Page 95 of Fallen Creed

At some point, fear became less intriguing. Human behavior became a driving force. What were people capable of doing? What could they be manipulated into doing? Along the way, he developed a curiosity about human anatomy. Most recently, he obsessed with witnessing a person’s last breath.

Simply put, he was a lifelong student, learning by a hands-on approach.

Right now, that made him smile as he walked down the quiet hotel hallway. He’d left Shelby to sleep. She’d need her rest to help Vanessa with their next project. They couldn’t afford to botch a second effort. Besides, Ruben could handle this current job all by himself. He expected little resistance and there was no need for ritual or ceremony. This was a utilitarian mission.

His ordinary looks, with his receding hairline and middle-aged, short, stocky body, provided him with a sort of power. Add a sweater vest and walking stick, and he practically became invisible. He knew how to be friendly enough without being memorable. People treated him like he was no threat. That’s if they noticed him at all.

Earlier Ruben had taken his walking stick and gone down to the lobby, telling Shelby he was going to grab a few more free refreshments. He preferred a walking stick to a walking cane, though both seemed to telegraph handicapped. The stick was more of a fashion statement, almost useless for taking weight if leaned on. However, it turned into a nifty weapon if used correctly.

Ruben lingered and strolled along the periphery, watching the guests enjoy their complementary beverages. He drank a cup of coffee. Made chitchat when appropriate, but mostly he watched and waited without anyone noticing that he was watching and waiting.

When the man appeared, Ruben knew him immediately. He hadn’t changed out of his uniform. Hadn’t even taken off his nametag. Larry grabbed himself a Coke and a bag of popcorn, then headed back to the elevator. Ruben let him enter before he stepped in alongside the man. He leaned over to tap a button, then stopped himself like he noticed the one he wanted was already lit, already headed for his same floor.

On the fourth floor, Ruben let the man get off first. He trailed him at a safe distance, pretending to busy himself with finding which pocket he’d slipped his keycard into. Larry stopped at room 425, and Ruben passed by him like his room was just down the hall.

Now, with everyone fast asleep in the early morning hours, Ruben counted on Larry being sleepy-eyed and a bit annoyed by the knock on his door. He counted on Larry looking out the peephole and seeing a plain man with a friendly face that seemed familiar. And Ruben counted on Larry opening the door.

Ruben stood in front of room 425. He dug his hand deep into his trouser pocket and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the switchblade knife. With his left hand, he knocked on the door. Two taps followed by one word said casually, without a threat, but with authority: “Manager.”

Sure enough, Larry paused at the peephole, then opened the door. He listened to Ruben’s explanation while trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.

After mere seconds, Larry stepped aside and let Ruben into his room for the hotel manager to check and see that the overflowing toilet above Larry’s room had not leaked into his ceiling.

Again, Ruben smiled to himself. Not only had he gained access, but he would lead the unsuspecting guest into the only space that wouldn’t leave a stain on the carpet.

The man stood beside him, still rubbing at his half-awake eyes and trying to stare up into the corner over the bathtub where Ruben pointed out. Poor exhausted Larry, the electrical utility worker, didn’t even notice the knife.

—74—

Libby jerked awake. She had fallen asleep with her head on the table. In the dim light of the trailer, it took her a second to remember where she was. Her pulse raced. She heard panting and looked for the dog. It stared at her from its spot alongside its sleeping owner. They were still curled up on the bed.

The panting continued, and only then did Libby realize it was her. She sucked in air and almost choked. Her eyes darted around. From the corner of her eye, she saw movement outside the window. Ariel’s blue coat stood out against the early morning gray.

The nightmare always derailed her physically and mentally. But every time she woke up, she was grateful to see there was no bathtub full of blood. Still, she checked her hands. It had taken her days before she felt like she had gotten all the blood out from under her fingernails.

With time, the dream only grew more vivid. Details she had forgotten or tucked away while awake rammed themselves to the forefront of her sleeping mind. She’d never be rid of the memories, no matter how far she ran away. They were embedded inside her like some disease, reminding her of what she had become.

That was exactly what David Ruben hoped to accomplish. Libby understood that better now after meeting Ariel. He liked to take regular teenage girls, manipulate their confidence, make them feel isolated from any other support system, then pit them against each other to compete for his rewards of praise, money and drugs. He made them feel like they were a family. Told them they needed to watch out for each other. Only Ruben’s “watching out” for each other encouraged tattling and tracking their cell phones.

He spoiled them with manicures, tickets to sold-out events and parties in luxurious hotel suites. But at the end of an evening with invited guests, Ruben wanted to know which guest they’d most like to watch die. He seemed to be obsessed with experiencing what it felt like to take someone’s last breath.

At first, Libby shrugged it off as part of a drug-laced, alcohol-induced fantasy game. A sort of dungeons and dragons.

But then there were the favors. One girl’s mother nagged her constantly. Ruben took care of it. Gave the mother something else to worry about. That’s how he said it. Libby was never sure what he’d done. Sometimes his resolutions were subtle. Most of the time, they were not. She remembered another girl whose ex-boyfriend kept stalking her. Ruben promised to put an end to it. A week later, the guy was injured in a hit-and-run accident.

His favor to Libby fell under the subtle type. In her rebellious phase to teach her father a lesson and gain his attention, she started shoplifting. Minor items at first: lipstick, sunglasses. Then she moved on to dressing room swipes: T-shirts that fit under her sweater. She got caught last January. The mall cop even had her arrested, handcuffed, fingerprinted.

That got her father’s attention. Mostly, it just made things worse between him and her mother.

Back then, Libby liked that he got in trouble. And she actually liked the adrenaline rush the shoplifting gave her. But the next time there was no mall cop. The next time there was David Ruben.

He knew right away that she wasn’t stealing just for the stuff. It was like he understood her. And for some stupid reason, it made an impression with Libby. Here was someone who didn’t mind her experimenting on the wild side. Someone who actually encouraged it. This friendly faced, middle-aged man. What harm could there be in hooking up with him?

He made it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t interested in sex. He was just some old guy with a lot of money who enjoyed pulling a fast one on people, having a good time, pushing the envelope.

Plus, he didn’t turn her in when he saw her shoplift that expensive handbag from a ritzy retailer that probably would have pressed charges, not like the other place where her father had managed to get the charges dropped.

She could continue her rebellious stint. Except she had no clue what Ruben expected in return. Libby shook her head. The image of that poor woman in the bathtub. Eyes dead but wide open. Her body submerged, blood coloring the bath water as Ruben and the others cut into her flesh. Her skin was so pale against the blood-red water.