Sex and Murder Magazine

By Jessica Simms

Searing pain coursed through Evelyn’s body, a hot screaming agony that sent a blinding flash of white across her vision. It was pain she had never felt and had never thought to feel. Certainly, nothing she thought could be caused by a fruit.

Evelyn’s breathless outburst—a loud surprised squeal—attracted attention. The Red Star Cafe’s patronage of socialites grazed her with furtive stares that skittered away before making eye contact. Sabrina swiped her hair self-consciously over her shoulder. It glared the color of an overripe tomato, an angry shade that resonated with the pain in Evelyn’s mouth.

“Lynn? Are you okay?” Sabrina asked.

Evelyn worked her jaw, felt a hard stone-like lump on her tongue and spat it into her hand. “A pit!” she exclaimed. “Some dumb fuck in the kitchen forgot to pit the olives!”

Sabrina eyed her salad suspiciously, pushed through the vinaigrette-doused leaves. Evelyn probed the injured tooth with the tip of her tongue. Between cheek and gum, she felt a something hard. Evelyn spat it into her palm. It was a pea-sized chunk of tooth, gleaming white with a long jagged edge. All the money poured into dental work, from braces to fillings to bleach-free whitening, and in a battle of fruit versus tooth—look who won.

Sabrina eyed the tooth fragment, equal parts disgust and outrage. “Oh. My. God. You should totally sue. It chipped your tooth? That’s so barbaric. I’m getting the waiter.”

Sabrina was irate, poised for further trouble. Evelyn didn’t bother objecting.

*****

Sabrina raved the whole drive back to the office. “You shouldn’t have caved so easily. You know how much dental work costs?”

They both got free meals; the owner came out to offer personal apologies. Still not enough to sate Sabrina’s desire for reprisal.

“Insurance’ll cover it,” Evelyn answered, wearily. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? All you had to do was hold out long enough to make them nervous. You should’ve been furious, you had every right to—”

“Well maybe I was in pain and didn’t want to fuck with it!” Evelyn snapped. Her mouth was overfull with reactionary saliva; a glob spat from her mouth and alighted on the dashboard. Sabrina glared sideways as she guided her Toyota into the parking lot, galloping over a speed bump. Evelyn’s teeth knocked together. She doubled over, hissed air in through her teeth. Sabrina put a guilty hand on the top of Evelyn’s black bob, nails clicking audibly with each comforting stroke.

“You should go home. Tell Mr. Jenks what happened. He’ll understand.”

Evelyn’s pink-painted lips curled into a forced smile. “It’s just a little pain. Nothing I can’t handle.”

*****

But it was more than a little pain, and proved sufficient distraction from her work day. By three, she’d developed a migraine. She phoned her dentist and set up an emergency appointment for Monday morning, 10 o’clock, before giving up and heading home, where it was straight to bed and a fitful, sweat-drenched sleep.

Evelyn opened bleary eyes to a Saturday half-over. Past noon, by the bedside clock. An understatement to say she’d overslept, but more important than the hour was her physical condition. A background ache lingered in place of yesterday’s sharp agony. She’d sleep straight through to Monday if it meant less pain in her waking hours.

Not that Evelyn wanted to take any chances. She downed a handful of extra strength Tylenol and lingered in front of the vanity mirror. Mouth gaping, she inspected the damage. A bottom right molar was the obvious culprit, half its surface vanished, its ugly innards exposed to the world. At least the damaged goods were in the back. It could be worse; she could look like some gap-toothed crackwhore. Evelyn curled her tongue to probe the injured area. It shivered from the faint pressure.

The phone rang. Evelyn started. Her tongue, misguided, alighted on an exposed nerve. The pain returned in full with hot involuntary tears that veiled the world in a liquid shimmer. She collapsed hard on the toilet seat. The message beep prompted a deep voice on the other end.

“...making sure we were still on for tonight. I was thinking we could try Volt—that new place downtown? The owner was second on Top Chef or something. I heard it’s fantastic. I’ll probably pick you up at seven, so...yeah. Just call me back.”

