5PM (9 page)

“Stand up and bang me like a whore,” she yells.

And I do as she asks.

* * * * *  

I wake up
and see darkness through the sliding doors. How many hours have I been sleeping? I turn the other way and feel for the woman who I spent intimate time with, only to discover I’m alone in her bed. The house is silent and I have no idea what the time is until I press the light button on my watch and see that it’s now seven-twenty-four p.m.

What the hell happened? I surely couldn’t have been so tired that I needed that much sleep in the afternoon. Picking up my phone, I see there are a few missed calls—two from Roger, one from Phelps, and three from my wife. I didn’t hear a single call come through.

I pick the one I least care about. Phelps’s voice has an erratic tone asking what the outcome of the meeting with Mrs Pellmont was. The first call from Roger inquired why I wasn’t at our usual Friday meeting spot for drinks after work, and the second call saying he had received a call from Talissa asking where I was just fifteen minutes ago.

The first call from Talissa requested I bring home some bread and milk, the second asking why I wasn’t home yet, and the last one, just five minutes ago, saying she’s on her way to the place where my boss, Phelps, said I was meeting with a client.

Oh, shit. She’s coming here and I’m lying naked in a messed up bed in someone’s house. From my calculations, the longest she will take is twenty minutes from our house to this place, which doesn’t take into account if she’s already on her way here. I find my clothes scattered around the room, picking them up, and trying to dress as quickly as I can. My shirt and trousers are wrinkled. I run to the bathroom attached to the bedroom and grab a hairbrush to try to fix my bed hair.

I gather my briefcase and jog through the house and down two flights of stairs on my journey to the front door. While not leaving me breathless, I do begin breathing heavier after the burst of energy. I grab my phone and try Talissa’s number. I see a dark car heading up the driveway with its headlights shining at me. Putting up a hand to filter the brightness, I take a glance every couple of seconds to try to make out the car, and I soon discover what I suspected.

My wife’s car is just a few metres from me now.

How the hell do I explain this, being at a client’s house hours after the appointment? I don’t have a filing cabinet inside my head full of readymade lie files I can pull and utilise at a moment’s notice. But as the car stops and Talissa throws off her seatbelt, I find something.

“Baby, I’m sorry. We got caught up in some tough negotiations,” I say as I walk over to her. Our children are seated in the back of the car. I notice a lot of stuff packed into the car.

She steps out the car and looks me over from top to bottom. “Tough negotiations that wrinkle your clothes?”

“Talissa, it’s not like that at all.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you call me and give me an update? I’m sure a client could understand if their agent wanted to let their wife know they would be late coming home from work. You’re up to something, Terry.”

“You’re acting silly, there’s nothing—”

A slap across the face stops me in my falseness. “Women’s panties in your car, no phone call to say you’ll be late, and I see you in wrinkled clothes and those late nights on the computer, as well? You’re obviously sleeping with someone else.”

“Please Talissa—”

“The kids and I are going to my mum’s for the weekend, so just do whatever the hell you want. We’ll talk about this on Monday. Maybe my mother will calm me down, but I can’t be in the same house as you this weekend. I don’t want to have to tell the kids I murdered their father. Goodbye, Terry.”

I watch her get back in the car and drive away.

* * * * * 

I grab some
takeaway burgers on the way home and a bottle of rum. Maybe if I drink enough, I can drown away the mess I’ve created. How the hell did I walk into this trap someone set for me? I turn the computer on, flick the lid from the rum bottle, and take a big bite from this mess of a thing resembling a cheeseburger. Logging into the chat, I soon find BluesGirl88 and summon her to a private chat.

“You fucking bitch! Where the hell did you go today?”
I type. I alternate between taking a bite from a burger to taking a swig of rum.

“Terry, I don’t understand what you mean,”
she types back. Her avatar is dressed in a long white dress almost covering her feet.

“Look, you were wearing that dress today, in a house just like the one you first took me to in this God-damned chat program. Stop lying and admit that you’re stalking me in real life.”

“You wish, you damned pervert. I bet you already have your pants down and your two inch dick in your hand.”

“You know it’s bigger than two inches. I had it inside you today in your bed, you lying slut.”

