Kieffer hesitated, only for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “You’re… The Doll Man.”
Wayne didn’t know it, but a thin smile slowly crept across his face. Something inside him, something much darker than They, liked hearing that old moniker. It held a lot of power, that name. But more importantly, it demanded respect.
“Well…” Wayne started to say. He almost lost his grip on the conversation when Kieffer’s fragile voice broke through the hysteria.
“I promise not to say anything. Please, I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to? Kid, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes. I know what you’ve seen…” Wayne pointed to the notebook on the floor. “So, what do we do now?”
Kieffer was trapped—cornered in a small room with a monster. The thought of screaming for Ashley was the first real escape plan that came to mind.
Yeah, go ahead and scream for help, pussy. Then maybe after he strangles you, he can kill her too. Two birds, one stone, right?
Not an option. He had to think harder.
The emergency roundtable in Kieffer's head was pounding out countless failed escape scenarios:
Kick em in the nuts and run!
Jump out that window!
Quick! Get your phone out and call 9-1-1!
Scream and beg for mercy!
Grab that squirrel and sma—
Suddenly, there it was. His possible ticket to freedom. Kieffer couldn’t count on Wayne letting him live long enough to tattle, but he could count on leaving the house alive. Wayne was a killer, not a dumby. Hunting where he lived would be unprofessional. And even though Kieffer only had loose theories, his vast knowledge of Wayne’s alter-ego put him at an advantage. Kieffer knew crazy. And there was only one thing crazy couldn’t fight.
More crazy.
“I want… I want you to teach me how to kill. To be a serial killer.”
Impossibly dense silence followed. The stare between them stretched translucently thin.
Uh oh, the voices whispered around the table, he knows…
Wayne paused, eyes wide with theatrical confusion. “Wha— teach you? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me right now?”
Legs numb, Kieffer straightened up and said, “No. No joke. I want to be like The Doll Man.”
Wayne laughed, a soft rattling like black beetles squirming around in an old tin can. Feeling himself slip, his mask snapped back in place, smooth and natural.
How perfect, Wayne thought to himself. Everything’s falling right into place without a hitch. This might actually work...
Wayne felt good knowing he would soon be free again. Only this time for good.
In his bewildered excitement, he let out one high-pitched yelp before slapping a hand to his mouth. Both he and Kieffer stood and listened for Ashley’s approaching footsteps, but heard nothing.
“You want to be like me? Is that it? Kid, you couldn’t wear my old shit-stained jockeys, let alone be The Doll Man.” Wayne knew that if he was going to sell this lemon—hook, line and sinker—he would have to make the kid beg for it. Make him think he needed that lemon more than anything in the world.
“The way I see it, Wayne, you don’t have a choice. Either you teach me how to be a killer, or…” Kieffer was afraid to say it. The weight of the situation was starting to press down on his already tired ego. The territory he was trespassing on was extremely dangerous. The outcome of this could go several ways. Most not in his favor.
“Or what?” Wayne prodded. “You gonna turn me in? Good luck, you don’t have any proof. I can have the notebook and all these plaques out of here in less than an hour.”
“True. I suppose you could hide all your past crimes, but what about the new ones? Can you explain yourself when the next kid is found with his head on a stick and one of those weird symbols drawn on his forehead?”
“You little mother fuck–” Wayne's hands balled up at his sides. He barely kept himself from slamming one right into Kieffer’s smug face.
How did he know? Wayne thought. How did he know I was coming back? Was I that reckless? Is it that obvious? Have I become that transparent?
A part of him was acting as if he had been bested, merely for show, but the other part was sincerely mad. This kid fully intended on ratting Wayne out if he didn’t get his way. Kieffer was right. He could get rid of all the evidence before anyone showed up, but that wouldn’t matter. The cops would know his name, watch him even after he’d been questioned and cleared. His perfect alias ruined. That nasty little butt-nugget would spend years sifting through every local paper looking for that one homicide that matched The Doll Man’s M/O, and then, BAM! Wayne would have the cops at his door asking questions and taking DNA swabs. He was learning fast that Kieffer was what Sharon would call “a persistent little shit.”
