were plastered with photos of her, more personal, more violating than the first set. He even had restraints firmly attached to the bed, ready and waiting.
He broke the kiss, only to graze her lips with one more, chaste and almost sweet, “I should get Lucy her treat first,” he breathed, voice low and husky, “You should head ten paces back and wait for me on my bed.”
They’d already done the foreplay, and he was done second guessing himself: she wanted this as badly as she did. When did a blind woman get laid? When did a blind woman who would willingly, happily date him get laid, more specifically? Gilman opened the freezer to get the special treat out for Lucy, and once she was interested, he tied her lead to the post that kept his kitchen table anchored to the floor.
He looked up to check and see what Dahlia was doing. She was all his now, but he didn’t want to have to rush it if he didn’t have to.
---
The kiss was unexpected but not unwanted, and she felt herself melt into it, hands instantly finding a place on his forearms. Knowing that he was so eager made Dahlia eager; it wasn’t often that she found someone like Gilman - someone who was sweet and funny, someone good - who was interested in being anything more than a pity fuck, and if there was one thing Dahlia hated more than anything else it was being pitied. People could keep their fucking pity. She sure as hell didn’t need it.
Dahlia sighed when he broke the kiss, brows beetling together. “Fine, but don’t keep me waiting too long,” she murmured before doing as she was told. This was their third date, and maybe that might have been a little early to fuck each other, but they were both adults. Besides, the last guy she had sex with was none other than Marcus Caravahlo, and they hadn’t been on any dates.
She found the bed with ease, thanks to his detailed instructions. Dahlia didn’t strip down just yet; she didn’t want to rush anything. They weren’t on a schedule, and she discreetly turned her phone off in the car, so they wouldn’t be getting any interruptions tonight. If anyone needed her they could leave a message, and she would check it later on.
Her heart was already pounding, and she had to force herself to breathe normally as she settled down on the edge of his bed, fingertips branching out beside her to take in the fabric of his comforter.
---
Once Lucy was secured and happily eating the thing that would kill her, Gilman shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the couch, his boots heavy on the floor of his trailer. Normally he just wore sneakers, but he was feeling imposing tonight. Powerful. She was like some quivering virgin sitting on the edge of his bed, and he drank it in.
If the album didn’t already have pictures of girls like Dahlia in it, pristine and unmarked, he would’ve taken one of her now. He had enough of them all over the walls, though, to compare. For before and after.
Gilman sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her back, the other behaving itself for now, resting on her knee while he came in for another kiss.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the gentle compliment it sounded like, either. More of an observation. Right now, she looked beautiful. He was curious to know if what he was going to do would enhance her looks, or if they were, as he hypothesized, completely superficial. Easily torn away.
The arm around her back drew her in closer and the hand on her knee curled under, hinting but not demanding that she get into his lap.
---
Dahlia was certainly no virgin, not even close, but she was eager and anxious. Before the accident, sex was simple and fun. Without all of her insecurities and worries that she carried about now, there’d been nothing to hold her back from just letting loose and doing whatever the fuck she wanted. Now, she was already wondering if he’d want her to take off the sunglasses like Marcus had or if he’d care either way.
His steps were heavier than she remembered them. He must have been wearing boots, because tennis shoes wouldn’t have sounded quite like that against the trailer floor. All thoughts of footwear were forgotten when he sat down next her, his hand warm even through the thin material of her old tee-shirt. “You’re sweet,” she told him in return, senses honing in on every little thing, from the gentle weight of his hand on her knee to the rustle of fabric beneath them when one of them would shift their weight just so.
Blind or not, Dahlia could pick up on hints - both verbal and physical, and she maneuvered herself with (relative) ease atop his lap, her knees bearing down into the mattress on either side of his legs. It was her that kissed him this time, not at all tentative or hesitant as she draped an arm behind his neck to pull him closer and closer still. She promised him that she would make up for their shortened New Year’s Eve date, and it was a promise she planned on keeping.
