Post by MJ on Aug 5, 2009 7:02:34 GMT -5
Phillip
The sun hung suspended above muck dark clouds, shadowed by the silver dark walls of air. Beneath it the clouds had begun to empty their contents upon the waiting Earth. A slow, trickling fall, the rain blessed the dew-wet streets of Charleston.
Behind, a glossy pane, Shadowed by drawn curtains, standing five feet, eleven inches, with a slender, slightly muscular build, Peter Livingston gazed through the rivers racing down the transparent glass. "Think it's gonna last long Phillip?" Peter turned from the glass shortly, awaiting his response. He was met with a heavy sigh and a shrug of the shoulder, "I dunno Pete, and it’s been raining like hell all weekend, who knows? If it keeps up though, you're gonna be late." Peter returned to the window, folding his arms about his chest, "Yeah…” Silence drifted over the house, covering the room like a soft blanket. Even the now pounding rain couldn’t seem to pierce the suffocating silence encroaching the room. Peter sighed heavily, "I guess, I'd better get ready then?" No response. Moments later the door closed and the sound of Peter's feet against the stairs maimed the cold silence.
It had eased now, the rain. Peter gathered his things. He had only just finished changing and was about to comfortably wait out the drenching downpour when he glanced through the downstairs window and noticed it had died to a barely recognizable drizzle. “Oh Phillip? Can you try to keep the place cleaned; I’m bringing Kerry over after work and…” Phillip scoffed.
“What do you mean keep the house clean; don’t you always meet the house as you left it? Besides didn’t she stay here last weekend! What? You planning on marrying the chick of something?" Peter noticed more than a bit of resentment in Phillip’s remark.
“I see you’re still mad about that. I still don’t see why you hate her so much though. What did she ever do to you?" Peter stopped himself before they got into another one of their arguments. It seemed they had been doing that a lot, ever since Kerry came back. Acknowledging the overwhelming tension Peter sought to salvage what was left of his rocky friendship. “I’m just saying Phillip, No need to get offended Ok?” Peter could feel Phillip’s cold glare,
“Whatever…”
He sighed heavily; Phillip had always hated Kerry even though the two had never met. Phillip would always find somewhere to go or something to do whenever he knew that she was coming over. While Peter found Kerry’s personality, very very alluring, and her challenging intellect, a stimulating attraction, Phillip somehow hated everything that she stood for, any and everything concerning her was taboo. To Peter however Kerry was near perfect. Beauty and brains in one voluptuous package. What else could he hope for? Peter smiled as thoughts of her washed over him and once again, he felt that hateful glare. Phillip knew that smile, that foolish contentment, disgusting. Peter moved to the front door,
“See ya Phillip!” No answer. The door closed shortly after and the sound of Peter’s 96 Corola roared over the streets.
Phillip entered the house dressed as if he had been to work and back. His face was hard, stern, and rigid to the point. His lips stretched taut across his face. No frown, no smile, just cold evil eyes, rage and anger burning like volcanic pyre within. He strolled into the living room not bothering to remove his already dirty shoes from his feet. He dropped himself lazily unto the couch staring heatedly at the blank TV screen tapping his fingers along the edge of the couch. “Keep the house clean…,” he grumbled under his breath… “Keep the house clean… You think I’m your fking maid Livingston?” He pushed himself off the couch trudging across the white fluff carpet. “You think you rule me!” He slammed his foot into the armchair toppling it as he stormed past. “You don’t boss me around you btch!” He slammed his fist into the window shattering the fragile glass. “You don’t tell me what the hell I should do!” He lifted the dining table slamming it unto the floor. Debris rose like a tornado as splintered flew from the broken legs. “You fking shit!” He ripped off another leg from the table grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. With a loud pop, the cap flew to the ground as Phillip stormed the kitchen window. “You don’t fking rule me Livingston!” He crashed the table foot into the window watching satisfied as the sink filled with broken shards. In one voracious gulp, he swallowed the contents of the bottle. “Btch!” he threw the empty bottle against the wall smearing the frothy contents against it. Insanely loud rock music pulsed into the room as his footsteps stormed away into the living room and up the stairs. A final bang set his door shut! “Btch!”
