One of them would have to die soon, but he could keep the other two for a while. He needed a body to give to the police. Otherwise, they wouldn’t know he was responsible. That would be disappointing.
Chapter 27:
One Will Live
The Killer’s Lair
Undisclosed Location
Since he’d stayed out so late, Andrew slept until the middle of the day. Famished, he ate two frozen meals before checking on his prisoners. He made three large peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for them, figuring they must be hungry too. At least one of them was up. He could hear her shouting for help. If he didn’t enjoy such space from his neighbors, that might upset him. He imagined the screamer was Layla, but he couldn’t say for sure. Loading the sandwiches and three new water bottles onto a tray, he practically skipped down the stairs to the holding cells.
A cry filled with equal parts rage and loathing hit him like a slap when the screamer caught sight of him. As he’d guessed, Layla and the screamer were one and the same.
Setting the tray down, Andrew retreated to his workroom to grab some tools. Pulling the gun belt on gave him a sense of power and authority. No wonder people became cops. Instead of extra gun clips, his belt held a vial of mace, a stun gun, and a Taser in addition to the gun holster. He didn’t expect to use the gun today, but the stun gun and Taser were likely candidates, depending on how confrontational Layla wanted to make this.
“Let us out!” Layla shouted, when she saw him again. “You can’t keep us like this!” She banged her fists against the bars. She was in the middle cell. “Let us go! What do you want?”
If he let her keep talking, she’d hold the whole conversation with herself. That wouldn’t be fun.
“Calm down,” Andrew said softly. “Eat something.”
Layla looked like she’d rather spit in his face, but the other two appeared intrigued by the notion of food.
“You’re him,” Layla said, studying Andrew critically.
“Layla,” one of her friends whispered in a warning tone. Under the bright fluorescent lights, he saw that this was the woman who’d sat behind the driver’s seat. She had shiny black hair and pale skin. Puffy eyes ringed with black said she wore makeup that didn’t mix well with tears.
“Who?” asked the third girl. This one had medium brown hair that fell a few inches below her shoulders. The rough sleeping conditions had matted parts of her hair into a tangled mess.
“You may tell them,” Andrew said with a benevolent nod. He placed the tray in front of Layla’s cell. “But are you sure you don’t want to eat something first?”
“He’s the Parkside Killer.” Layla spat the words like they tasted bad.
Andrew winced. He’d never liked that name. It didn’t fit him.
“They didn’t die in a park,” he said, before remembering the most recent victims. “Most of them didn’t die in a park,” he amended.
“You’re still a murderer.” Layla rubbed her head wearily.
Tilting his head curiously, Andrew watched her. He could almost see waves of hatred radiating off her, but something in her eyes had changed. He liked her eyes. They reminded him of Mel. A stab of longing hit him out of nowhere, but he brushed the feeling aside for now.
“I-I don’t think I can eat that anyway,” said the timid one who’d cautioned Layla. “I’m allergic to peanut butter.”
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said by reflex. Standing, he addressed the soft-spoken woman. “Can I get you something else?”
“Stop it!” Layla shouted.
The vehemence startled Andrew and the remaining captives.
“Stop trying to be nice! You can’t do it! You’re a vicious, murderous—”
“What else do you have?” The timid one raised her voice enough to cut off her friend’s tirade.
Andrew shrugged. He wasn’t used to playing chef and waiter.
“Canned soup, tuna fish, crackers. The usual stuff that lasts a while.”
The girl requested tuna fish and crackers, so Andrew left them alone to go prepare it. He knew they’d start talking as soon as he stepped out of earshot. The cameras would record the conversation for later enjoyment, but he liked letting them think they had some privacy.
Round one had been intriguing and further cemented their roles in Andrew’s mind. Luck would choose his apprentice, but he secretly hoped Fate selected Layla. She had a vibrant spirit Andrew very much appreciated. The timid one allergic to peanut butter was a voice of reason and a practical soul. The girl who hadn’t said much might still be in shock. The other two had figured out they would never leave this place alive, though their reactions differed. Layla fought the idea, while the other one accepted it.
After delivering the food, Andrew left them again. He spent the time browsing his collection of lottery tickets, trying to find the perfect one for the first kill. Several appealed to him, but he couldn’t make a decision. Something told him to go with a “fives” theme to honor the occasion. This would be his fifth major undertaking. The incident with the boys had been a lot of work, and while he enjoyed the challenge, he was happy to keep this low key for now.
Choosing High Fives, Andrew grabbed the whole roll and a few quarters. His body hummed with anticipation. The temptation to rush through the game gripped him, but he shook it off and forced his hands to release the tickets and quarters. In his mind, he’d already chosen Layla to be his apprentice, but fairness demanded he speak with the other two and give them a chance as well.
A quick check of the cameras told him they needed more time, so he played an online game for a few minutes. After ransacking a few neighbors with his grossly overpowered troops, Andrew checked to see if he had any messages from psycho67. With no new messages, he opened an older one and skimmed it. The man had been a bit of a bore lately, urging Andrew to be cautious and know exactly why he did what he did.