Her avatar slaps mine.
“I don’t appreciate being called a slut, nor the accusation that I would actually have sex with you in real life, you dirty old creep.”

“Stop messing with me.”
I throw the rest of my burger to the ground and take a longer gulp of my rum. Not normally being a rum drinker, I can soon feel it fogging my head and messing with my coordination.

“Why can’t we just have fun like we used to do, Terry? Why can’t you get it out of your head that you know the real life me and just accept this for what it is—a fantasy?”

“My wife’s gone to her bitch mother’s house for the weekend and taken MY children with her so they can have their minds poisoned with her demented view of the world.”

“You’re angry. Come with me and relax. Forget everything and everyone and engage in some fantasy that won’t get you into any real life troubles. Get naked, and come on a sexual journey with me.”

I drink some more and accept her invite to a private chat to a beach setting. There are multiple avatars in the scene, each one fully naked, and some in pairs of opposite or same sex intimate animated activities. I find her avatar lying naked on her front on a beach towel.

“Terry, come here,”
she types.

I click on her, and my character starts screwing her from behind. I find myself turned on, not sure if it’s the orgy onscreen mixed with the consumption of rum or just the amount of sex I’ve had in the last couple of days. My mind goes back to Talissa.

“I have to go,”
I type.

“Who the hell do you think you are? If you disappear on me again, I’ll fuck you up so bad, you’ll wish you had drank yourself to death.”

“Maybe I will, and you can have this on your conscience.”
I drink for a few seconds flat, the dry liquid feeling like sandpaper going down my throat. My stomach isn’t feeling so great now.

“Well, you’ll have to get your dick out my ass first. Guess you didn’t notice that, did you?”

I guess it was a little hard to tell between doggy style and anal sex on an animated chat like this, and now I feel weird. Unlike friends like Roger, anal sex has never appealed to me. But I lie to BluesGirl because I can.
“Bet you like it, you dirty bitch. I hope it hurts.”

“This isn’t real. It can’t hurt me.”

And with those words, I find myself booted from the chat. I look at my desk and see a piece of paper folded in half. The writing is done in those cute fonts teenage girls like to use.
“I would like to talk soon, love Babygirlblonde.”

The time is late, but I try a chat request with that name anyway. There are no online results found, so I decide a good night’s sleep is in order. Maybe that’s a good thing I’m not able to chat with the babysitter while I’m in my current state of mind.

DAY 6

Once again, I’m
reminded why I don’t drink rum. I wake up at nine-thirty-seven a.m., and my head is thumping and my tongue feels like I’ve been licking sand on the beach. I check my phone and no one has called or messaged me. I need to get myself together so I can call Talissa and fix this. Do I be honest and tell her I’ve slept with two different women in two days, apart from her, or keep telling lies?

I head for the kitchen wearing just a pair of silk boxers to go make a strong coffee. Some eggs and bacon would also help, so I open the fridge and start grabbing what I need. This is a hard day to tackle, and I wish my head didn’t feel like a useless lump of stone. The coffee is lava hot, but I drink it anyway and savour the goodness as it passes through me. I turn on the stove and grab a pan, ready for a big fry up when I hear the doorbell.

I’m not expecting anyone, and I know Talissa would just walk in rather than ring at her own doorbell. Not bothering to add any more clothes to my lone pair of shorts, I walk to the source of the noise, and still a few feet from it, the person presses it again.

“Coming,” I yell, and as I get there and open it, I see the blonde police officer again.

“Mr Terry Cooper, I need to ask you a few questions,” she says and starts walking inside before I can even agree to it.

“Constable Hall, I’m starting to think you WANT to see me more often. Can we go to the kitchen? I need another coffee.”

“You better make me one too, then.”

She follows me to the coffee machine. “How do you like it?” I ask.

Looking up and down at me, she says, “White and strong.”

“So what is this about?” I ask, putting her hot drink on the kitchen bench.

“Homicide division had a report about a murder committed yesterday. A man in his forties found decapitated in his home. He had his computer switched on, and it was found he was active on a program called 3DDreamChat. The team searched through his recent chats and found a few names, yours being amongst them.”

“Are you serious? Who was this person?”

“You tell me, Terry. What were you doing talking to a man on a chat program?”

