by Jacob Stone
The young blonde woman’s words to the barista might’ve seemed relatively polite, but her tone was petulant and nasty enough to draw Sheila’s attention. Up until that moment Sheila hadn’t noticed her, but the woman could’ve been a dead ringer for Penelope. Even the same dull-eyed stare!
This time it was no accident. Sheila was in Brooklyn only because she was looking for a Penelope substitute. She knew that she needed a do over with her sister to complete the cycle, and that once that was done she’d be able to close the door forever on her past and start fresh with a clean slate. As she eavesdropped on their conversation, she heard the barista patiently explain that he used soy milk, and the Penelope look-alike insist that he was a liar, and that she could tell the difference between soy and skim milk.
“Unless you want this dumped all over your counter, you better give me what I asked for,” the blonde threatened, her voice so eerily like Penelope’s that it gave Sheila goose bumps.
The chastened barista made her a new vanilla latte, and after she took a sip of it she told him she’d be taking her business elsewhere in the future. “Someplace where the employees aren’t so braindead that they have to argue with customers,” she added, her eyes an angry dull-eyed squint.
Sheila shivered as she heard this, realizing how perfect this was going to be. She’d been careful over the last several minutes to watch this Penelope look-alike out of her peripheral vision so she wouldn’t be caught staring at her, and after the woman left the coffee shop, Sheila forced herself to remain seated for another minute before leaving the shop to follow her.
She caught sight of the Penelope look-alike before she had made it to the next block. The blonde was walking at a fast clip, and Sheila had to do likewise so that she could stay within a half a block of her, but she was able to follow her for several blocks to Thirty-third Street without the woman realizing it. When the Penelope look-alike turned to go into one of the four-story brick apartment buildings lining the street, Sheila started sprinting. She made up the distance between them quickly, and was able to reach the glass security door before it had completely closed. She was breathing hard as she slipped into the building, but she could still hear the blonde’s high heels clacking on the wooden steps above her. Sheila was wearing sneakers, and she raced up the staircase and caught sight of Penelope’s doppelganger as the woman unlocked the door to one of the apartments and went inside of it.
Sheila had no idea whether this woman lived alone, had a roommate, a significant other, or even kids, but none of that mattered. She needed this do over as badly as she needed her heart to pump blood through her body, and she didn’t care how many other people she’d have to slaughter if it came to that. The young blonde woman in that apartment was hers.
She waited until she had her breathing under control, and then took the hypodermic needle from her bag and held it as if it were a switchblade. Then with a great sense of calm washing over her, she walked over to the blonde’s door and knocked on it. When the woman answered and saw it was Sheila, recognition glimmered in her eyes.
“I know you,” she said, her mouth moving about as much as if she were working a ventriloquist’s dummy. “You were in that coffee shop. What the hell are you doing following me?”
Sheila jabbed upward with the needle, sticking it into the blonde’s throat. Before she could inject the succinylcholine, the blonde had grabbed Sheila’s arm and had swung her hip out so that Sheila went flying over her. A loud oomph escaped from her as she landed heavily on her back, her wind knocked out. As she struggled to get up she heard the clicking sound of the door being closed shut, and then she was grabbed by her hair and forced back to the floor. The next thing she knew the blonde was sitting on her chest, her knees pinning her arms down. The woman’s eyes seethed with fury as she pulled the needle from her throat.
“You dumb psycho bitch,” she said, her breath sour in Sheila’s face as she leaned forward. “Who sent you here?”
Sheila started crying. She couldn’t help herself. She had been so close to reclaiming her life, and now it was like she was twelve years old again with Penelope sitting on her chest so that she could torment her.
“You’re crazy, is that your story? Guess what? I don’t care what your problem is. Let’s see about this drug you wanted to inject me with so badly.”