Play your game, cum-stain. You’ll pay the price soon enough.
“I know you can’t kill me,” Kieffer went on, his voice shaky. “Not without getting caught, anyway. You’d be stupid to do that. We both know it. Someone might remember that you weren't such a huge fan of mine and from there put the pieces together. I can see the news headline now: angry step-dad kills daughter’s boyfriend for touching his squirrel collection.”
“Alright, goddammit, shut up!” Wayne hissed, trying his hardest to bite back the hammering pulse of anger pounding at the walls inside him. He hated being talked down to, especially by such a dickless spaz; a hairy Q-tip with arms and eyes that had nothing better to do than obsess over other people's business. Wayne had to use this anger to his advantage. Let it show just enough to give Kieffer the illusion of having the upper hand. That’s all.
“How do I know you’re not just gonna tell the cops anyway?” Wayne asked, eyeing the doe-eyed face beaming up at him. “Why not set me up to help you kill someone then turn me in for it? Act like I forced you to do it. That way you’d get the guts of the kill and the glory of being the one who took me down.”
“Glory? Look, Wayne, I think maybe—just maybe—this was destined to happen.”
Pushed a step back by the sudden turn in direction, Wayne gasped, “You… you know about The—”
“I’ve been studying,” Kieffer interrupted, not wanting to answer any direct questions, “well… obsessing over The Doll Man for years. I don’t know what started it. One day I was online searching serial killers in Maine and there you were; not just a hometown hero, but a national superstar. To this date, The Doll Man is one of the most prolific killers in recorded history. You’re right up there with the all-time greats. H. H. Holmes, Jeffrey Dahmer, those guys don’t have shit on you. You’re a fuckin’ legend.”
Kieffer let the not-so-forced praise thin out a bit. “But, of course, it’s not just about the numbers. There's something about your work… it’s… beautiful. So much deeper—purposeful—than the rest of them. The way you picked your victims, the cryptic symbols around the bodies, what you were doing was art. The truest form. And for some reason, I just can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I can do is think about your work. So, when I came across this room and saw–” Kieffer numbly waved his hands at the walls, “–for the first time, something inside me clicked. I didn’t figure out all at once what it meant, but when I did… man.”
Wayne listened to this, the whole time watching the boy’s face. The twinkle he saw in Kieffer's eye when he referred to Wayne’s work as “art” didn’t go unnoticed. Wayne saw it. What They wanted. Still, he had to be careful. There was much to be done before his shift was officially over.
Reel ‘em in. Sun’s goin’ down.
“You don’t have what it takes, kid. Have you ever even seen a dead body? Not on the TV or computer, either. Real life shit.”
“No,” Kieffer admitted embarrassingly, flashes of his dad’s closed casket funeral blinking in his mind's eye, “but I want to. Please, I’m begging you. Just give me a chance. I don’t know why… but this feels like… destiny.”
Acting as if he were seriously conte
mplating Kieffer’s plea, Wayne stood silently over him, then leaned in closer until their noses were touching. “I should kill you for even thinking about blackmailing me,” Wayne's rough voice slid through the crack in his stony expression. “Cut out your tongue and eyes and send them to the 11 o’clock news.” Wayne smiled. “But… instead, I'm gonna call your bluff.”
Just as Wayne said that, the sound of distant footsteps thumped their way up the hallway.
“Kieffer?” Ashley called from the other side of the wall. “You ok?”
Both Kieffer and Wayne listened as Ashley knocked on the adjacent bathroom door several times. She called again, “Kieffer?!” panic starting to show in her voice. Heavy footsteps pounded away from the bathroom and ascended down the stairs.
Suddenly, Wayne grabbed Kieffer up by the front of his shirt and steered him towards the door. “Be here tomorrow night. 8:30. I know you’ll wear black, but make sure to bring gloves. Either leather or latex. Tell no one.” Wayne shoved Kieffer out the door and snapped it shut.
