Cellar Door (4 page)

His Pursuit

I put the cigarette out on the sidewalk as I watch her surreptitiously from across the street. There she is, the Riddler’s last bit of unfinished business. Personally, I don’t see anything special about her. But the knowledge that I can right this wrong for him is practically an aphrodisiac to me, so much so that I have to adjust my pants as I visualize what needs to be done.

The Riddler. The man who terrorized the streets of Louisville, Kentucky, three years ago. I will confess to being riveted by the media attention he enjoyed during that time. In particular, one local crime blogger’s posts about the crime spree captured my attention and led me to seek out the man himself: Lance Jenkins.

I quickly became an admirer and spent hours compiling a digital scrapbook of newspaper articles and social media posts about his accomplishments. It took me months to summon the nerve to ask for a meeting, but to my surprise he agreed. Over the course of the last three years, I have visited him in Our Lady of Tranquility’s private psychiatric wing many times and – although, truly, I’m really not one to brag -- I’m proud to say I consider him a friend. My only friend.

I have learned so much from him during our visits. Having already been convicted of his crimes, he’s under no pressure to withhold information about his kills so we discuss them freely. In fact, he’s encouraged to reminisce about the murders quite often as medical students interview him for a better understanding of the criminally insane.

Much was achieved during his crime spree but, sadly, much remains unfinished. With each passing day, it has become clear to me that finishing his work will be my life’s highest purpose. In particular, I intend to tie up the one loose end that continues to haunt him: the one that, quite literally, got away. He regrets not having enough time to make her his final kill, so I’m going to make her
my
first
instead. There must always be a delicate balance maintained in these things.

When he agreed to see me the first time in that stuffy visitation room at the hospital, I was finally able to tell him just how much he meant to me. From that moment on, we have been as one. The connection of kindred souls resonates deep within me and I know he must feel the same.

It started out simple enough, with me going on and on about how I was his biggest fan, how I’d read every article ever written about him, how I’d studied every detail of his work. And now? I’m closer to him than his own brother. And I will do anything to keep that coveted position—even kill.

I will give him something no one else possibly can: the chance to live – and kill -- vicariously through me. Sharing in my experiences, even after the fact, will help him not feel confined like all those other patients. This way, he can savor the experience of killing without worrying about getting caught. In every way that matters, I’m giving him his freedom.

I amble up Muhammad Ali Boulevard toward my home in downtown Louisville. I was so lucky to secure the building that served as Lance’s work space during his killing spree. Even though the building had been refurbished and made available for occupancy, no one was interested in the property because of the atrocities that were committed there. No one appreciated its historic value but me. Of course, I had to have it so I bought it and moved in. My feet have trod upon holy ground ever since.

I searched that fucking building high and low to try and recover any piece of The Riddler I could find. When I couldn’t find anything, I was lucky to be able to go directly to the source by visiting the man himself.

Best decision I ever made.

He told me about the women he murdered, describing how he selected each one and the tools he used for each kill. Hearing about the deaths he facilitated brought me back to pulsing, raging life. I am forever grateful to him for that. The least I can do is to step in and complete his work.

I’m fortunate to have such a gifted man mentoring me. I want to make him proud. I want to carry on his legacy of fear and death, of absolute control.

I’m certain he’ll be pleased when I make her my first kill in the name of all that is The Riddler. And when I do, he and I will forever be connected in life and in death—bound by blood and anguish.

Liam

I never tire of watching her. If only I could look over her shoulder and brush the hair from her neck (or wrap it around my fist and yank her head back, forcing her to look in my eyes as I dominate her body and soul) as I read her words on the computer screen. I long to lean in and whisper in her ear all the vile things I want to do to her.

My eyes stray from watching her when I see a man in a gray hoodie standing in the shadows, his head tilted back as he looks upward. He’s watching her too.
What the fuck?

A flood of memories invades my mind as I think back to three years ago when ‘The Riddler’ terrorized the city of Louisville. I wondered then if I would ever be able to move past the embarrassment of that crazed man being my twin brother. Frankly, I didn’t appreciate the attention it attracted to me and my exceedingly private life. Claudia and I were in the middle of what would prove to be our last and truly mind-bending role play, although we didn’t know that yet. Much to my surprise, the press looked upon me as a hero: the poor victim who had been stalked by a man I’d never met.

Lance and I share the same mother but that’s as far as it goes. We were separated in infancy when my mother, for reasons she never explained, gave him up for adoption and kept me.

Apparently, he spent years stalking me and following my career. He even went to the same college to become an orthopedic surgeon like me, but was forced to withdraw because of the disturbing results of his psychological testing. It seems my twin inherited our mother’s crazy gene. So instead, he decided to put his medical expertise to work killing unsuspecting women.
Mommy issues much?

After holding me and my surgical team hostage, he was deemed criminally insane and remanded to Our Lady of Tranquility. He saw the hostage drama as his chance to get some coveted respect from the authorities and sympathy from the general public. He spouted off a bunch of shit about his childhood, saying that he had been wronged and that his killing spree had somehow been justified. So he told his story to Max, a local crime blogger, that day while holding us at gunpoint. Max’s quick thinking led to our rescue and his arrest. He spent his first night in jail and I returned home to Claudia and the eventual deterioration of our fantasy scene into something darker than either of us ever intended.

