House of Skin (12 page)

“What if I knew two such men?”

“Who?”

“Grimes and another.”

“You’d do that to him?” Stadtler asked.

“In a second. He’s perfect. Overflowing with fears to be exploited. Think about it.”

Stadtler did and he didn’t like it one bit.
“It’s mad,” he said.
Zero smiled. Those were the exact words Grimes had said when Zero
suggested they do the same thing to Stadtler. But unlike Grimes, Zero had already found Stadtler’s body double.

There was no more talk of it that night. There were other things to be done. Zero suggested that tonight they explore the nature of death. They had a pimp supply them with the proper girl and in the attic, while the mirrors watched, they set to work on her.

It was the first of many nights they would do this.

Dr. Blood-and-Bones had been born.

Lisa Lochmere woke the next morning with Eddy Zero on her mind. It had been two years since she’d last talked to him and in all that time, he never strayed far from her thoughts. Eddy was a constant.

But there other things on her mind as well.

Not the least of which was what she’d seen in the House of Mirrors. That animal in the attic—be it rat or cat—had been stripped of its meat. This much was fact. Like some great and hungry wind had sucked away its flesh and had bleached the floorboards in the process. And what could do that? What could suck meat from bones? Dust and paint from boards? There seemed to be no logical answer. Her scientist’s brain drew a complete blank. These things alone didn’t bother her as much as the fact that everything seemed to have been drawn
towards
the mirror. That was the truly odd and disturbing thing.

She wasn’t one who liked mysteries.

And this particular one was very unsettling.

Speaking of mysteries, her mind came back to Eddy again. She was certain now that he was in town, imitating his father’s reign of terror. She had no hard evidence, she just
knew.
It was pure intuition. He was out there somewhere plotting the deaths of innocents. And all to feed the twisted ego-machine his mind had become. Fenn had faith in his methods to stop him, but Lisa did not. She better than anyone else in the world outside of Eddy himself knew what he was capable of. Knew just how clever he was.

It was strange how it was all working out. She’d arrived in town and just about the same time there was a murder in the house of William Zero. Eddy? She thought so. And the other one yesterday? She thought that it was his work, too. Just a feeling, really, a sixth sense. There was a certain logic to the fact that the first killing had started where Dr. Blood-and-Bones had more or less ended. At least in her mind. And it had all started with her arrival in San Francisco. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought she was the catalyst somehow for the nightmare to begin again.

But that was crazy.

Eddy had told her many things during their sessions. Things he never dared repeat to the other doctors at Coalinga and only when she’d shut her recorder off. He wanted to be his father, recreate his crimes and perhaps outdo them. He had planned it all out, he informed her, how it was to be done. And soon as he had the other doctors fooled and was released, he’d put his master plan into motion. He was a clever one. In time, he did what he promised.

He effortlessly fooled Quillan, Reeves, and Staidmyer. Those idiots never even suspected they’d been manipulated by a master. If the idea of a sexual psychopath on the loose wasn’t so frightening, Lisa might have laughed herself.

But Eddy was no garden-variety psychopath (if there was such a thing), which is why he was so fascinating from a professional standpoint. His delusions seemed less a sickness and more role-playing. He flaunted his insanity with all the self-indulgence of a hammy thespian at times; at others, he pretended sanity with a practiced finesse. He was a dilemma to say the least. So as far as the law was concerned, he was quite sane.

Which is just another reason Lisa thought the science of mental health had a long way to go. In her opinion, no two people suffered in exactly the same way from any particular dementia or psychosis. It was always a matter of the individual—his or her history, peculiarities, childhood, personal biases. There was no set pattern, no pat description of any illness, no parameters that could be perfectly defined. It always depended on the individual.

Sometimes, she wondered why hunting down Eddy was so damn important. She spent money and time searching for a man who, once captured, would no doubt be out of reach to her forever. His case would invariably be turned over to someone else. Yet, even with this in mind, she couldn’t stop. She told herself she wanted to do a book on him. The son of a serial killer recreating dad’s crimes. It was a fascinating concept.

