by Jeff Strand
Would killing the girl make him just as sick to his stomach as the cheesecake?
Maybe this wasn't a good example. He could go for some strawberry cheesecake right now, actually. The point was that dragging the young woman into his house was a decision based more on what he'd wanted in the past than what he wanted now.
If only he could undo it.
"You can't change what's in the past," he said. He'd be fine. Quite honestly, he was probably just still riding high on the adrenaline from playing with Kutter all afternoon--in the morning, he'd be absolutely delighted to have a beautiful college student to slice.
Yeah. That was it. Also, he was just nervous. One cut with the razor and he'd probably be energized with the desire to kill.
Maybe he'd use the drill instead.
No, no, the razor. Keep it simple.
He selected his smallest razor from the shelf, and then held it above the unconscious girl's stomach. He'd awaken her with smelling salts before he began the process, but he should figure out his plan of action first. "Where to cut...where to cut...?"
He dropped the razor in surprise as the phone rang.
He quickly picked it back up--it had broken the skin on her stomach a bit--and set it on the metal table as he hurried upstairs. Kutter followed him, and he told the dog to shush up as he opened the door to the basement and hurried through the kitchen into the living room to answer.
"Hello?"
"Hi there! I'm calling about the dog you found."
- 8 -
Charlie suddenly felt as if he'd been kicked in the chest. "What?"
"I heard from one of your neighbors, Darlene Clifton, that you found a Boston terrier about a month ago. I think it's mine."
Before Charlie could lie, Kutter let out a loud bark.
"Hey, I recognize that guy!" said the man on the other end. "I'm right in your area. Mind if I stop over?"
"I'm...heading out."
"I'm literally like a minute from your place. I'm passing Darlene's house right now."
Charlie wasn't sure which one Darlene was. Probably the old lady on the corner. He supposed it didn't matter.
"Okay," he said.
"Great, thanks!"
Charlie hurried into the kitchen and closed the basement door. The soundproofing really wasn't designed for situations where somebody was sitting right in his living room, so he'd just have to pray that the girl didn't regain consciousness while he had a visitor.
What was he going to do? He couldn't let the man take Kutter away.
Maybe he had the wrong dog. Maybe he'd just show up, take one look at Kutter, sigh, and say "That's not my dog. Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Have a pleasant evening."
Or maybe Charlie could just not answer the door. What was the man going to do, break a window and steal Kutter? He couldn't force Charlie to give him up, could he? Charlie wished he'd researched the state law on this matter.
He scooped Kutter up in his arms and let his dog lick his face. "Don't worry," Charlie said, "I won't let him take you away." He held Kutter until he heard the car pull into his driveway, and then he put Kutter in his bedroom and closed the door. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Charlie paced around the living room, trying to figure out what to do, until the doorbell rang again.
The man standing on his front porch looked about thirty. He had slicked-back hair, wore a black leather jacket, and had a phony-looking grin. Charlie disliked him immediately.
"Hey there, Charles," said the man, sticking out his hand. "You go by Chuck?"
"Charlie."
"Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm Byron." When Charlie didn't return his handshake, Byron lowered his arm and shifted uncomfortably. "I know you were on your way out, so I won't take up much of your time. Could I just see if you've got Duke?"
"Okay," said Charlie, stepping out of the way so Byron could come inside. But it wasn't okay. He couldn't just let this irresponsible owner come and claim a dog that he'd left to freeze to death. "How did you lose him?" Charlie asked, shutting the door behind Byron after he entered.
Byron let out a deep sigh. "Kid next door. I've been out of town, so I paid him twenty bucks a day to stop by before and after school to walk and feed Duke. Kid's sixteen years old, you'd think he could handle it, right? Loses Duke the second day. Doesn't call me on my cell. Doesn't tell anybody. I bet he barely even looked. And here's the kicker--the little shit asked me to pay him for those first two days. Can you believe it?"
Charlie didn't respond.
"Anyway, can I see if it's him?"