Dustin Hatter. A firm thought to cut the disorientation—because Dustin was only the most eligible bachelor of Pierce and Sons Insurance, the office where she worked. Evelyn had spent two years waiting for him to notice her. Monday they’d talked at the Labor Day picnic, lamenting the texture of the bacon-wrapped water chestnuts and debating the merits of variable versus fixed rate annuities. By the end of the night, he’d asked her for a date. Yesterday’s unfortunate events had driven their plans from her mind.

Evelyn forced herself to stand. She stared herself down in the mirror. Her lazuli-blue eyes were underscored by dark splotches. Her hair, a tangled black mess, an unfortunate contrast to her waxy pale skin. But Dustin Hatter had no shortage of suitors. If she let him go now, there might never be another chance to get him alone—and she vowed to her reflection, I’ll be damned if an olive pit will get between me and romance.

Evelyn pressed the speed-dial for Sabrina.

“What kind of pills did you get for your surgery last spring?”

“Vicodin, I think.”

“You still got ‘em?”

“Like, half a bottle. Why do you ask?”

*****

Between the Vicodin and the wine, Evelyn floated through the dinner. Dustin was perfect, from his tailored Armani suit to his shaggy-styled waves of auburn hair. Fear of aggravating the injured molar restrained Evelyn to slow, demure bites. Her stomach screamed for more. A bite of a Pop-Tart earlier had felt like so many sugar-coated ice picks in the tooth’s fragile root. She hadn’t tried eating since.

If she was faking carefree happiness, it was a good performance. Dustin laughed at her jokes. He seemed pleasantly surprised by her wine choices. He pulled out her chair, refilled her glass. Once the bill was settled, he suggested, “Maybe we could have some nightcaps at your place.”

Evelyn tottered on her spike heels, on the cusp of drunk and wasted, when Dustin helped her from the passenger seat. Tangled by the wine, her feet took two steps before tumbling her into her date’s waiting arms. Smooth and sure, he tilted her face up to his and said, “You’re quite the damsel in distress.”

She was woozy before he kissed her and hovered close to fainting until his liquor breath, thick in her mouth, roused her back to conscious. Her lips parted as much in surprise as willingness. His tongue darted between them. Evelyn flexed her tongue to return the affection. Its surface brushed the inside of her wounded tooth.

Instinct snapped her jaw shut, teeth biting hard on Dustin’s tongue. He pulled back with a muffled yell but the reaction was too late. Blood streamed thick and dark over his lips. Pain churned Evelyn’s guts to the brink of nausea—the alcohol bucked up in protest—the harsh sticky taste of Dustin’s blood too much like the iron bile warning of impending vomit. The final trigger. Evelyn turned hastily toward the curb as their fine dinner date came out, landing wet and thick on the well-groomed sidewalk, splattering his car.

“I—“ Evelyn turned to find Dustin bloody-faced and gaping. She stumbled and tripped to her apartment door, flew up the steps without looking back.

*****

“It could’ve been worse,” Sabrina told her Monday morning. “At least you didn’t puke in his mouth.”

Evelyn had passed Sunday curled in bed beneath the covers. What she wanted was a greasy diner breakfast to take the edge off her hangover, but her tooth screamed protest at every sip of water. Scrambled eggs with hot sauce—she trembled at the very thought. Nowhere in her misery did she think to set the alarm for Monday morning’s dentist visit, and she slept past nine. Panicked adrenaline got her to the bus stop just behind the 9:30, and she chased its exhaust fumes long enough to trip on the curb and break a heel from her shoe. It was call Sabrina at the office or break down in tears.

“I just hope to god I can still get in with the doctor,” Evelyn moaned.

“Just explain the situation, Hon. They’ve gotta be sympathetic.”

Sabrina turned to office gossip and Evelyn ended the call, lacking patience for the chatter. The bus that pulled up at 10:05 was standing room only. Downtown, wedged between pit stains and a sobbing baby, she counted the blocks. Fifteen. Of course they would hit every goddamned red light. The man behind her reeked of day old liquor and cheap cologne. Ten blocks. She shifted toward the rear doors, heart pulsing furiously. She felt its beat in her temple, in her neck. In her tooth. Three blocks. Green lights ahead.

No bite or brush or jolt, but the tooth didn’t care. It roared into awareness, a burst of pain more intense than the initial break. The bus stopped; its doors twisted open. Evelyn’s knees buckled, pitching her forward, vision black before her head hit the staircase.