When the cameras told Andrew the ladies had finished eating, he graced them with his presence again. As expected, Layla started yelling, so Andrew zapped her with the Taser. The move prompted three screams, though Layla’s was short-lived. Electricity crackled through her body. It didn’t knock her unconscious, but she fell over in a twitching heap, moaning. Andrew unlocked her cell long enough to remove the probes and lay her in a more comfortable position.
“Just rest,” he instructed.
The other two appeared too terrified to speak.
Locking Layla’s cell, Andrew made a quick trip to the workroom to grab a fresh Taser.
“What’s your name?” he asked, kneeling in front of the soft-spoken woman.
“Natasha.” The reply could barely be heard even in the stunned silence still dominating the atmosphere. She sat on the ground with her knees tucked close, clutching them like a teddy bear.
“Natasha what?” Andrew pressed.
“Creswell.”
“That’s a very nice name, Natasha,” said Andrew, keeping his tone gentle. “Who’s your friend?”
“Layla O’Malley.”
“My mistake. I meant the other one.” Andrew waved toward the brown-haired woman still staring in horror at Layla’s prone form.
“Stephanie Kramer.”
“What brought you to New York yesterday?” Andrew couldn’t care less, but he wanted to get Natasha focused on him rather than Layla.
Her attention shifted, but she didn’t answer his question.
“Was Layla right?” asked Natasha. Her tone held a childlike curiosity. “Are you the Parkside Killer? Are you going to kill us?”
“One will live,” Andrew said, choosing to answer her third question.
“Tasha.” The soft name came from Layla who was still flat on her back.
“Yes?” said Natasha, thinking her friend meant to catch her attention.
Andrew knew better.
“Why her?” he wondered, directing the question to the outspoken one.
“She … has a daughter,” answered Layla.
Natasha gasped like her
friend had doused her with icy water.
“Why should that matter?” Andrew stood to peer down at Layla. “People are either children or have children or both. They’re still people. They’re still evil.”
“Tonya’s not evil,” argued Layla. “She’s just a baby.”
“Please.” Natasha’s whole body shook with the effort to contain a grief Andrew couldn’t understand.
He didn’t know if she was telling her friend to stop talking, pleading for her life, or thinking about her daughter.
“I want to live.” This new statement came from the quiet woman, Stephanie. With Layla subdued, she became the strong one. It was fascinating to witness. Her features hardened to a businesslike coolness. “You said one of us will live. How will you choose?”
Andrew found the question irresistible.
“We’re going to play a game.”
The women listened quietly as Andrew explained the lottery ticket game. Leaving them to ponder the game, he ran for the supplies. By this time, Layla sat against the back wall. Stephanie and Natasha each accepted a ticket from his hand. They didn’t appear pleased, but they were willing to play along. Layla crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw.
Andrew knew what she was attempting, and he admired her for it. He still couldn’t let it stand.
“You’ll all die if you don’t play,” he said. “Them first.” He let that sink in a second before applying more pressure. “And I won’t be gentle.”
The last statement elicited a bitter laugh from Layla.
“Is death ever gentle?”
“Play the stupid game, Layla,” Stephanie snapped. “Give one of us a chance to get out of this.”
Layla’s stare reached directly into Andrew’s soul.
“He’ll never let us go, even if he lets us live,” she explained wearily.
“Life is hope,” said Andrew. “Nobody knows what tomorrow brings. Would not living another hour be a triumph?”
Layla considered his logic before slowly agreeing. With great effort, she stood up and crossed the cell to accept the lottery ticket.
Andrew found their manner of scratching off the tickets revealing. Layla’s strokes were short and firm. Stephanie scratched furiously like her life depended upon finishing first. Natasha worked methodically from left to right across the card.
In round one and two, they all lost.
“This is impossible,” muttered Stephanie, throwing down her third card in disgust.
“I lost too,” Natasha said sympathetically.
Layla didn’t move. She stared down at her finished card with a deep frown fixed in place. Her eyes shut, forcing a few tears out.
Andrew saw a war of wills being waged in her. He patiently waited to see what she would do.
An eternity passed.
Then, unsteadily, Layla crawled over to Natasha’s cell, reached in, plucked the ticket from her friend’s hands, and slipped hers in its place.
Humans were interesting creatures.
Chapter 28:
Drowning Sorrows
The Killer’s Lair
Undisclosed Location
Day 5: Afternoon.
For the first time, I don’t know what to do.
The third woman is gone. I drowned her in a plastic kiddie pool. That’s not the issue. Layla and her remaining friend have presented me with a moral dilemma.
Before I can wrestle with that, I guess I should speak some about the drowning. This method might work well for small creatures or children, but with a grown woman it’s far too much work.
As soon as Layla handed her ticket off to Natasha, I made my decision. Using the Taser, I subdued the third woman. The shock made every muscle in her seize up. She had been seated, so she didn’t have far to fall, but still, she fell hard because she could not brace herself. Her head cracked on the cement floor.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw Layla and Natasha clinging to each other, weeping. Why do women weep so much? Death is a natural part of life.