Charlie wanted to refuse, but how could he? The man knew that he had a dog in the house. If he tried to lie and say that Kutter had just run away moments ago, no doubt the stupid dog would bark again at precisely the wrong moment.
"Okay."
On numb legs, Charlie walked down the hallway toward the bedroom. He opened the bedroom door. Kutter rushed out, nipped at his ankles, and then saw the man crouched down on the living room floor.
"Duke!" Byron joyously exclaimed. "It is you! C'mere, boy!"
Kutter bounded over to Byron and jumped into his arms. Byron stood up, lifting Charlie's dog into the air. "Duke! Aw, I've missed you, boy! I didn't think I was gonna see you again!" Kutter licked the man's face all over while Byron laughed and Charlie just stood there, absolutely stunned.
"Did this guy take good care of you?" Byron asked Kutter. "You look great!" He turned to Charlie. "There's a reward. I'll pay you what I'd planned to pay that dumb-ass kid."
"Please," Charlie said in a quiet voice. "Don't take him."
"Excuse me?"
"Please don't take him."
Byron smiled. "It's easy to get attached to these little guys, isn't it?"
Charlie nodded.
"He's a great dog. Have you ever owned the breed?"
"No."
"I had one before this. Ronnie. Sweetest dog you can imagine. Lived seventeen years. I swore to my parents that I'd walk it, clean up after it, buy the food with my own money if they'd let me get a dog. They made me practice on a goldfish. Fish lived, so they got me a hamster. Dad accidentally kicked the hamster in its plastic ball down the stairs and killed it, and my parents felt so guilty that they got me the dog."
"Please don't take him away from me," Charlie said. He didn't care how he sounded.
"Do you own any other dogs?" Byron asked.
"I've never had a pet."
"Never had any kind of pet? Ever?"
Charlie shook his head.
"That's almost criminal," said Byron. He scratched the top of Kutter's head. "No wonder you don't want to let this guy go."
"I found him in the park under a bench. He was almost dead. I helped him get better."
"I really appreciate that."
"He likes it here."
"He does, huh?" Byron set Kutter down on the living room floor. Charlie crouched down and gestured, and Kutter ran into his arms. "He's definitely a friendly guy," Byron noted.
"I've got toys for him," Charlie said. "And lots of food. Good food. I bought the cheapest food when I first got him, but now I've got the really good kind. And I have bacon treats. I clean up after him when I take him for walks, and I let him sleep on my bed, and I clipped his toenails a couple of days ago, and I play Frisbee with him."
Byron chuckled. "You sound just like me when I was pitching the idea to my parents."
"Please. I don't have any friends. I really like having him here."
Byron's smile faded. "I can't give you my dog, Charlie."
Kutter licked Charlie's nose.
"Just let him stay a little while longer, okay?" Charlie asked. His voice cracked. He couldn't remember it ever having done that.
Byron was quiet for a long moment. "You've really never had a pet?"
"Never."
"You're almost making me cry here, Charlie."
"I'm sorry."
"Mind if I have a seat?"
Charlie shook his head, and Byron sat down on his couch. "Yo
u're not making this easy for me, you know. I feel like I'm stealing a puppy away from a little kid."
Byron sat there for a while, lost in thought. Charlie desperately wished that he'd written a script for this kind of thing. He should've guessed that somebody would come for Kutter eventually, and he should've written a foolproof speech to convince the owner to let Charlie keep him.
"Can I at least visit him?" Charlie asked, his upper lip trembling a bit.
"Show me the toys," said Byron.
"What?"
"The toys you bought him. Show them to me."
Charlie walked over to the television stand and picked up the small wicker basket that was on the floor next to it. "He keeps scattering them all around the house," Charlie said, "but I put them here when I clean the place up."
He brought the basket over to Byron. "It's only six. He wrecked two of them. The stuffed ones."
Bryon peered into the basket and nodded his approval. "Nice selection. He likes squeaky things." Byron poked at a rubber dolphin. Kutter's ears perked up at the squeak.
