Cellar Door (19 page)

His Nightmare

I take great care as I tie him to the chair. Each limb must be secured because he’s going to fight against his restraints when he regains consciousness. Straight-back wooden chairs like this are perfect for trussing up someone’s hands. This time I even went so far as to truss up his midsection to the chair. There is a hell of a difference in a person’s strength when they’re in
fight or flight
mode—and any minute now when he wakes up, he’s going to be driven by pure instinct, just trying to survive. I waste no time starting in on him as soon as his eyes start to flutter.

He never sees it coming. I slap him so hard that his head flies to the side and I wonder absently if his neck will snap. The sour stench draws my attention down to his urine-soaked pants.

“What man pisses on himself at a time like this?” I ask contemptuously before I slap him on the other cheek. A trail of blood drips from his lip and my dick goes hard in an instant. It’s the blood that excites me, not him. I’m nobody’s bitch.

“What?” I snarl. “Are you a bitch? You are, aren’t you—you’re a little bitch.”

“Why are you doing this?” His whine repulses me but my dick stays hard as a rock and I can’t resist palming it through my pants…because of the blood.

“Such a predictable question. C’mon, you’re fighting for your life here, can’t you come up with something more original than that? True, you’re only my second kill, but you should be pleased to know that I’m enjoying this so much that I’ve decided I’m going to keep doing it. Yes, I really do like it,” I say conversationally, adding, “So tell me, are you married?”

“Yes, yes, and I have children too” he answers, throwing that last bit in as if it will make a difference. I really couldn’t give a fuck about all that.

“Ah, a family man, are you?”

“Yes! I have a wife and kids and they need me--”

“Really. Interesting. Well, if you’re that worried about your
wife
and kids
, what are you doing picking up diseased whores to suck your cock?”

His face flushes, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to defend his actions. “My wife…She’s sick, she can’t have sex.”

“I didn’t want an answer, dumb ass. I. Don’t. Care. Why am I doing this? Simple. Because I can.”

Liam

The pad of my thumb traces back and forth over her shoulder as I stare into the darkness and ponder our discussion. Madonna is the first woman I’ve allowed to sleep through the night in my bed. Usually I can’t get rid of a woman quick enough and kick them out of bed before my dick has even dried off. But not now. There’s something intimate about the afterglow of sex with her, more intimate than the sex itself; something I’ve never been willing to share with anyone…until now.

She wants to catch a killer with me, how ironic. I know my brother and he’s never going to help us catch this guy in the act. He’s having too much fun watching him wreak havoc on the city. The fact that I’m holding a woman against her will certainly limits my options. I can’t do anything to draw attention to myself. Funny how the best of intentions can turn around and bite you in the ass.

In successful abductions there must come a time when abductees are no longer bound by physical ties, but instead by the emotional bonds the captor has skillfully woven into their psyche. Only time will tell if I’ve been successful in my endeavors. Yes, joining forces against this guy is just what we need to establish some common ground. There’s nothing quite like being bound by blood.

His Resentment

I hate this part of my job, having to clean up after these stupid people. Even though jamming a screwdriver into his ear wasn’t all that messy in and of itself, I resent the fact that I have to clean up
his
mess. Killing him this way aligned nicely with my ‘three monkeys’ theme, and allowed me to see his face as the screwdriver pierced his brain.

I had imagined his brain would offer only soft resistance, much like trying to cut through gristle on a fatty steak. But I must have hit something harder because I had to push really hard to force the screwdriver in. Overall, I enjoyed the experience, but I liked killing the woman more because I could play with her titties and get myself off. It was nearly impossible not to come in my pants, though. That used to happen when I was a peeping Tom, but now I aspire to be a serial killer, master of my destiny. I’ve always liked watching women while playing with my cock, but killing that whore and seeing the fear in her eyes was riveting.

I like the fun stuff: the terror in their eyes, listening to them beg me for their lives—as if I’m going to change my mind. I don’t think so. I act like I’m considering having mercy on them because it gives them false hope, which serves to draw out my pleasure. Of course, dumping bodies behind that stupid private investigator’s compound is an adrenaline rush too. I’m taking a chance doing that again but it’s the only way I can be associated with and, therefore, compared to The Riddler. People need to know I’m a whole lot smarter and better at killing people than he is. And it’s been nearly a month since I killed the whore with the great tits, so security around the building has surely loosened up.

Then again, there could be an even better way to make my point—that I am just as fucking talented as my mentor – and not get caught. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I know exactly what to do…

Madonna

“Take me to see him.” I lean up on an elbow and maintain steady eye contact in an attempt to convince him that he can trust me. “I won’t say anything. And I’ll stay here of my own volition.”
Great, now I’m bargaining with my kidnapper.

He narrows his eyes, assessing me, weighing the risks. I know it’s crazy on his part to trust me but
he
doesn’t need to know that. And, surprisingly, I have no intention of telling anyone our secret. His mysterious behavior has now become part of the enigmatic game we play. Staying with Liam will ensure my success in the venture I have in mind—but only if he goes along with it.

“So inquisitive…You want to interview Lance for your writing, don’t you? Is that what this is about? Do you really believe you’re in the position to bargain with me?”

“People are always telling me I should write my own book. There’s no better way to get inside information on how a killer thinks than to go straight to the source.”

“You’re mistaken if you think Lance can be taken at face value; he’s a master manipulator. He’ll turn the tables on you and you won’t even know he’s done it. He likes toying with his prey. But you’re
my
prey and the thought of any other man sharing that part of you enrages me.”

“That’s why I’ll have you with me. That way, you can decide what’s true and what’s a lie. And even if he does lie to us, I’ll still get insights from a killer.”

“Us?”

“Yes, Liam…us. Consider it a bonding experience.”

“No! You’re the one who needs to reconsider. If you cross me, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“I’m sure we can find another way for you to introduce me to that side of your personality. We wouldn’t want to take something that’s meant to be enjoyable and turn into something ugly, would we?” I tip my head to the side and look up at him through my lashes, being shamelessly coy.

“Ugly doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ll do to you if you betray me.”

Some people don’t need to raise their voice to be taken seriously, the look on their face says it all; Liam is one of those people. His relationship with his brother has to be profoundly complicated. From what I recall about the case, Liam and his brother were separated as infants and only reconnected the day his brother was arrested for a killing spree that terrified the good people of Louisville -- the bad people, too, probably.

Liam has been through an experience unlike anything I could ever imagine, and he bears the emotional scars. I’m not sure how he’s managed to make me feel compassion toward him, but, God help me, I do.