Another book. Like the one she wanted to do on Cherry Hill.

But she didn’t like thinking about how that one had ended.

Cherry manipulated you as easily as Eddy did his other doctors.

There was no point in going over that again. There was only Eddy now. He had to be stopped, one way or another. If she got a book out of it, fine. But her primary reason was stopping him. Nothing else. She was a criminal psychiatrist and her job was to identify dangerous individuals and get them off the streets.

But was that the only reason? Mere professional curiosity? Duty?

Of course, she told herself, what other reason could there be?

Passion, maybe? Was there more than a book in mind here, more than service to her fellow man? Something else entirely? Like maybe an emotional and sexual fixation? She refused to accept that. Her obsession was purely professional. There could be nothing else. The truth was Eddy had been in her thoughts since Coalinga. Even when she was picking Cherry Hill’s brain for that damn book, Eddy had been the reason. Cherry was infatuated with Eddy. Lisa had to know why.

Because maybe you could understand yourself if you understood her.

Lisa grimaced at the idea.

But the plain facts were that she had a history of involvement with dangerous, desperate men. They excited a raw and primal urge within her. And Eddy was nothing if not those things.

Her fascination with desperate men had started early.

When she was fifteen, her parents divorced. It nearly destroyed her. Outwardly, they’d seemed to love each other, but inwardly, the love hadn’t existed in some time, she learned later. Her sense of continuity, of family, was obliterated. Although it was easy enough now to understand how love dies, then it was unthinkable. She loved her father desperately. She and her brother went with her mother to Sausalito. It was the worst time of her young life.

Lisa spent the next few months alone. Oh, her brother and mother were around, but she avoided them like the plague. Her old friends were long gone and she only wanted to be alone. Nothing more. She began taking the bus into Frisco two or three times a week to go to the movies. Even now she had no idea what films she saw. She just went and stared blindly at the screen.

And then came Billy.

He sat down by her one day, a tall, handsome man with a beard and dark eyes. They started talking about this and that and soon she was spilling the sordid details of her life out to him. He listened patiently. He never judged. He spoke only when she wanted him to and the things he said were so … wonderful. Sometimes a stranger is the best person to unburden your problems on. They have no personal interest. No reason to keep you happy or down. They merely listen and offer calm advice. This is what Billy did. They met every afternoon for months. Sometimes they sat in the theater, sometimes they took walks in the park. He became a constant in her life. He was always there, come rain or shine and she needed that. He was always waiting for her.

It wasn’t long before she fell in love with him.

Oh, he didn’t know or pretended he didn’t for some time. They’d just talk and walk and watch films. It went on like that for weeks. Lisa worshipping him, loving every word he spoke, and he being kind and understanding.

Then they made love.

The first time was in a copse of trees in the park. It was her first time. And it was beautiful. Billy was very sweet, very patient, very understanding. At that moment Lisa loved him more than life itself. After that, the sex got more frequent. They did it everywhere. In alleys, in cars, in deserted buildings, in public restrooms. Even at her house when her mother was out. The more dangerous the location, the more aroused she became. The thrill of discovery filled her with hot blood. And the thrill of screwing a teenager pushed Billy into new heights of perversion as the couplings became more and more crude. But Lisa never backed down, not even when he started hurting her. In fact, despite herself, she liked it. The more obscene, the more violent, the better.

Then … Billy was gone.

Where? She never learned. Not then.

She never saw him again. She kept hoping, though. She kept waiting for him in their secret places, putting ads in the lovelorn columns that she hoped he’d catch. All to no avail. Billy was gone. And there was a gaping hole in her young, somewhat distorted life.