In the living area, Lucy chewed happily at the Kong toy. For a dog that was supposed to pick up on things that her owner could not, she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was a few good chews away from getting to the poisoned beef within.
---
Gilman took it slow and patient for a good ten minutes. He got a little racy here and there, briefly squeezing her ass, even groping her breasts through her clothes, but he kept it slow and sweet and gentlemanly. Gilman was every inch a doting, patient boyfriend, right up until he grabbed her thighs and stood, lifting them both up. What seemed like some kind of romantic showing off turned out to be just a way for Gilman to slam her on her back on the bed.
There was a metallic grind and a click as he sized the handcuffs for one slim wrist, and he moved to secure the other.
All without saying a word.
---
Dahlia didn’t mind the groping. If anything, she urged him on with little groans and sighs, the occasional roll of hips against his own. She wanted this. Him. All of it. She wouldn’t go so far as to say that she was desperate, or maybe she would, but she was certainly eager and ready, and she told him as much with the hand that was just beginning to unbutton his pants when he lifted her up off the bed.
Suddenly, her black world was topsy turvy, and she landed hard on the mattress with a little gasp of surprise. As a rule, Dahlia didn’t like sudden things, especially when those things were loud noises or changes in position. The moment it took her to compose herself was a moment too long, and the cool sensation of metal around her wrist was the last thing she’d been expecting.
“Hey,” she said, voice unsure. “I-I’m not into this sort of thing, alright?” When that didn’t seem to give him pause, she felt an all too familiar spike of panic tingle all the way from her neck to the bottom of her spine, causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end.
“I said I don’t want to do this.” But he was already moving to secure her other wrist. He wasn’t stopping. “Gilman, stop!” Dahlia thrashed her wrist, desperately trying to wrench it free from his iron, determined grip.
---
Gilman let go of her wrist, but instead of wrestling with her, he put one hand on her throat, and the other wound back without hesitation and slapped her. It was a loud smack, not some cartoonish ‘snap out of it!’ love tap. He turned her head with it, clearly meaning to stun her so he could secure her wrist without further fucking complaint.
---
Every part of Dahlia hoped this was just some sort of kink thing gone too far. Maybe it was a joke - a terrible joke, but a joke all the same. A thousand different things ran through her thoughts, all of them avoiding what was terribly evident.
And then he slapped her, the force behind it enough to whip her head to the side, sending her sunglasses off in the process, and she knew the truth. She knew that Ian was right. Jenny was right. Everyone was right. Gilman was not a good man. He wasn’t even a decent man. Instead of listening to the advice of her friends, of the people that cared about her and loved her, she let her loneliness get the better of her.
The pain was intense - far more intense than she would have thought possible from a slap, and it stunned her long enough for Gilman to secure her other wrist, which meant she wasn’t going anywhere. Dahlia was handcuffed to Gilman’s bed, and he’d just proven that he wasn’t afraid to hurt her.
---
Once she was secured, Gilman shifted so he was sitting on her middle, and he tried to stay calm. To savour the moment. He’d never hit a woman before, and it was a lot easier than he’d expected.
“If you start screaming,” he said, using the same charming voice he used to make awkward jokes, “I’ll put in this ball gag I’ve got, and I’ll break your teeth to get it on if I have to. So do yourself a favour and shut up.”
He was going to gag her soon anyway (he did not possess a ball gag), but this was a unique opportunity.
“You really ate up all that shit, didn’t you?” he said, “It’s funny. I mean to me it is. I’m always with broken girls because broken girls ignore that I’m a creep that takes pictures of other people for a living. They just like that I say nice shit to them and that I fuck them like they’re perfect tens. You’re the first actual ten I’ve been with. I haven’t decided if I’m going to fuck you or not, though.”
Gilman grabbed the kitchen knife from his nightstand and started to cut off Dahlia’s clothes.