Just as Kieffer turned towards the hallway, Ashley popped up at the top of the staircase.
“Hey, shitbag. I’ve been looking for you. Where you been?”
Without thinking, Kieffer blurted out, “Closet.”
Ashley laughed, but stopped after noticing the stunted expression on Kieffer’s sweaty face. He looked as if he had found a magic window and saw his own corpse looking back from across the glass.
“Seriously, where were you? You’ve been gone for like fifteen minutes.”
Before Kieffer could think of another lie, Ashley added, “Did you stumble into Wayne's Room of Death?”
“No. I just–”
“You mean you haven't seen it yet? I could've sworn I showed you.” She walked past Kieffer and approached the door. “It’s some real weird shit, so brace yourself.”
Kieffer practically lunged at Ashley as her hand reached for the knob and began to twist. Falling towards her in slow-motion, arms raised to her back. He reached her just as she leaned forward.
Locked.
“Ah, shit. He locked it.” Ashley let go of the knob and stepped back. “Oh well, maybe next time.” Tenderly, she grabbed Kieffer’s hand. “If you're done playing hide and seek, wanna go do some more studying?” Ashley flashed a suggestive wink before leading Kieffer hand-in-hand back towards her room. The wiggle of her hips and warmness of her kiss would do little for him now.
Time was no longer on his side.
Chapter 9
April 11, 2006
8:18 p.m.
Hampden, Maine
“–so I told Jade, I said, ‘I don’t care if Mike signed off on this, you should’ve looked at the layouts more carefully before turning them in.’ I mean, c’mon.” Sharon sat next to Wayne in bed. As usual, he had his nose in a book while Sharon unwound from her long workday. “Of course, she got a hair across her ass about it,” Sharon went on, “but I stuck by my word. What the hell am I paying her for if she’s only good for signing her goddamn name, ya know?” Getting herself a little flustered thinking about that stuck-up bitch, Sharon looked over at Wayne to see his reaction, but could tell he wasn’t paying attention. Lightly slapping the book out of his hand, she said, “Okay, I’m done bitching about my day. How was yours? Did that conference in Portland go okay?”
“No,” Wayne choked out, it had been hours since he used his voice. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I mean, it got canceled. Something about a double-booking issue. I guess there was some comic convention that got scheduled for the entire week, so at the last second they moved the seminar to Boston.”
“Boston?? They expect you to drive all the way out of state to give one speech on advanced copy editing?”
Wayne nodded, shrugging his shoulders in a “whatcha gonna do” gesture.
“What day’s it rescheduled for?” Sharon asked, still not showing any suspicion, only concern.
“Starts Thursday morning. My slot will probably be some time before noon, but who knows now.” Wayne said this with total certainty in his voice. No twitch or faltered look came over him as he gently rolled out his fabricated story. The added edge of annoyance and mild-inconvenience was subtle. A good liar is a lot like a good book; not too wordy, but always well structured. Has lots of twists and turns, but only when applicable. No sense in talking yourself up and out of your own shoes. It only takes one loose beam, one glaring inconsistency, to tear the whole thing down. Wayne held no qualms with lying to his wife. No pains or moral struggles; his soul was free of humanity. That side, the one born of flesh—the one thought to be human—wasn’t there anymore. Its corner stretched thinner by the second. “Everything’s all screwed-up. I figured I’d drive down tomorrow night and get a hotel room. That way, I don’t have to wake up at four in the morning to make it on time.”
This part was true. Wayne had called and booked a room earlier today after sneaking back out of the house and returning home as normal. He fully intended to drive to Boston. Proof of him staying in a hotel would show up on his card, which Sharon balanced every week. It was a long drive, but he’d be making plenty of stops along the way. That little piece of his old self—if he ever really had one— stomped and screamed from the corner; unheard. This new force wasn’t like Them. A known unknown, this parasite had no strategy or end game.