Peter’s body snapped up! The music blared loud pounding furiously against the floorboards. Groggily Peter rose from his bed. He had left work earlier that day hoping to get home before Phillip sensing his resentment towards their little spat that morning. He must have been extremely exhausted; he was still dressed in his work clothes. Stumbling from his room, Peter mustered out moving towards Phillip’s door. He gripped the brass knob, “Phillip!” He called loudly, “Phillip!” There was no answer. He could barely hear himself over the music. With a turn and a soft push, he entered Phillip’s sanctuary. The room was clean, untouched, unscathed. It looked like Phillip hadn’t set foot in there in weeks, months even yet it remained clean. Peter gaped in awe. Phillip must have been extremely angry to do all this. He pulled the door shut, moving downstairs unsure of whether to congratulate him or chastise him for the unwelcome music. At the top of the stairs, Peter’s heart sank. His head swirled and spun into a dark of abyss of nothingness. He felt nothing, knew nothing and despite how much he wished he couldn’t he saw everything. Broken glass, shattered windows, debris, splinters, overturned tables, chairs, everything. Peter fell to his knees. Confusion reigned governor over his distraught frame. He was held captive by a seemingly surreal yet obviously painful collage of emotion, locked in its intricate design, victim to the nothingness, which emerged as a result. He knelt, close to tears yet way past any anger he knew possible. With deep resignation, he trudged down the stairs, into the world he wished he’d never seen, known or experienced. The music died into silence as he sunk into the depths of his consciousness.
“Where are you going? Phillip’s gruff voice invaded the tranquillity of Peter’s bedroom. He hadn’t even heard Phillip come in. Facing the mirror, still fiddling with his tie. Peter remained, lips drawn tightly, eyes focused on the image before him. “Heh… No answer huh…? Yeah ,I guess I’m nobody now. You got your lovely Kerry to run to now.” He jested. Peter straightened his shirt, tucking his handkerchief into his pocket. “Yea run to her… Go! Leave like you always wanted to! Think I don’t know what you want huh? You think I don’t know? You think she’s more important than me don’t you? You think she’s better than me don’t you? Well go then go to your lovely Kerry! Go ahead go!” Throughout his rant, Peter kept quiet, staring into the mirror seeing nothing, feeling everything. Phillip continued his lament, screaming his plight at the top of his lungs until Peter turned, heading to his bedroom door. “Don’t wait up for me…” He said coldly. He sighed heavily and made his way down the stairs.
“Pete?” Kerry gentle voice sailed across the room as Peter opened the door. Her hastened steps echoed as she moved from the kitchen to the door. “Aww Pete, you didn’t have to get all dressed up. “ Her eyes held a glint of seduction yet a bit of untold sorrow. Peter bit his tongue, he wanted to question but chose not to. Instead, he handed her a bouquet, “Fresh cut daisies just like you love them.” He smiled openly watching her face light up for a second. “Peter you really didn’t have to…” Her voice trailed off. Peter reached out to her but she turned quickly. “Forgot something gimme a sec."
She hurried out of the living room and into the kitchen. Meanwhile Peter sought to make himself comfortable. He was quite happy Kerry had understood his dilemma. Phillip was getting out of control, he knew it but he wasn’t sure of how to handle the situation. Phillip had lived with him since they were kids. He was like a brother to him not to mention the fact that he was still in college. Peter was twenty-three, and Phillip being only eighteen, Peter wasn’t ready to turn him unto the streets just yet.
“Oh here you go…” Kerry handed Peter a glass.
“Hmm! Oh! Thanks!”
“You seem a bit distant….” Kerry inquired indirectly as she sat beside him.
“Oh no… No… I just… “
“Phillip huh? She asked.
“Yeah…I just…” Peter was about to give her the story when she took his hand in hers. “Pete there’s something I have to tell you…” Peter stopped, looking at her in confusion. “G…Go ahead.”
“I don’t know … I …"
“Kerry what is it? Come on…” Peter was more than a little concerned. He pulled her closer to him. She broke down, sobbing heavily.
“I …I … P…" She shook her head left and right fumbling with her hands as the words clung to her throat. "I…I…Peter… I’m married!” His heart sunk to new depths. His mind retreated to the blackness of his consciousness, his soul shattered into a million fragments pierced by the golden, honey scent of her perfume. He held her closely but felt nothing in his arms. He was cold, so cold…
Kerry was about to explain to him but looked to his face. Tears streamed from his glassy eyes running down his cheeks, obscuring the charming definition she had once fallen for. His arms folded around her loosely. He just sat there staring into nothing, crying, bleeding, and hurting. She saw his pain. Felt his hurt and wept. Uncontrollably, she wept.