At that moment the blonde was no longer simply a Penelope look-alike to Sheila, but the real thing, and Sheila couldn’t let it end this way, not after all the years of torment and abuse she had suffered. Summoning up every ounce of strength she was capable of, she wildly bucked her body and was able to free her left arm. The blonde missed as she tried to grab at Sheila’s freed arm, and Sheila poked her in the eye.
“You crazy bitch,” the blonde cried out as she grasped at her eye with both hands. Sheila used this opportunity to push the woman off of her, and to scramble for the hypodermic needle that she had dropped. She was still clutching at her injured eye when Sheila stabbed her in the shoulder with the needle and injected a full dose of succinylcholine into her. Almost instantly the woman’s body went slack.
Sheila lowered herself to the floor and lay motionless next to this paralyzed woman until the thumping in her chest subsided. Once she felt as if she had recovered enough, she stripped herself naked and had her long awaited do over with Penelope, because as far as she was concerned this woman was Penelope.
Chapter Fifty-one
Brooklyn, 2011
She had gone insane. That was the only explanation Sheila could come up with. Less than a half hour ago she had him alone in that alley all ready for the slaughter. It would’ve been easy and safe. Nobody had seen them together in that Bushwick bar, and nobody would’ve stumbled on them in that alley. But instead of injecting him with a dose of succinylcholine when his back was turned, and then having another do over with good old dad that she so desperately wanted, she had put the needle away and invited herself to his apartment for sex. Since then they’d been seen together by enough people to where it would no longer be safe to kill him, and now she was standing naked in front of him, which had to mean she was actually planning to have intercourse with him, and she couldn’t understand why.
If he hadn’t drawn that picture of her, she would’ve made him her next victim, but that picture changed things somehow. It was very beautiful in its own way, but it also touched her that he saw her like that instead of as simply a pretty face, nice set of tits, and a tight ass. Or as just an enormous bag of money. But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t kill this lumpy, toadlike man. It couldn’t have been.
He still hadn’t taken off any of his own clothes. Instead he sat on his bed fumbling awkwardly with his top shirt button while looking absolutely stricken. Almost like he might drop dead of a heart attack at any moment.
“Would it be okay if I turn off the lights?” he asked.
“Oh for God’s sake.”
She stepped forward and ripped his shirt open, popping off the buttons. He looked like he was on the verge of tears as she pulled the shirt off of him, and then yanked off the undershirt he wore underneath. Half naked he was even doughier and more repulsive than she had imagined.
“Can we talk first?” he pleaded.
“You have me naked and willing, and you want to talk? I’m betting you don’t do this very often.”
He looked away from her ashamed. “No, I don’t,” he said. His voice lowered to a whisper as he admitted, “This will be my first time.”
“How old are you?”
He tried smiling, but it didn’t stick. “Forty-four.”
She sat next to him on the bed. “You never used a prostitute?” she asked.
He shook his head, his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t think it would be right to do something like that.”
Sheila understood then why she didn’t kill this man in that alley. Even though he was the right age and, as long as she squinted, had enough superficial physical similarities, she still wouldn’t have been able to imagine this
man as her dad, especially after seeing the picture he had drawn of her. She was going to have to find someone else for her next Mr. Proops do over, because, as she was learning, the release she got from these killings didn’t last very long. After only a few months she’d start feeling the compulsive urge to have her do overs again with suitable replacements for dad, mom, and sister. Maybe even later that night she’d search for another substitute for her dad, but it wasn’t going to be this man.
Her voice softened as she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why did you choose me?”
She looked at him confused, at first wondering if he could’ve been asking why she had picked him for killing, at least initially. Did he see her brandishing the hypodermic needle in that alley? Or when she was in his bathroom minutes ago, could he have looked through her pocketbook and found the hammer and chisel that she had wrapped up in a hand towel? Did he somehow figure out that she was the Skull Cracker Killer?
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously, her muscles tensing as she wondered whether she might have to kill this man after all, even if it wasn’t safe.