To keep myself from thinking too much, I rushed into Stephanie’s cell, handcuffed her wrists behind her back, and dragged her out. The other two might have been screaming. I’m not sure. I was focused on the work. Right before a kill, I get into a zone that’s hard to break into or out of. It allows me to be efficient.
Since I hadn’t been planning on doing the kill right then, the water wasn’t ready. I realized this as I hauled Stephanie to the workroom. Even though not much time had passed, her senses were starting to return, so I put her in the dental chair, released the handcuffs, and strapped her arms down. I used duct tape on her feet. I normally avoid duct tape because it sticks to everything, but this particular woman was headed for a lot of water anyway.
Water is wonderful. It washes away so many sins.
For a second, as I crossed into the workroom, I felt what my brother must feel when holding the burden of life in his arms. It’s a heavy thing.
The woman started screaming, so I gagged her with a nearby rag. I’m afraid it wasn’t very clean, but she won’t have to worry about getting sick from it. She continued to moan, but I don’t mind moaning. It’s only the high-pitched screams that hurt.
I filled the kiddie pool with water from the hose fixture I’d installed in that room. It’s long enough to reach every cell. As I worked, I studied the dimensions. This particular pool is five feet in diameter and can hold about fifteen inches of water safely. If I filled it to the maximum, I could perhaps get a few more inches, but I needed to account for water displacement once the body went in. In theory, fifteen inches should be more than enough.
As the pool filled, I went to the side room and removed my belt. The Taser needed to be recharged anyway. I keep a stable of five Tasers, but I’d already used two in the last hour. I didn’t want my gun or stun gun or Tasers getting near the water. I don’t think water would damage a gun, but I anticipated some resistance from the victim. In such close quarters, it’s better not to mix in guns unless one is fully in control.
Water can be unpredictable.
I wanted to shoot the Taser into the water to see what happened, but a reckless move like that was as likely to kill me as her. That was another reason to remove the belt carrying the Taser.
When the pool filled, I considered what I was wearing. Water had already splashed onto my boots several times by then. For a moment, I thought it would be easier without boots, but the slick floor convinced me to keep the boots. I changed to a long-sleeved T-shirt as opposed to a normal one because the sight of scars along my arms reminded me what motivated victims could do.
A great idea came to me. I had to run up to the bathroom to retrieve nail clippers, but I found some. While Stephanie’s hands were immobile, I took a moment to declaw her. I should do this for all victims. It’s good as a cleanup ritual, but there’s less chance of letting them draw blood if it can be done first.
Her moans had changed to faint whimpers.
Our eyes met. She shut her eyes to avoid me, but we both knew the end drew near.
Releasing the straps on her left arm, I snapped the handcuffs into place. She resisted, but I had better leverage and more strength than she did. Getting her hands secured behind her would have been awkward with her sitting in the chair, so I settled for binding them in front of her. Next, I lifted her out of the chair and dropped her to the ground. Kneeling on her to keep her still while I worked, I released one half of the cuffs, flipped her over, and reapplied them.
She arched her back to hinder me, so I hit her in the head with my fist. That was a mistake. Skulls are very hard. A deep ache moved through my fingers. Angry at myself, I picked up my prize and eased her into the pool as best I could. It wasn’t easy. She twisted and bucked like breaking free of my grip would save her life.
Another, more cautious, smack from me stunned her enough to let me place her in the water. She sat up, somehow managing to use the water to rid herself of the gag I’d stuffed in her mouth. Excited, I leapt into the pool.
Water splashed over the tops of my boots. I knelt, holding her shoulders down. It was like trying to hold a five-foot fish dipped in grease.
At one point, she got her head above water long enough to draw a quick gasp.
Her bound legs and knees slammed into me as many times as she could bear, each time growing progressively weaker.
I don’t know how long our battle lasted.
She pushed up.
I pushed down.
That loss of time is one thing I love about killing. It brings life to a standstill, makes everything more precious and real. There’s nothing in the world like that rush.
And now it’s over.
I haven’t moved the body yet. It still floats in the kiddie pool. The water fixed her hair. It spread out around her head like a halo. Her eyes are shut as if in sleep. Her concerns and cares no longer exist. She is at peace.
I am tired. It was a great fight, but much work remains. I need to find a suitable park or other location to return her. I suppose I could bury her here, but I’ve no wish to collect bodies on my land. The dogs are currently well-fed lazy things. They’ll be no help. Wildlife’s too unpredictable to count on for walking off with the evidence.
I could also try to hide the body forever, but that wouldn’t be fair. There’s no glory in an unclaimed kill.
Now I return to the Layla problem. Fortune smiled on her, but she gave the winning lottery ticket to her friend. This is pure foolishness. Where did humanity get such notions that self-sacrifice is a good thing? It’s as destructive as what I do.
Do I honor her choice?
I’ll be busy with arrangements for her friend for a day or two, but eventually, I must come to a decision. I admire her and want to grant her wish, but what good is it? She must know that her friend will eventually die. Why put off the inevitable?
Should I set them free in death together?
Scratched Off Page 18