“Does it matter? You said you found a murdered man. Surely, he had been chatting with others before he died.” My mind starts racing back to DancerGirl. Could he be who the cops found dead?

“Some men get on there disguised as women, some sort of perverted thing they do to see two cartoon characters have sex.”

“Is that something you like to do? Do you get on there and play with your tiny little dick while pretending to have sex?”

I almost drop my coffee. “I thought you were here to ask a few questions about a murder—which coincidentally, I know nothing about—not question the size of my genitals and masturbation habits.” I must have some rum left in my system to retaliate on a cop like this.

“Bit defensive, aren’t we?”

“If you want to find his killer, maybe you should try a user by the name of BluesGirl88. She sliced off his head with a samurai sword the other night on the chat, and basically, threatened him.”

“I have reason to believe he was murdered by a married man pretending to be a sixteen-year-old girl. The suspect is also thought to have a tiny penis. Can you clarify this?”

“This is hardly professional, officer. Maybe I should call your superior?”

“Just drop your shorts and eliminate yourself from the list of suspects. Is that too hard to do?”

Maybe I should just call her out on her bullshit and do what she says. What’s the worst thing that could happen? I take a deep breath, stand up and face her, and bring my shorts to the ground, watching as her eyes examine the evidence.

Instead, she draws her weapon. “Don’t you dare move.” She speaks into her walkie-talkie. “Suspect is to be taken into custody for indecent exposure.”

“What the fuck?” I say, and as I go to pull my shorts back up, she pulls out her baton and hits my left hand with it. “Arrrgghhh!” I scream out as the metal of the baton smashes onto the bones of my hand.

“I told you not to move,” she says, as a dark-haired officer who appears to be a few years younger than her runs into the house with his pistol drawn.

Where the hell did he find that speed? He must have been ready to jump out of the car at any given second. I look him in the eye. “She asked me to prove I wasn’t the murderer.”

“Exposing yourself to a police officer is a serious crime,” he says.

“Especially, when you try to grab them at the same time. I had to use my baton on him, Ed,” Hall says.

“You sick fuck. I’ll cuff him, Hannah.”

“Hey, I’m being set up here. I’ll call my lawyer and you’ll be damn sorry,” I yell as the officer named Ed grabs my hands with force and restrains them with the metal cuffs.

“You can call your lawyer at the station.” He starts pushing me out of the kitchen and towards the front door. This can’t be legal, but something tells me Hannah doesn’t care.

“Can’t I put some clothes on first?” I ask.

“You can also do that when you get to the station,” Ed says, a big smirk on his face. The neighbours must have heard something going on, as they all seem to be out in their front yards as I’m led down my front garden path to the back of the waiting police car. I can’t think of anything more embarrassing right now. I can’t even cover my most private bits with my hands.

No one asks anything. They just look completely shocked, and I’m sure this won’t be the end of the embarrassment as I’m shoved into the back of the police car.

The journey in the car is quiet, and after twenty minutes, it becomes apparent we aren’t actually heading in the direction of a local police station. Surburbia now behind us, we’re now on the open road.

* * * * * 

Another half an
hour later, we stop near a deserted barn. The officers pull me from the car, and lead me with an arm each, towards the old wooden structure that looks to be over a hundred years old.

“So you’re gonna take me to the barn and shoot me, leaving my body never to be found under a pile of old farm junk?” I ask.

“Shut up and keep walking,” Hall says.

“Were you abused as a girl and now you take it out on every man on the planet? If so, I’m sorry to hear it, but I don’t deserve to be treated like this.” I’m at the point where I don’t care what I say now.

“How about I just shoot your junk off if you don’t shut up,” she says.

“Hannah, I thought we had an agreement,” Ed says, looking me up and down.

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You get to do what you want with him first.”

My bare feet could feel every rock and dry piece of dead vegetation with each step, and the last interaction between the two cops increases my anxiety levels. I’m not allowed the opportunity to slow my pace at all no matter how sore my feet get. And I dare not say a thing.

“Nearly there, Terry. I hope you like a bit of rustic setting. We have some fun lined up in there for you,” Hall says.

“I thought you were trying to solve a murder, and now you have me out here handcuffed and naked with threats of shooting me. If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” I’m almost at breaking point.