Now Lance spends his days being interviewed from time to time by the same blogger and an endless stream of doctors and students who all want the inside scoop on his life as a serial killer. I’ve continued my medical career, working long hours to the exclusion of all else – until recently, anyway. Until my Madonna.

And now she’s attracted the attention of this son of a bitch I’ve never seen before. Instinct compels me to get up from my seat at the coffee house’s sidewalk cafe and follow the man who was watching her. I get into my car and slowly follow him down Muhammad Ali Boulevard. His gray hoodie brings back too many unpleasant memories of the darkest chapter in my life.

I have devoted my life to building not only my career but a good reputation in the community. I spent years feeling guilty about being the son my mother chose. Years of asking myself why she kept me and gave him away. Years of wondering where he was and what would have become of me if she had given me away instead. That’s a heavy burden to put on a kid and it has taken a long time for me to start to get past the guilt and shame.

I’ve finally come to grips with who I am, including my less-than-conventional sexual appetites. The choices my mother made are hers, not mine, and I’m okay with that now. Now it’s just a matter of finding the right woman, someone who will enjoy my particular brand of kink.

The guy confirms my worst fears when he bounds up the steps of The Riddler’s house…like he owns the place. After my brother’s arrest, I had wanted the building demolished but the money-grubbing landlord made it a tourist attraction instead. He saw an opportunity to make a fast buck by giving guided tours featuring the gory details of a madman’s kills. People would stand in line for hours to see for themselves the place where Lance had killed those local women before cutting them into pieces that he left all over town.

Eventually, complaints about the noise and traffic forced him to shut the tours down and fix the house up for sale. Looks like the man in the hoodie either bought the house or is renting it. I want to know why.

That isn’t my only question, either. Why does he dress like my brother, in a gray hoodie that hides his face? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my brother had escaped from his comfortable room at Our Lady to take a bizarre trip down memory lane.

Whoever this guy is, he must harbor some fascination with the Riddler killings or he wouldn’t be living in that house. I’ve heard stories about people idolizing murderers and maybe that’s what’s going on here. But it would take one seriously twisted individual to admire my brother.

I don’t know what to make of any of this. There are too many things about this guy that remind me of my brother—the house, the clothes, and the fact that he’s possibly stalking a woman -- my Madonna.

His Adoration

I slept like a baby last night, looking forward to today’s visit, knowing I’ll be able to give him what he wants. I so want him to be pleased with me. The guard leaves, locking us in the room -- with privacy that I’ve secured by paying off the guards.

Lance smirks at me from across the metal table, his hands and feet in chains. I break the silence with the vital information I have for him. “He’s following her now, you know.”

“I’m not at all surprised,” he replies pompously after an unexpectedly long silence. “She reads to patients at the hospital. It was inevitable they would run into each other. But she’s mine; I saw her first, years ago. Tragically, I’m the reason she no longer reads to patients
here
. Brinkley didn’t care for the interest I showed in her, even though I was never in the same room with her. Hell, I like story time as much as the next guy, even if I’m just watching it on the video monitor. Anyway, Brinkley encouraged her to find somewhere else to read, that bastard. But, be that as it may, I still say ‘finder’s keeper’s’. My brother can stalk her all he wants, he can try his best to go after my little pet, but he’ll never measure up.”

My chest swells with pride, knowing I’m the one who found her and told him about her new volunteer assignment. I reply eagerly, “You’re right, he won’t. You’re everything he wants to be but never will. He’s nothing.” I lean in and whisper, “I can kill him for you if you want me to.”

His malevolent stare sends a chill coursing through me, and I lean back in my chair, chastened. I’ve said the wrong thing. I’ve displeased him.

Lance’s curt words cut me to the bone, “To kill my twin would be to kill a part of me. You wouldn’t want to do that, now would you?”

“No. I could never do anything to hurt you.”

He relaxes and gives me a small smile that doesn’t seem to reach his eyes. “So. Did you bring it?”

I’m happy he’s changed the subject to something I know will please him. I reach discreetly under the metal table and hand him the item. His posture never hints that he has taken the item and tucked it inside his coveralls. The money I slipped to the guards will ensure he returns to his cell with what I’ve given him.

I made some serious money in real estate years ago, but I left that all behind. Money isn’t what gives my life meaning now. The Riddler is my reason for living. I was never truly alive until I met him. There is nothing he could ever ask of me that I wouldn’t do. I take care of all his financial needs, from a generous allowance for the commissary to his legal fees. He’s appealing his case and I’m seeing to it he has the best council available, no matter how much it costs.

Yes, The Riddler and I are one; closer than brothers—certainly closer than that unworthy, unappreciative blood brother of his. I hate Liam Chambers for being his twin, for having a precious connection to Lance that he flagrantly squanders at every opportunity. I should have been born his twin, not that ungrateful son of a bitch. Lance doesn’t talk much about his long lost family, but I will see to it that he has his vengeance.

Maybe if I give my life for his cause, he will finally see my devotion for the gift it is, he’ll see me as his brother in every way that truly matters. It will make everything I’ve been through worth it when I achieve my rightful place—as his brother, sealed in evil -- and bound by blood, one way or another.