“Let’s get a look at the goods,” Gilman said, “Get all the evidence for and against.”
---
Screaming seemed like the only chance she had. The trailer park was a pretty cramped place; someone would have to hear her if she screamed at the top of her lungs. They had to, right? There were a lot of people in the trailer park (at least that’s what she kept telling herself), and if they heard a girl screaming for help, they’d call the police. Dahlia opened her mouth, prepared to cry out to whoever would listen.
And she kept quiet.
The only sound she made was the pitiful sound of a thick, choked sob. Terrified realization was written all across her flushed face with the notable exception of her eyes. Though wide, the eyes themselves were blank and unfocused, even with the tears that lept to the hazel surface.
“Why?” she rasped, hands flexing and rolling in their restraints. There was no leeway; she wasn’t going anywhere unless Gilman let her. When he called her broken, Dahlia’s grimace was visible. “I’m not broken.” Of course she was. Everyone knew it, even Dahlia.
The sound of her clothes being cut away by a knife - she could feel the steel, the coolness of the blade - brought on another sob, this one more desperate than the one before it. Flailing seemed like the best option, but there was the matter of the knife. She had no real way of knowing how large it was. For all she knew, it could have been a fucking butcher knife.
Just a few minutes ago, Dahlia was eager to take off her clothes for Gilman to see. Now she felt sick to her stomach.
From the other room came a long, miserable whine, followed by the unmistakable sound of gagging. More whining. The splash of vomit against linoleum as Lucy fell to her side, her breaths so labored that Dahlia could hear them from the other room.
“You’re sick,” she sobbed, her tears no longer held back. She wanted to tell Lucy that everything was going to be okay, wanted to hold the most loyal friend she ever had, and instead all she could do was listen as Lucy weakly tried to pull herself free from the table. “Why are you doing this?”
---
Gilman had expected more.... more cartoonish struggling and shrieking, to be honest. He’d prepared for that. This was much different. Dahlia was still a human being, and he was still a man who hadn’t killed anyone. Hearing Lucy whine and vomit even made him wince. Gilman liked dogs, and he liked Lucy, but Lucy was a problem that needed solving.
“I’m not sick,” Gilman snarled at her, grabbing her throat and squeezing a little. Just with one hand. It was unnerving, the way her eyes weren’t focused on him. Not really appreciating the situation fully, “I have to do this. It all has to add up. It all has to even out. It has to be filled.”
He made a disgusted noise and got off of her, standing at the end of the bed so he could get her pants off, a cranky scowl on his face.
“You wouldn’t fucking understand,” Gilman told her, “You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never had any real purpose. In another ten years when your tits start getting saggy and your hair starts greying, you won’t even be a trophy fuck. Not even a pity fuck. Just some washed up bitch who had nice teeth when she was a teenager.”
His disgust was quite a turnaround from his awkward fawning. Or, more accurately, he was finally speaking his mind instead of pretending to hang on her every word. Gilman used the knife to cut her panties free, leaving her completely nude on the bed, and he stayed back, considering. The place was going to smell like dog shit soon -- he assumed the dog would take one last shit once it was dead -- and he didn’t know about raping a woman in that kind of environment. And he wasn’t a rapist. A murderer soon, but not a rapist.
“When you could see you never noticed me,” Gilman said, “You’re not my type, to be fair, but I’m six-three and you wouldn’t have even blinked in my direction. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, right?”
Gilman’s laugh was high pitched and cruel.
---
“You don’t have to do this,” she insisted tearfully. Though she had her doubts, Dahlia was hoping that Gilman could be reasoned with. He was still a person, no matter how fucked up of a person he was.
Physically, it was a relief to have Gilman off of her stomach and away from her, but it was a respite that was cut short by having her pants taken off. Since her legs were still free, she flailed them as he yanked her jeans off, and even if it was in vain, it made Dahlia feel better to do something.