A hand strikes me across the cheek, the slapping action stinging like a whip. The big barn doors sit crooked on rusted hinges, and I watch as Ed takes the lead and opens the left door outward a couple of feet. From where I stand next to Hannah, I am yet to see what’s inside the old farm building.

“You next,” Hannah says and pushes me forwards. She follows close to my bare heels, and as I poke my head inside the old barn, I hear the clicking as the vice like grip of the handcuffs is released from my wrists.

I’m surprised to find what’s inside—a long wooden desk with two chairs, laptop computers and a pile of manila folders in the middle of the workstations. There are no people inside apart from the three of us.  

“Welcome to Operation Chat Kill,” Hannah says.

“What the hell is this?” I ask.

Ed powers up the two laptops, and points to a male locker. “There’s some clothes in there. Put them on so I’m no longer tempted by your manly goods.”

I’ve never felt so anxious to cover my nudity in my entire life. This revelation of the undercover mission raises even more questions from my already overactive mind. “So why am I here?”

“We think you might be able to help us. There’s been a spree of murders of online chatters who have engaged in activities of a sexual kind—six that we know of in the last two months. If you can get on there and find this chat girl you spoke of back at your house, we may well have a suspect.”

I frown at Hannah’s words. “So why the embarrassing arrest, threats of violence, and the threat of letting your partner here sodomise me?”

“I never said I was going to fuck you, Terry. And we’re sorry for the scary and embarrassing tactics. Maybe it’s something I need to work on during my anger management meetings,’ Ed says.

Buttoning up my shirt, I say, “It still doesn’t make sense. We could have done this back at my house.”

“If they track you here, Terry, we can get them. Ed, could you please hide the car?” Hannah asks. She removes her police cap and undoes the hair band, allowing her blonde hair to fall down past her shoulders. It’s shiny and looks like it might be a few inches shorter than Emily’s but still long enough for my liking.

Ed walks out of the barn and out of sight. Hannah guides me to the chair she wants me to sit in and then grabs the one on the left. She shuffles herself and her chair close to me, our thighs almost touching.

“I’ll be going online as Erika19. You and I will be in a pool party scene flirting and doing whatever we need to draw attention. If you see this BluesGirl online, invite her in.”

I log into the chat, the laptop taking a while to load my character and his clothes. I change him into a pair of board shorts and see Erika19’s invite. I accept and see this giant swimming pool with a few deck chairs scattered around the ground above it. Her avatar is a smoking hot blonde with enormous boobs and a dark tan with ridiculously long legs. She’s wearing a skimpy white bikini, which only just keeps her avatar’s most intimate parts hidden from sight.

“I designed her to be as tacky as a man wants in a chick online,” Hannah says.

“If there is a killer out there, wouldn’t they be smarter than that?” I ask.

“That’s where you come in. I’m the slutty dumb blonde, and you’re the refined gentleman who picks up women like a modern day Casanova.”

I start typing to her in the chat. She’s lying on a deck chair on her back while I’m swimming in the pool.
“The water’s nice, babe. Why don’t you come on in?”

“I'm gettin sum sun here get sum1 else 2 swim wit u,”
she types back.

“Are you going to keep typing like that? It will do my head in,” I say out loud to her.

“Just playing a part, Terry.” She looks me in the eyes, and for the first time since I’ve seen her face, I think I catch a genuine smile from her. She sure has a pretty face, but when her hair is hanging down naturally and framing it, she goes up in levels to downright beautiful.

This has been a pretty messed up day so far, and I still don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about the events that have unfolded. I do a search for BluesGirl88 and see she’s online, a fact I point out to Officer Hall.

“Call me Hannah, please. Okay, ask her in.”

I invite BluesGirl88 to the chat I share with Erika19, and it takes just a few seconds for her to accept.

“Nice place. Am I supposed to get naked and jump in the pool with you and forget about last night?”
she types.

“I wodn’t have a prob with tat,”
Hannah types.

“Who are you, girl? You type like a ten-year-old?”
BluesGirl types.

“She’s a friend of mine,”
I type.

“From where? Daycare?”

“Ur not nice,”
Hannah types.

“Well, fuck off then and leave me and Terry alone.”

“This is her scene. If she goes, we can’t chat here.”