Page 82 of Aperture

“You two are really incredibly stupid,” he says, looking between the two men. “You think you were the only guys fucking Sophia? That slut was getting pounded like a porn star.”

Theo winces at Johnny’s words but doesn’t say anything.

Wyatt is still, silently watching as he processes what Johnny is saying.

He catches my eyes and I can see a tear fall from his right eye and the wet spot darkens the cement where it lands.

“See, I went to college, too. You didn’t know me. I wasn’t part of your precious group. But I was there, watching everything around me.” He stares at the knife poking into his finger. “Oh,” he adds, “and I was fucking her, too. When she had her little freak out about you and Wyatt, I was there for her. I told her she should get away for a while, to clear her head. I was going to kill her no matter what,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “The world doesn’t need whores like that. What I didn’t anticipate was you following her,” he says, looking at Theo. “That was too perfect for words.” He walks over to Theo and crouches in front of him.

“You see, I saw you confront her in that alley. I heard her tell you that she was in love with Wyatt. Fucking Wyatt. What is it with this guy?” he says to Theo as he motions to Wyatt.

“Guys like us don’t stand a chance. Right, Princess?” He questions, as he moves to me.

He yanks my hair back and forces me to look into his black, soulless eyes. He spits in my face and releases my hair, my head falling forward with his cold saliva inching its way down my cheek.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Wyatt yells. Johnny smiles at him but ignores his threat.

“Anywho,” he says with a grotesque, slick smile on his face, “I saw your face when she told you. I saw the anger, the rage. Then you, Theo, Golden Boy, did something I didn’t expect. You grabbed her and threw her down.” He jumps up and down like an excited child on Christmas.

“WOO HOO!” he screams. “It was awesome, too! I mean you shoved that bitch right to the ground while calling her a whore.”

Theo is crying and staring straight ahead as if brought back to the memory and reliving it in his mind.

“Theo, listen to me,” I plead. “You’re not like him. Don’t listen to him.”

Theo continues to look straight ahead, oblivious to my pleas.

“You got that right, Sweetheart,” Johnny hisses. “Theo, here, is most definitely not like me. He has a fear of abandonment and anger issues, but he’s weak.” Johnny begins pacing again.

“So, he throws her down hard and she goes down like a sack of potatoes. I swear I almost came in my pants. She hits the ground and her head bounces off the fucking concrete, and what does our boy do? He runs up to her and starts crying and whining about how he didn’t mean it. He’s so sorry. Blah, Blah. I wanted to puke. He actually earned my respect for about two seconds there, but then he had to go and blow it.”

Johnny studies the knife for a minute, touching the blade with his thumb again, the metal glinting over the overhead industrial lighting, before continuing.

“Like I said, Theo crouched next to her and that’s when he started to spill his guts. I mean he was really laying it on thick. Talking about Mommy Dearest and how she was horrible. How he was neglected and how he found her dead with a red scarf tied around her arm and a needle hanging out of it.”

He turns to look at Theo, whose head is still bent in shame. “Seriously though, Dude, that probably sucked.” Then he shrugs and continues his stomach-churning monologue.

“That’s when my genius idea was born. I mean, Wyatt was always a nosy fuck. I knew he had theories about Theo. He had seen some shit and he wasn’t going to let it go. So I used it to my advantage. After your boy here spilled his guts,” he turns to look at me, “to his not sodead girlfriend, he took off. Left her there in an alley, like a piece of trash. I mean, at least I have the common courtesy to dispose of the trash correctly. But not Theo. He left. So I grabbed Sophia and took her to an old barn. I made a stop, of course, to pick up a nice red scarf.”

“You’re fucking sick,” I spit, to which Johnny simply shrugs.

“Maybe,” he says casually. “But this has been so much fun, pretending to be Theo, in those moments of watching the light leave women’s eyes. I drew on his life and his pain.” He stops and studies the knife again. He’s talking faster now, thoughts running together.

“It was so much more fun than my life. I had a normal childhood. Grew up in the suburbs. Boring and generic. My parents love me, or so they profess. I have an older sister, who’s a bitch, but it’s not like she molested me or anything. I was just born broken. I knew it early on. It’s not like I am full of hate. More like an empty void. Do I fit your MO, Detective?” he asks, looking over toward Wyatt.

Wyatt says nothing. He’s just looking at Theo with regret and a pang of sadness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Not even on the day he left me.

Johnny is in his own world now. It seems important to him for us to know this for some reason.

“I remember when our family dog, Biscuit, died. Everyone was so upset, and I couldn't be bothered to care at all. I faked it, just like I always faked even liking that little fleabag. I became an expert at masking how empty I was. I just mimicked other people’s mannerisms, emotions, and expressions. And it was. So. Fucking. Easy. I worked in that bar your boys here used to frequent in New Jersey. They never even noticed me, but I watched them. Both of them. They were like this force, the two of them. People flocked to them. So I watched and learned. When I heard Theo’s confession, my new tortured persona was born. I killed these women, as you, Theo. And I did it to coincide with whenever you ‘left town,’” he says the last two words with quotation marks. “You are going to be famous one day.” He squeals with delight before continuing.

“You should have seen Sophia. She was my masterpiece. My first.” He recalls. “She thought I was going to kill her because she chose Wyatt. Like I give a fuck about that. But Theo would. So, I channeled his emotions and strangled that bitch with a red scarf, after I had a little fun with her, of course. Then I sat there and watched her die, just like Mom.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He so fucking sick that I can feel the bile rising in my throat. I bend over the side of my chair, as much as I can while still being restrained, and vomit on the floor. Johnny doesn’t miss a beat in his twisted soliloquy.

“I stayed close to him and studied everything he did. I had to mimic Theo’s life in order to pull this off. My performance has been nothing short of Oscarworthy. And that fucking picture was the cherry on top of it all. All three of you were spinning. It was hilarious.”

He turns to look at me. “Oh, and Mills,” he deadpans. “Maybe use a different code for your door alarm. Your dead grampie's birthday wasn’t exactly difficult to decipher.”