Perhaps even worse than the slap, than the restraints, were the cutting words that spilled free from Gilman’s mouth. One after the other, a deluge of insults that could wound deeper than any knife (or so Dahlia thought) were thrown her direction, and she was helpless to do anything but listen. “Stop it,” she hissed, tears trailing from the corner of her eyes only to fall into the halo of her dark hair beneath her.
With her panties cut away, Dahlia was left completely nude. As if she hadn’t been vulnerable enough, now she felt like he could see through her - like he could peel away her skin with her eyes and see everything inside. In some attempt to preserve some modesty, she crossed her legs and squeezed them together so tightly it hurt.
“You really don’t have to do this, Gilman,” Dahlia said, trying to sound more sure and strong than before. “You don’t. You could let me go. I won’t press charges. I won’t even tell a soul. Just let me go, I’ll take Lucy, and I’ll leave.” She’d take Lucy, as if her precious dog wasn’t already shuddering in the other room, close to death and unable to do anything but whine and gag.
“I promise.”
---
Gilman rolled his eyes when she squeezed her legs together. Right, that would help. While he was mostly glad she wasn’t acting like a movie cliche, part of him had been so completely anticipating it, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
In his head she was more... yelly. So he could shut her up, and flow into her inevitable demise. This was requiring a lot more agency on his part, and he was feeling like a horses ass for thinking it would somehow come naturally.
“You know,” Gilman was silent for a long while, and when she had finally made her promise, he spoke, “You know why I picked you? I mean the blind thing was a bonus, but in the end? You’re not a fucking blonde. You know what they do? Fucking... crawl under your skin and lay their little fucking blonde eggs there, and then scuttle away. Then they hatch and they gnaw at you until all you want to do is cut them out.”
He was making angry slashes with the knife for emphasis.
“Too much fucking trouble,” he said, “But not you, Dahlia. It was like a revelation.”
That made a weird laugh bubble up, “Do you think this is god’s plan? I’ve always thought that phrase was fucking hilarious. Like god plans for everything. What sort of asshole plans this? Would you want to worship that kind of incredible asshole?”
He was stalling and he didn’t care. They had all night, and he... he didn’t know what to do. Where to start. Just cut her throat? Should he humiliate her some more? The album hadn’t come with instructions.
---
For some reason, hearing that he picked her because she wasn’t blonde was the worse possible thing he could have said. Worse than telling her she was pointless or broken, worse than telling her she wouldn’t even be worth a pity fuck in ten years. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and she was a brunette.
She didn’t dare say anything when he began ranting about God. Dahlia had no way of knowing that he’d been stalking her relentlessly, so she had no way of knowing that he probably knew far too well that she attended church regularly. Nearly every Sunday, with some exceptions. Her relationship with God was a strained one, especially after waking up from the coma, but it was a relationship she’d been trying to mend.
Now she wouldn’t get the chance.
Dahlia’s body was suddenly wracked with a string of sobs, and she had to force herself to calm back down. If she wanted to try and talk her way out of this, she had to stay calm. “I thought you liked me,” she whispered, voice strained. “I thought you were a good guy. I defended you. My friends told me that you weren’t a good man, and I told them that you were.” What an idiot she’d been. “You can still be a good guy, Gilman. You don’t have to hurt me.”
She thought of her parents. They planned on coming over the next day for lunch. Dahlia was going to invite Jenny and Chase along. It was going to be a normal day, and now she didn’t know if she’d ever see any of them again.
“Please, let me go,” Dahlia begged, dissolving into another string of sobs, “Please, God, just let me go home.”
---
He pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself not to demand she stop crying. She couldn’t help it, and it’d just make him feel more out of control when she didn’t listen. This had gone on too long. He should’ve just done it quick, gotten it over with, and bypassed all the fucking theatrics. The album seemed to suggest some theatrics needed to be there, but Gilman wasn’t quite there yet.
Gilman needed to get over this obstacle, and then it would all become much clearer.