“Is the company going to reimburse you for the room and travel expenses?” Sharon asked, completely oblivious. “With gas being as high as it is, they better have a compensation plan.”
“I’ll jot down my expenses and turn in a reimbursement form when I get back.” Wayne leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Not sure when I’ll be back on Thursday, so don’t wait up for me.”
Sharon, being the epitome of a loving wife, smiled and kissed him back. “Okay, Hun. But please be careful. People in Massachusetts drive like morons.”
Wayne’s rubber mask smiled. “Now now, Sharon, in their defense, they are morons.” Finally, a chance not to lie. The alien vapors, like swarms of mosquitos, lowered their wings to a calmer vibration, allowing the old self to flicker brightly.
Sharon laughed and gave Wayne another tender kiss on the cheek. “Aight, retahd,” she said in her best Bostonite accent, “g’dnight. Loves ya, Bro.”
Wayne hesitated. The invading swarm couldn’t recognize the words. Electric needles sucked it out of the tiny man in the corner.
“Love you too, babe.”
In unison, they turned off their bedside lamps and settled between the comforter and sheets.
Uninterrupted, Wayne continued his thoughts of the hunt. He imagined himself as just another shadow in the woods. Long arms sweeping over those that walked along his path. The visions of violent grandeur stopped occasionally, and he was reminded that this time would be different. He would have an apprentice.
Then he got to thinking again, Should I step down? Or should I be free?
And the more Wayne thought about it, the more he didn’t like the idea of being replaced. He was still young, fifty-four was the new thirty-four, and still knew the game better than anyone. Did he really want to pass everything he learned from scratch onto some kid who would probably, let's be honest, fuck everything up and tarnish the name?
Bitter and nostalgic, Wayne watched the scales tip.
Kieffer could singlehandedly destroy the legacy he had painstakingly built for himself. The Doll Man was beyond celebrity status at this point. He was a brand. An anti-hero. There were dozens of books, documentaries, fan clubs, movies; all centralized around the legend. Wayne’s legend. Imagine it. An entire culture based around one man’s actions. To throw all that into the hands of a child—especially one so useless—was ridiculous. Reckless, even. And worst of all, Kieffer was a minor, so once everything fell apart, that’s it. The kid would crumble immediately under the pressure. He’d go to the cops and confess. Get a plea deal if he cooperates. Then, all the guilt would be placed on Wayne; the rotten old man who tried to seduce a child into a life
of sin and murder. They should have accounted for that.
Or, maybe They did.
Maybe, Wayne was lined-up for sacrifice himself. Dispose of the old to make room for the new. But, this transition wasn’t exactly cast in stone just yet.
There was still time to prove to Them that he was the best. Is the best.
And as for Kieffer, Wayne would take care of him. When the time was right.
One step at a time, he told himself as he took off his glasses and set them on the bed stand. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, but couldn’t. Thoughts of the boy consumed him.
They would meet tomorrow night, oh yes. Wayne fully intended on keeping that promise. If the kid showed, that is. But, Wayne thought he would. There was too much on the line for him not to. Kieffer now knew what Wayne was capable of. He’d be risking not only his own life, but the life of others. Even Ashley.
This clear upper hand relaxed the surging whirlpool of anxiety that the passing hours had stirred. Soon, Wayne could close his eyes and allow sleep to pull him down into its starless coffin.
Slowly, like water crystallizing on frosted mounds of skin, he felt his body waver, then leave. His heart and mind followed. The last thought to push an imprint on the unconscious murmur of the dream machine was an old memory; one that Wayne remembered vividly but seldom thought about.
As the lid to his coffin closed and the material world faded, Wayne was transported back in time.
Back to the harvest of ‘89.
Chapter 10
August 3, 1989
10:17 p.m.
Auburn, Maine
“–n’ dun’t you fuckin’ cumm back, ya’ no good jizzabell! Nut til yoo lurn dah gaht-damn meanin' ah respet!”
The screen door slammed shut behind her, but Tammy could still hear him in there, drunk as a rodeo clown and twice as filthy.
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