*****

The hospital was a blur of white, each machine haloed by her head trauma.

“Just a mild concussion,” the doctor reassured her, “No permanent damage.” He had a first name for a last name, a bowl-cut hairdo, a nose like a hawk’s beak. Evelyn heard him talking to Sabrina, who perched bedside and gnawed her plastic nails. Their voices wavered, buffeted like sounds heard through fan blades. Between the crescendos of speech her mind whispered now, now in pulsing desperation.

“...her dentist tomorrow...new appointment...” They talked around Evelyn, over her, like she was dumb instead of injured, but she couldn’t summon the energy to protest.

“...dehydration and exhaustion...eats regular meals...”

“...have to worry...drive her tomorrow...”

When she shifted they both turned and smiled at her. It was the smile you flash at a frightened dog in a thunderstorm. Sabrina patted her hand. Her mind’s voice pulsed—Leave now. Leave now.

Sabrina asked, “You wanna stay here and rest a bit?”

Evelyn shook her head. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

*****

Sabrina showed up at her door at 7:30 the next morning and pounded until Evelyn peeled herself off the couch cushions.

“You’ve skipped too many meals lately,” she explained. Sabrina was fully dressed in black skirt and heeled boots. Evelyn wore boxers and a wife-beater, a cocoon of unhappy silence wrapped in a bight blue comforter. She noticed a grocery bag in Sabrina’s hand—and she didn’t know what was in it, but she didn’t think she’d like it.

“Mouth hurts,” Evelyn protested. Tarzan speech was the best she could manage. Sabrina rolled her eyes and hefted the bag.

“Fruit and yogurt smoothie. Doc said you need food. God, you look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

At first, watching Sabrina slice the fruit was a pleasant distraction, but the rhythmic staccato thump of the knife lured the tooth out of hiding. The nerves growled awareness at the whir of the blender. The finished smoothie was a creamy mauve concoction, dotted with fruit seeds. Evelyn eyed it suspiciously. Her ire shifted to Sabrina when her friend poured it in a travel cup.

“Get dressed,” Sabrina ordered. “You can drink this on the road.”

“The appointment’s not for two hours!”

“Traffic’s a bitch. We’re not taking any chances.”

Her commanding tone allowed no room to argue.

“You’ll thank me later,” Sabrina insisted as she prepped her own breakfast. An unholy resonance, the chop chop chop of the knife and her tooth’s reply, Stop. Stop. The voice continued to chant after the knife’s thump faded in the background. By the time Evelyn emerged from her bedroom in jeans and a sweater, her mood was descending toward abysmal. She cast a critical eye over her kitchen, the dirty dishes, abandoned fruit chunks.

“What, you’re not gonna clean up after yourself?”

Sabrina brushed her off with a loose-wristed hand. “I’ll do it when I bring you back. Jesus, Lynn, I know it hurts, but you’re such a bitch today.”

In the car, Evelyn turned up the radio and stared out the window. Sabrina got the hint and didn’t try to talk. Traffic was predictably snarled for the city at rush hour. Evelyn sipped angrily at her smoothie—and it was delicious, she couldn’t deny that, however much she tried. The fruity tang made it hard to nurture the morning’s grudge. At least traffic obliged her dark humor. Sabrina made a sudden lane change, cutting off an SUV that responded with resounding honks.

Evelyn snapped, “You wanna try to get us there in one piece?”

“Chill out, okay?” Sabrina turned down the radio, gave her hair a flippant flick, eyes darting to the rearview. In Evelyn’s mouth, Stop now. Go back. Stop now. Each bump in the road, each hitch in the engine, Go back. “I’m doing this to help you. I didn’t have to take off work, y’know. It’s just because I’m such a good friend—“

The radio; the noise. Drown it out. Evelyn turned the volume up to booming. Sabrina’s mouth tightened at being cut off. Let her stew. Her, acting all put out when this was her idea in the first place. Evelyn pulled harder on the straw, clogged up by a fruit chunk. Just another obnoxious act of charity, this smoothie, and she—

The fruit pulled through with a rush of sweet. A seed propelled toward the back of her mouth, lodged in the gap. Screeching nerves—go back stop now go back—her body twisted to a hunch. Sabrina’s hand touched her shoulder. “Lynn? Lynn, are you okay?”