"I'd buy him more," Charlie insisted.
"Well, it's never good to spoil them."
"I'd spoil him anyway."
Byron sighed. "All right, Charlie, here's what we're going to do. Have you seen those movies or TV shows where the kids are fighting over the rightful owner of a dog, and so they do a contest where they both call the dog and see who he comes to first?"
"No."
"Doesn't matter. We'll set Duke in the middle of the room, we'll each take a corner, and we'll both call him. You're clearly deeply attached to the little guy, and if he's just as attached to you, I'll step down as his owner. Sound fair?"
"Yes. Very fair." Charlie was elated. Even if he liked his old home, Kutter wouldn't want Charlie to be left alone, would he?
"Go grab a couple of dog treats," said Byron.
Charlie retrieved two pseudo-bacon strips from the canister on top of the refrigerator and brought them back into the living room.
"Duke loves food a lot more than he loves either of us, that's for sure, so we'll put the treats in the center of the room while we each take a corner."
"Who picks the corner?"
"You have the home field advantage, so I'll pick. I'll stand in the corner by the TV."
Charlie walked over to the opposite corner and crouched down. If Kutter didn't pick him, Charlie was going to start sobbing right in front of this stranger. Maybe that would be a good thing. Maybe he'd look so pathetic that Byron would give him Kutter anyway.
No. You didn't give great dogs away to pathetic sobbing people. He just had to frantically hope that Kutter would make the right choice.
Byron dropped the bacon strips onto the center of the floor and then gently set Kutter down next to them. He quickly walked to his own corner, and then crouched down as well. "C'mere, Duke!"
"C'mere, Kutter! Here, Kutter!"
"Duke! Come to your Daddy!"
"Kutter! Come to your friend!"
The Boston terrier gobbled up the first bacon strip and immediately started on the second.
"Here, Duke! Here, Duke, Duke, Duke!"
"Here, Kutter! Here, Kutter, Kutter, Kutter!"
Byron clapped his hands. Charlie did the same.
The dog finished up the second bacon strip, sneezed, let out a soft bark, and then ran into Charlie's arms.
"Thank you!" Charlie said as he vigorously petted the dog with both hands. "Thank you, Kutter! You're such a good doggie! Yes, you're such a good doggie!"
Byron stood up. Charlie felt a pang of sympathy for the guy as he dabbed at the corner of his eye with his index finger. "The dog has spoken," he said with a sad smile.
"I'll take good care of him," Charlie promised.
"You'd better. I reserve the right to make surprise inspections. If I don't like what I see, I'll grind your ass up and feed you to him."
"That's fair."
Byron walked over and stuck out his hand. Charlie shook it.
"Congratulations on owning your first pet. Kutter, huh?"
"Yes."
"I actually like that better than Duke."
"Me too."
Byron picked up Kutter and spoke softly to the dog while it licked his face. Charlie felt as if he should leave the room and give them some privacy, but he also didn't want to give Byron a chance to sprint for the exit, so he stayed where he was.
After a couple of minutes, Byron handed Kutter to Charlie. "I guess I'll head off. You were on your way out, right?"
"No. I made that up."
"That's what I figured." He gave the dog one last scratch behind the ears. "Seeya, Kutter."
Charlie let Byron out of the house. He watched through the window as he got into his car and started the engine, not willing to believe that Kutter was truly his until Byron backed out of the driveway and drove out of sight.
Steak. He and Kutter needed a steak to celebrate.
Then he remembered that he still had the girl in his basement.
- 9 -
"What am I supposed to do with you?" Charlie asked the girl. He'd already taken off her gag and informed her that if she screamed, he'd cut her throat. It wasn't a threat he'd ever made good on--though he had cut vocal cords more than once--but he was feeling more paranoid than usual and didn't entirely trust the soundproofing in the basement.
"You could let me go," said the girl, her voice raw and scratchy. "I won't tell anyone."
"Yes, you will. I would."