In time, there were other partners, of course. A parade of them. But they weren’t Billy. Lisa heard only him as they whispered obscenities in her ears, felt only him as they thrusted inside her. She began to think of him as a user. A monster who’d taken advantage of a teenage girl’s vulnerability and then tossed her aside when he grew bored. After all, he was well into his forties, she assumed. But much as she wanted to believe that, that he was some despicable pedophilic monster, she couldn’t. Her heart still pined for him. The fire in her veins never cooled.

As time passed, she put him out of her mind. There were always others willing to keep her bed warm. In high school, in college. But the gentle ones were only gentle, the abusive ones only abusive. They were never Billy.

Slowly he slipped from her mind.

Then in college she had her first semester of criminal psychology. The instructor had the students, as a final exam, form profiles of various criminal types. Her assignment, drawn quite at random, was William Zero. Dr. Blood-and-Bones. And it was in the pages of a text on abnormal psychology that Billy and Lisa re-met. She never forgot his face. She never forgot his eyes. When she saw them staring out at her from a grainy photograph, she nearly fainted.

Billy was William Zero, of course.

Her teen-age lover was a fiend of no little repute. He spent his afternoons with Lisa, his evenings with
others.
And he wasn’t quite as kind with them. Why he never killed her, she never knew.

She never wanted to.

Time passed and she tried to forget. And then came Eddy Zero, his son. Lisa was assigned to his case. Things had come full circle. From one desperate man to the next. Why did it seem that her own destiny was intricately woven into that of the Zeros? What were the chances she’d end up with Eddy? A chance encounter with the elder Zero was one thing, but to end up as his demented son’s psychiatrist almost tweaked the tit of chance a little too much.

Fate? Providence? Predestination? Plain old shitty bad luck?

Sometimes she really had to wonder. But as unscientific as it was giving such things credence, peoples’ lives often seemed intertwined in the most unusual ways.

But Eddy …

Just as she was beginning to understand him, getting to know him, he was released. Not her doing, of course. Not her decision.

Shortly before that happened, she’d called him into her office for an evening session and all had been going well. Suddenly, without provocation, he’d stood and walked behind her. An orderly was out in the hall, dozing no doubt. Eddy began to massage her neck and, despite herself, it had felt good. His touch sent an electricity through her veins. She stood finally and told him to stop.
What’re you afraid of, Doc? That you’ll like it?
he’d asked. And that was closer to the truth than he’d ever know. He began to kiss her neck, then her lips, his hand going under her skirt. She told him to stop or she’d call the orderly. But there’d been little strength behind those words. He pushed her down onto the desk and yanked off her skirt. She should have called for help, but she didn’t. That was the most disturbing part of it—she
didn’t.
No, she laid there across the desk, panting and trembling as he’d slid himself out of his pants. She fought, but it was half-hearted at best, not enough to stop a child, let alone a man. Then his cock was pressed against her, beginning to penetrate.
Feel good, Doc?
he’d said with that piggish leer on his face and a look of utter amusement in his eyes. Then he’d stopped.

And it wasn’t because she’d fought him off.

Her struggle hadn’t been enough to dissuade anyone. He’d stopped because he’d wanted to. He’d never intended to carry it through. He merely wanted to see if he could push her buttons and he had. He wanted to show her that he could take her anytime he wanted and that she lacked the willpower and self-control to deny him.

And he was right.

Even now, the whole affair made her feel dirty inside because … well,
because
she’d wanted him to fuck her right there on the desk. There was something about him that was exactly like his father and it excited her in ways she hadn’t felt since the last time “Billy” had laid his hands on her.

She liked to think Eddy tried to rape her—it was easier on her conscience—but it wasn’t entirely true. She’d wanted him inside her and there was no getting around that unpleasant fact.

Thinking these things gave her a headache as they always did. It made her wonder who needed the therapy here. Professional interest? Sure, but not just. Some part of her wanted to finish what Eddy had started.

That’s bullshit.

But was it? Was her only reason for hunting him down some dull book that would only be read by equally dull academics? Or was it that Eddy was the most desperate and dangerous man she’d ever encountered? And being so, the most exciting lover she could imagine. The image of his father.