Peter returned home that night tossing his coat nonchalantly on the floor. He shuffled to the kitchen literally dragging himself. The light from the refrigerator illuminated the sparsely lit room. He plucked a beer from the fridge and seated himself on the table. The darkness slowly leaked in, covering the room as the light from the refrigerator retreated behind the closed door. He bent his head resting the beer nextside his folded arms as he let the tears take over again. Once bitten twice shy. She had left him once, disappeared without a notice, what made him think she wasn’t going to leave him again. Stupid, he was just too stupid. Peter’s heart hung limply in the wake of the night’s events. He closed his eyes, giving into the pain, seeking comfort in the hardwood of the kitchen table.
Phillip opened the door to apartment 65.a. He pushed the door open, slowly. His steps were light cat like, navigating the darkness with the stealth of a killer born. He slipped around the table, past the couch, not a light on in the room but he managed to get past each seeming obstacle with ease, almost as if he had lived here. He found the stairs taking the first steps, distributing his weight as evenly as possible moving up the darkness, eyes shinning with evil intent. Creeeak!! The sixth step! He cursed himself for not remembering this. A light clicked upstairs and a slow muffled moan told him his prey was awake. He backed himself against the staircase, holding unto the railing as her door opened. His breath was ragged, short, husky and heavy. The thrill, the adrenaline, the anxiety rushed through his veins, fueling his pulsing heart. He wet his lips waiting… patently waiting. The woman’s comfortable steps invaded the dark silence. Twelve even paces and another door opened with a creak. Phillip moved again, slowly, cautiously. An evil grin sprawled across his face; he slipped past the open door, into the lit room. The shower curtain was drawn; the door beside it pulled shut. He leaned his body against the door, smiling, still smiling… The cold silver steel glinted against the electric luminous. He tapped; three soft taps against the door. He heard the sharp intake of breath, then silence. He tapped again; just like before, three soft taps. The door’s handle turned slowly as he eased off allowing his victim the pleasure of seeing his face. He backed away from the door as it groaned at it’s opening.
Pe..! He rushed her, throwing his weight unto her light body. She slammed back into the toilet, smashing her back against the bowl, her head rocked back into the water as he moved untop her shifting his weight. He slapped his fingers around her throat gripping her neck, “Think you could have done him like that huh? Think you could just waltz in and hurt him again?" Phillip was hysteric. He gripped her by the hair as she kicked and squirmed. “Stay still btch!” He lifted her head and smashed it against the edge of the bowl. “You don’t deserve him! You don’t you pregnant dog!” He continued banging her head against the edge of the bowl smearing he bloody contents inside, on the walls, wherever, however. “You can never love him!” He lifted her body overhead as he struggled to his feet turning her upside down. She was dead, way past dead but Phillip wasn’t done yet. He slammed her head into the bloody water, hearing her neck snap as her head smashed into the hard bottom. “I love him you sick btch!” He lifted her and repeated his movement. “I loved him! I did! But you wouldn’t let him see it would you? You couldn’t!” He was crying now, slamming her head or what was left of it into the bowl, “You just couldn’t could you? COULD YOU!” He gripped the knife pulling her slumped body out and resting her against the seat, “You just can’t let us be!” He stabbed her. Again! And again and again and again until he had exhausted himself throwing the bloody knife to the floor. With a heavy yet content sigh, he slipped out the back and down the fire escape… into the night.
"Peter Livingston!” The police were at his door. Peter had just woken up, though it was way past midday. “Y…Yes?”
“We need to ask you a few questions. Can you come with us?” Peter looked at the two officers, one male, and the other female. His face contorted into a mixture of utter confusion and total bewilderment. He nodded to them grabbing his T-shirt and slipping it on. The ride to the station had been a long one and impatience had gotten the better of Peter. The questions of his whereabouts, his activities for the day, yesterday had pricked a curious nerve in his head. “What is all of this about?” he asked finally.
“How close were you and a Miss Kerry Hawkes?” the female officer turned to him with an accusative glare.
“We were… close. She … broke up with me last night…”
Peter’s last words unknowing to him had sealed his fate in the eyes of the officers.
“What does this have to do with Kerry? Is she ok?” The man looked to his partner and returned a solemn gaze to Peter. “Oh god! God no! No!" His voice trailed off, their voices trailed off as words of sympathy fell on deaf ears.
An unknown amount of time later after Peter had told and retold his story, given account for most every part of his day; the detectives came at him again. They clearly didn’t buy his version or at least the part about him going back home to sleep it off.
“You live with anybody Mr. Livingston?” The female officer asked softly, almost seeming concerned.
“I told you already, my roommate Phillip Lansbury. Its just the two of us!”
“And where is this Phillip?”