Evelyn’s every muscle tensed. She fought to open her eyes—fought just to breathe, chest tight with shock.

“Do you need me to stop?” back back back “Say something, you’re scaring me!”

Evelyn managed to raise her head. Brakelights flared on the freeway ahead of them. Sabrina had one hand on the wheel, no eyes on the road. Evelyn managed a point, a strangled—“Oh my God!” Sabrina’s attention returned to the road in time for squealing breaks just before the glass-busting fender-crunching impact. Whipped around like a bad carnival ride, red globs of smoothie floated to the ceiling, allowing Evelyn the stray thought are we rolling? before the air bag burst to life in her face.

*****

She was lucky to escape with minor injuries. Bruised ribs, airbag abrasions on her cheeks, some whiplash. Sabrina went to surgery for massive internal injuries and remained in critical condition. Evelyn’s memories of the crash were a series of still images. Smoothie floating surreal toward the upholstered roof, the roiling empty weightless sensation in the pit of her stomach.

In her hospital room, the doctor read her chart and said, “I think it’s best if you stay here a few days for observation.”

No!

Her thought, but that near-mad desperate denial—it wasn’t her voice. Her voice told the doctor, “I’d like to go home.”

“You’ve had two concussions in two days. This isn’t something to treat lightly.”

Get out of here. Go now.

Who are you?

Her tooth took up its persistent throb.

“I can’t keep you here against your will, but there’s still a possibility...”

Take us home.

They couldn’t keep her. That was the important part. Evelyn limped to the bus stop.

*****

Dark. Make it dark.

“It can’t get much darker,” Evelyn muttered. She’d taken a few of Sabrina’s Vicodin then curled up in her comforter. The muted television provided the only fitful illumination.

Sleep.

“I’m trying!”

In place of pain, roving pins and needles coursed down her jaw and seeped into her tongue. Hard to fall asleep when she already felt like she was dreaming, but she longed to obey the inner voice.

Distant pounding snapped her awake. Ignore it! the voice snapped. Another pound. Someone at the door.

“Just go away,” she pleaded, softly. The tooth’s voice responded with assent. It nodded—no, she was nodding, furiously. The next knock was firmer, longer. She staggered to her feet. “I’ll just see who it is.”

Don’t let them in, the tooth hissed. Evelyn promised she wouldn’t.

It was Dustin, just as gorgeous in blue jeans and sweatshirt as Saturday’s Armani. He carried an unassuming tote bag. He smirked at her, sheepish.

“We heard about the accident,” he told her. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

A surge of emotions—embarrassed, excited, confused. She knew she looked bad, haggard with white skin and red welts on her gaunt pale cheeks. Dustin stared at her. Evelyn stammered, “How’s your tongue?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, blushing. “Wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“About what happened—“

“Don’t say anything. It was my fault. I was drunk and I...” Dustin cleared his throat and hefted the bag. “I brought the makings for chicken noodle soup. Thought you might need some TLC.”

Send him away! the voice raved. But between the pain and her two accidents, she felt empty, alone. She needed a friend. “That sounds wonderful.”

The tooth hissed when she flicked the light on. Gnashed, if a single tooth could gnash—and she was contemplating this image when it told her, you’ll regret this.

Leave me alone! she screamed back.

Never.

Evelyn pointed the way to the kitchen. Dustin followed dutifully.

Sabrina’s smoothie making morning seemed far away and distant, but the mess remained. The knife lay on the cutting board, both coated in seed-dotted strawberry flesh, the sickly brown of once-green kiwi. She told Dustin, “Sorry about the mess.”

He grinned. “No worries.”

She hoped the white noise of the faucet would drown out the tooth. Its ravings pulsed the numb feeling toward her brain. She furiously scrubbed the cutting board clean and set it aside, moved on to the knife.

“What happened this morning, anyway?” Dustin asked as he rooted through his tote.

“Someone cut us off. Sabrina couldn’t stop in time.” Evelyn hedged around her own role. The distraction; the music. The voice in her head.

“You know her condition?”