“You’re beautiful,” he stammered out. “Beyond beautiful, really. Anyone would think that. I know I’m ugly. I’ve been told that my whole life. The little hog ogre. That’s what they called me throughout school. I don’t kid myself about it otherwise. I’ve accepted it.” He hesitated as he stared down at his hands before adding, “You could’ve gone home with any guy in Bushwick. Forget Bushwick, any guy in the city. So why me?”
Sheila relaxed as she put out of her mind the violence she’d been briefly considering. She also realized then why she’d gone home with him, and why she was willing to have sex with him. He may have been repulsively ugly, but she felt a certain affinity with him. A closeness that she’d never felt before. He might not have been repeatedly violated and tortured as a child (under the guise of punishments), but she was sure in his own way that he had suffered. She had a wicked thought then. The FBI profiler had been so damn smug the other day when he was talking on TV about how the Skull Cracker Killer had to be a loner who was incapable of intimacy or having a relationship. This dummy who thought he was so damn smart even got her sex wrong, claiming that SCK could only achieve sexual release through his killings. Well, maybe she’d prove him wrong on all fronts! Maybe she’d even hook up with this poor schnook for good. Even though this Henry character looked like a squashed toad, the idea of that appealed to her.
“Why not you?” Sheila asked. “Sometimes you just find yourself attracted to a nice guy who shows by a picture he drew of you that he sees you in a way nobody else ever has. How about we get those pants off?”
Chapter Fifty-two
Los Angeles, the present
Morris answered the phone on the first ring. Since he was expecting the call and didn’t want to wake Natalie, he flopped in Rachel’s vacant room when he got home at 4 A.M. Even though he’d been dead tired, he hadn’t been able to fall into a deep sleep since he knew the call was coming. Instead he had one of those restless sleeps where he was not sure when he woke that he’d really slept.
Morris talked briefly on the phone, got the location of Brenda Maguire’s body, and told the detective that he’d be there as soon as he could. Since he’d been expecting to have to leave at a moment’s notice, he’d slept in his suit to save time, only taking off his suit jacket and loosening his tie. He swung his feet off the bed, and heard a rustling next to him and realized he’d had company for the night. Parker lay on the bed stretching all four legs, his thick tail thumping the mattress. Morris could vaguely remember letting Parker into Rachel’s room so that the dog wouldn’t wake Nat. He also remembered ordering Parker to stay on the floor as if he actually expected the dog to listen to him.
With a snort, Parker flipped himself to his feet, jumped off the bed, and proceeded to yawn and stretch more vigorously. Morris watched him for a moment, then held out his palm so that the dog could push his muzzle into it. As Parker did this, he let out a couple of his piglike grunts.
Morris checked his watch, which he’d also worn to bed, and saw it was only a quarter past six. “You’re expecting to accompany me today, aren’t you?” he said in a low voice so that Nat wouldn’t be able to hear him in the neighboring bedroom. He rubbed Parker’s muzzle and got another grunt from the dog. “What you really want is bacon. I know your tricks. But you earned it yesterday, even though you were a godawful watchdog last night.”
Morris grabbed his suit jacket and left the room with Parker tagging close behind. His mouth tasted awful, and he decided he could spend two minutes brushing his teeth and washing his face. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste from the master bathroom and took it downstairs so he wouldn’t wake Nat. After a quick scrubbing of both his teeth and face, he opened the downstairs bathroom door to find Nat standing on the other side of it, her hands on her hips. Even though she was paler than she usually was and her long dark brown hair was tangled and in disarray, she was as beautiful as Morris had ever seen her, and as always, her beauty brought a small lump to his throat.
“I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you,” Morris apologized.
“I must’ve heard Parker plodding down the staircase,” she said. “Let me guess, you camped out in Rachel’s room when you got home?”
“Guilty as charged. I felt bad enough that you were woken up at two, I didn’t want to wake you again at four, especially knowing that I’d be getting a call a couple of hours later. It’s your day off, I wanted you to be able to sleep late. Sorry you weren’t able to.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s just hard to sleep when you’re not lying next to me.”