“I dunno… He didn’t come home last night. We had an argument…"
“Seems like you’ve been doing a lot of fighting for the night. Bet you felt angry, at Phillip, Kerry… Bet you wanted to take out your rage on someone.”
She continued on , her voice keeping a soft almost apologetic tone.
“No! No! You don’t get it! I loved her. I would never…” His voice broke again.
“And Phillip? How did Phillip feel about Kerry?”
He didn’t like her very much?"
“And why is that?"
“I dunno… I …”
“Place your fingers here Mr. Livingston.” Peter complied.
“You don’t actually think I…?”
Tell me more about this Phillip; you said the two of you had a fight, what was it about?” Peter looked at the woman with a sigh, recounting the events of the day before. By the time he was finished, her partner came in, holding a court order in hand. “Search warrant!” He called.
“Why are you people doing this?”
“Just trying to get to the bottom of this Mr. Livingston!” She smiled reassuringly, resting her hand on his shoulder.
Tires screeched into the Livingstong driveway as the sound of three doors, opening and closing pulsed through the quiet afternoon. “His room is upstairs!” Peter sat himself on the couch, burying his hand in his face. The officers began their search, unsure of exactly what they were looking for but still working. “Jake!” the woman called. “Take a look at this!” she pointed to Phillip’s door. “Pretty clean for an out of control college student don’t you think?” Jake surveyed the room.
“Looks like that room hasn't been used in weeks!”
“Prints! Check for prints. I wanna talk to Livingston.” The male officer trudged down the stairs towards Peter. “I dunno what kinda game you running here Livingston, but I ain’t up for it. “Where’s your little friend?” Peter looked the officer directly in the eye totally confused. “I told you he didn’t come home last night. I don’t know where he is!” The female officer appeared at the top of the stairs. Her eyes riddled with puzzlement. “Jake?” she called to him. “There are... no prints in there... nothing." Jake’s phone rang as the woman made her way down the stairs. He answered, stepping away from them. Peter watched them, still confused. Jake’s voice suddenly split through the confusion inciting more than Peter had ever experienced. “Come with us Livingston! We’re booking you for murder!”
Jake sat in his office. “Prints match those on the murder weapon; Eye witness places his car at the apartment later that night. This Phillip person still hasn’t turned up and his prints are the only ones in the house.”
“He still sticking to his story?
“Yeah. Says he’s innocent and we’ve no evidence to prove that this Phillip person even exists."
“Search the house again and get a list of things Phillip purchased or owns, maybe we can trace him.” Jake stood watching her for a moment but chose not to question her.
He returned a few hours later holding a bag in his hand. “Some kid found these in the woods!” He handed the bag to his partner. “Traced, dusted. Nothing… At least nothing new. “Only prints on those belong to Livingston. Traced some of the purchases, all were made on Livingston's card by a man matching his exact description but calling himself Phillip.”
“So our boys living a double life?” Jake snickered.
“Not necessarily. I showed a few of the clerks a pic of Livingston and they all said it was his exact lookalike except that Phillip seemed more intimidating, kinda wild.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“He cracked yet?” She asked , seemingly mulling over something in her mind.
“Nope, but it’s only a matter of time,” Jake answered confidently
“I don’t think he will.” Jake looked at her confused. “I think... he actually believes his story.” Jessica turned away from Jake for a while.
“So how we catching this Phillip guy?”
“We don’t have to...." Jessica walked over to Peter’s cell. “We already have.”
Court day…
“You know what they’re saying don’t you? Phillip’s harsh voice filled the bathroom. “How did you get in here?”
“I’ve always been here Pete. “Always been with you.” It was the first time Peter heard Phillip’s voice soften. He let the pipe run its cold fluid over his hands as he remained head bent. “I‘m sorry Pete.”
“Sorry?”
“I am, but at least I‘m here for you like I‘ve always been."
“Why did you hate her Phillip? What did she ever do to you?
“She hurt you Pete. Hurt us. Kept us from being together? I love you Pete, but you couldn‘t see past her. She had to die. I had to do it. For you… For us
“ You didn't have to Phillip! You didn't have to kill her!” Peter sobbed into the cold running water.
“I didn’t.” Phillip smiled as Peter lifted his head from the sink, water dripping off his face. He looked into the glass watching as the drops slowly fell to the floor.
“You did.” Peter stared at the reflection in the mirror, his reflection. His lips quivered as he recognized the face, the poise, the eyes. “Ph…Phillip?” He brought his hands to his face as his reflection mimicked him. “No Peter...” He saw his lips move but it wasn’t his voice he heard. “No Peter…you!”