He approached the bed, and there was a distinct sound of him setting the knife on the nightstand.
“Why does everyone fucking think I can be a good guy?” he asked, tone heated, “You’re all the fucking same, blonde or not.”
He wrapped both hands around her throat and started to squeeze, pressing his thumbs hard into her windpipe.
“I probably had a chance a year ago,” Gilman said, “Another fucking blonde. I had a lot of chances that day but I passed them all by. I’m not a good guy,” he bore down on his knees, dropping his full weight on her chest, “But I’m better than you.”
---
She heard him put the knife down onto the nightstand and felt a wave of relief. He’s not going to kill me, Dahlia thought, already considering what she would do if he let her go. Who would she call? It wasn’t like Dahlia could drive away. She’d grab Lucy, would bang on someone’s door for help. She promised him that she wouldn’t tell anyone, but he couldn’t expect her to follow through on that promise. He needed help. Real, psychiatric help that would hopefully be delivered behind steel bars.
”You’re all the fucking same, blonde or not.” Whatever relief she’d felt just moments ago shattered away, leaving her with nothing to hold onto in her sea of blackness.
“Gilman, I --” There was no time for protests or more pleas. The sudden pressure on her throat successfully blocked off her windpipe, silencing any words that might have come after. Dahlia instinctively tried to suck in air but to no avail. There was only pain - a pain that was made so much worse when he bore down on her chest so that even if she managed to somehow squeeze a breath past the tight grip he had on her throat, there was nowhere it could go.
She began to thrash viciously, lower body twisting and bucking any which way it could in hopes of throwing him off balance while her arms strained against the cuffs that held them in place. Dahlia couldn’t speak, but the sounds that did claw themselves up from her constricted throat were almost inhuman. Her world, always black and nothing more, was steadily becoming an explosion of color. Red stars invaded the inky darkness even as her wide eyes continued to see nothing.
”But I’m better than you.”
That was the last thing Dahlia heard before the sound of her own pulse drowned everything else out.
---
The hardest part, which Gilman hadn’t been prepared for, was how much instinct he had to fight against to strangle the life out of Dahlia. He was sweating from the physical strain of it, sure, but it was more than just the strength required to strangle a person. It was that this didn’t come naturally. Even though he was getting an adrenaline rush, part of him still detested the idea of being a murderer. And that’s what he was doing. He was murdering Dahlia Palmer. Her dog was already dead in his kitchen.
“I’m still better,” he muttered under his breath, the words halting, his breath hitched from exertion, “I’m still better.”
Gilman strangled her until his fingers refused to crush into her throat anymore, and as they trembled, weakened by the constant pressure, he felt a well of panic and shook her shoulders.
“Are you dead?” he hissed at her, “Are you fucking dead? Answer me!”
Dahlia didn’t answer, and Gilman sat back. With the adrenaline bled out of him, he felt numb and weird. Not elated. Not powerful. Just... just flat. Once he could bend his fingers again, Gilman got the camera and aimed it down at her face. Her dead, blind face, stained with tears.
She was still beautiful.
Gilman was methodical and slow, developing the film in his makeshift darkroom and finally fixing it inside the album. As soon as it was in, he felt the intense rush that he’d been anticipating, suffusing his body from head to toe. Yes. That was right. He’d done the right thing. No -- he’d done the necessary thing.
And there was still more work to be done.
Lucy he put in a garbage bag and hauled out to the communal dumpster, making sure he covered it with a few other bags for good measure. It was cold, and it hopefully wouldn’t be discovered. Dahlia’s body he left alone, and after bundling up, he turned off his head and unshackled her, shifting her over on the bed to make room for himself. Obviously disposing of a body in a frozen swamp wasn’t ideal, so he’d just keep her here, for now. The cops had very recently searched his place. It was safe for a little while.
“I need my beauty sleep,” he said with a weird giggle, “No time to fool around tonight. You understand.”