Morris understood that. Whenever he had to sleep apart from Nat, he always had a restless time of it.
“Tomorrow,” he promised. “We’ll both sleep late on your birthday.”
“Deal.” The fragile smile she’d been showing him weakened. “They found that girl’s body?”
“Yeah. Off of Mulholland Drive. I’m heading there now.”
“You’re taking Parker?”
Morris nodded, and Parker on hearing his name let out one of his excited grunts.
“Good,” Natalie said. “You look beat, I’m glad you’ll have the company. And I’m holding you to your promise. We’re not leaving the bed tomorrow until noon.”
She gave Morris a tender pat on his cheek, and then reached in for a kiss. After the kiss ended, she asked Morris if he was going to get something to eat that morning.
“I’ll stop somewhere for a breakfast sandwich.” He gave the bull terrier a solid thump on the side. “This little guy definitely earned himself some bacon for yesterday.”
Another happy grunt from Parker.
“You’re not going to get into any more shoot-outs in jewelry stores?”
Morris forced a grin. “Hey, it wasn’t a shoot-out. Only one of us fired.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. I’ll be safe. No more Beverly Hill jewelry stores for me. How about you? Any exciting plans for your day off?”
She thought about it and shrugged. “Nothing too eventful. At least nothing more exciting than maybe getting a massage.”
Chapter Fifty-three
There was already a small mob of police and forensics at the scene when Morris pulled up to the remote stretch of Mulholland Drive where Brenda Maguire’s body had been found. No media or spectators yet. Too early in the morning for that. At least that was one small break.
Morris left his car with Parker on a leash, and spotted Walsh, FBI profiler Sam Goodman, and Gilman gathered together, all of them standing in brush about twenty feet from the road. The forensics team was camped out forty feet past them near a tree, which must’ve been where the body was left. He didn’t see Malevich, but he saw other detectives and officers that he either knew or recognized.
Walsh nodded to him as did Goodman. The mayor’s assistant separated from them s
o that he could intercept Morris. Gilman was back to wearing a custom-tailored suit, although it now looked loose on him, as if he’d lost weight over the past three days. He didn’t look too happy that Morris had brought his dog, but he probably wouldn’t have looked too happy about anything at that moment. When he got close enough, Parker leaped on him, resting his two paws on him as he grinned in a way that only a bull terrier could, his tail wagging. Morris yanked the dog off of him.
“He likes you,” Morris said.
“Strange.” Gilman frowned at Parker, but he still conceded to give the dog a scratch behind his ear. “I’m a cat person.”
“You have him fooled. I’m guessing you didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“That obvious?” Gilman asked. “You’re right, I didn’t. I spent the night trying to figure out how we were going to handle this if the worst happened, which it has. Yourself?”
“Maybe a couple of hours. I’m not sure.”
Gilman nodded, more to himself than to Morris. “This is bad. Worse than the others, if you can believe it. A coyote got to the body. I don’t even want to think about it.” He blanched then as he must’ve thought about it. “I was really hoping we’d be able to rescue her,” he said dejectedly.
Morris clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re going to get him,” he promised. “Sooner than later.”
“I hope you’re right. I don’t want this psycho bastard killing anyone else in my city.” Gilman clenched his jaw, fighting back either a sob or anger, Morris wasn’t sure which. The mayor’s assistant got whatever emotion he was fighting under control, and asked Morris whether they should keep this from the media. “We could probably hide this from them for another four to eight hours. Any advantage in doing so?”
“None. Let’s get this out there after the body’s moved. Maybe someone saw something.”
Gilman morosely told Morris that he was heading back to his office, and he’d handle the media. Surprisingly for a cat person, he gave Parker another pat on the head before walking off. Morris moved on to Walsh and Goodman. Walsh informed him that they were still waiting on the medical examiner, Roger Smichen, and filled him in on the rest of it.