“No. I’ve been sleeping all day. I hit my head and—oh!”

Distracted, she’d nicked her finger on the dirty knife, a smooth slit from nail to second joint. Get rid of him or I’ll do worse.

You’re just a voice in my head. You can’t do anything.

The migraine struck fast and hard as a bullet train. Her fingers tightened on the knife.

“You okay?”

Get rid of him.

No. And she felt so proud for saying no—and so insane, for arguing with her own mind. Not her mind. With her tooth. This possessed, evil little tooth in the back of her mouth.

Kick him out, the tooth commanded. Do it, or I’ll kill him.

You don’t control me, she shot back. The pain in the back of her mind curled up along the ridges of her skull, a crescent swath of agony shaped like a demented smile.

That’s what you think.

“Evelyn?” Dustin came up behind her. She tried to drop the knife. Her fingers were numb; they wouldn’t unflex. She had no control.

“No!” she shouted in panic. Dustin took it as an answer and turned her to face him. The knife came up in her hand. She felt the jolt against her shoulder as the blade sank into his stomach.

“Stop it!” Again it stabbed. Again. Again. “Just stop it!”

It’s your fault. Again. You didn’t listen. The knife slid out. Dustin’s eyes glazed. A trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

I own you.

*****

Mumbled voices. Bright light filtered through her eyelids. The tooth shouldn’t like it, but was strangely silent. Hiding, then.

“Doctor? The anesthesia’s wearing off.”

Evelyn didn’t want to wake. Amnesia-like gaps peppered her thoughtwaves. Her mind recalled blood, an argument, a scream.

“Miss Rowles? I know you’re awake. We’d like to speak with you.”

The voice was strong, male, and decidedly unpleasant. Regardless, her ruse was up. The silence was shattered. Evelyn’s eyes fluttered open.

Another hospital, but not soothing white. No smiling doctors with youthful charm. This doctor was gnarled, eyes disillusioned under close-cropped silver hair. There were bars on the undressed windows, set in unpainted concrete walls. A uniformed cop with bulldog-like jowls stood behind the doctor.

“A dental surgeon fixed your tooth,” the surly doctor informed her. “You were raving about it when we brought you in. Don’t pretend like you’ve forgotten.”

“Brought me in?”

The cop stepped up and spoke in the doctor’s ear, who motioned the medical staff to follow him from the room. When they’d gone, the cop crossed his arms and loomed over the foot of her bed. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Evelyn scoured her thoughts, replied meekly, “Dustin came over. To make soup.”

“So you were familiar with Mr. Hatter?”

“We were dating. Kind of.”

“What happened when Mr. Hatter arrived?”

Evelyn’s mind was fuzzed by the lingering anesthesia, or some dark shroud of the tooth’s making. But the tooth was fixed, he’d said. Her tongue confirmed; no gap in the molar. She was free. “He was worried about me, after the accident, and—“

“Sabrina McKnight’s automobile accident.” His tone reminded her of interrogations TV crime dramas. From that tone, he thought she was guilty, even if she didn’t know the crime. Something tickled her mind, it disappeared as the cop asked, “You invited Mr. Hatter in. Then what?”

“We went into the kitchen. I started doing dishes and he...”

Blood. The knife flicking, in and out—her numb hand—

“Miss Rowles, did you kill Dustin Hatter?”

“No!” The feel of his flesh tearing. The betrayed pain in his beautiful eyes.

“We have the murder weapon. It’s covered in your fingerprints. So think about it, and I’ll ask again: did you kill Dustin Hatter?”

“It took control. I didn’t do it!”

“What took control?”

“The tooth. It wanted him to leave. I tried to fight it.”

She was as much a victim as Dustin. The tooth had ruined them both. Evelyn wouldn’t kill anyone. She couldn’t.

“But the tooth’s fixed, now,” Evelyn piped up, hopefully. “So I can go home. Right?”

The cop gaped at her. “A man’s dead.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

His jowls quivered as he sighed in something like sympathy. “You’ve been through some trauma, so the jury might be sympathetic. A good lawyer could probably get you a plea of insanity. But you ain’t goin’ home, Miss Rowles. Not for a while.”

The poison tooth was gone—but in the silence that followed, she thought she could still hear it laughing.