She violently shook her head. "No, no, I swear to God I won't tell anybody. I've got a warrant out for my arrest--I can't talk to the cops even if I wanted to."
"What did you do?"
"I killed my ex-boyfriend. I shot him."
"No, you didn't." Charlie's spirits fell. He'd been momentarily excited, because the idea of her not going to the cops because of an outstanding arrest warrant made a lot of sense, but if she'd committed murder she wouldn't be going door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions.
"I did. I swear I did."
"I can look it up and find out if you're lying," Charlie told her, although he wasn't certain that he could. "If you are, I'll use my knives on your arms until they're just skeleton arms. That takes a long time. Are you willing to stick to your story?"
The girl began to cry.
"Answer me."
"No," she said.
"I didn't think so. Don't lie to me again." She was being pretty brave, a lot braver than most of his victims, but her body still shook with tiny sobs. Charlie usually enjoyed that sight. Not tonight. "I don't want to kill you," he said. "I thought I did, but I don't anymore."
"Then don't."
"It's not that easy. You know what I look like. You know where I live. How can I let you go?"
"I promise I won't tell anybody."
"But you'd be stupid if you didn't. Why would you let a serial killer roam free and not tell anybody where he lived? I don't want to hurt you, I swear I don't, but you'd tell the police. You'd have to tell them. You'd be a horrible person if you didn't."
"You'd come after me if I did."
"Not if you had police protection."
"I wouldn't have police protection forever."
"I'm not that kind of killer. I hunt easy targets, people who won't be missed."
"Everybody is missed."
"No they aren't."
"Yes, they are."
Charlie could talk to strapped-down women in his basement with an ease that eluded his interactions with other humans, but he found himself momentarily flustered. "Either way, a promise not to tell isn't enough. I can't believe you."
"Then what can we do?"
"I don't know! That's the whole problem! If we can find an answer, I'll do it, but I can't think of one! I probably shouldn't have kept you alive even this long. The police could be on their way right now."
"They're not."
"I'll make it quick," Charlie promised. "I never do, but this time I will. It'll be over in
seconds. You'll hardly even feel it."
"My name is Patti."
"I don't care."
"I just want you to know that. My name is Patti."
"I said I don't care." Charlie ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly frustrated. She was ruining his celebration with Kutter.
"I can come up with a plan," Patti said. "Just give me time. Give me an hour."
Charlie considered that. It was a bad idea, a terrible idea, but it seemed fair to give her a chance. She might come up with something brilliant. If he could resolve this situation without murdering her and risking having the police hunt him for the rest of his free life, it would be worth taking the chance on keeping her alive awhile longer.
"Okay," he said. "I won't kill you yet."
"Thank you."
"Put your thinking cap on. I'll go get you some food. Do you like cereal?"
* * *
Charlie closed the basement door behind him as he stepped into the kitchen. He didn't have any steak in the house, and though there was a twenty-four-hour grocery store not too far from his home, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave the house right now. He and Kutter would just have to celebrate with bacon strips.
He walked into the living room. "Kutter! What the hell--?"
Kutter stopped chewing on the couch cushion. He'd exposed a piece of the stuffing, and another bit of white fluff was on the floor.
"Why are you chewing up my couch?" He hurried across the room. Kutter ran to the other side, thinking it was playtime.
"You idiot, I was going to buy you a steak tomorrow! Steak! I bet you've never even had a steak. A big, thick juicy steak on the way and you're trying to eat my couch? Why would you do that? Huh? Why?"
Charlie stood there, waiting for an answer. Then he remembered that he was unlikely to receive one.
He couldn't believe this. He hadn't even been the dog's official owner for half an hour and Kutter was chewing up the furniture.
He sat down on the damaged couch. Kutter jumped up next to him.
"Go away. I'm mad at you."
Kutter prodded Charlie's hand with his cold wet nose, seeking petting.
"No. You don't deserve to get petted. You're a bad dog. Good dogs don't chew up couches. Only evil ones do that."
