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Violent porn.
It was just the charge he needed. He’d been operating in hyperdrive all week, his adrenaline pumping as he raped and tortured the bitches one by one, then choked the life out of them. His mind was still revving, but his body was depleted from expending all that energy. He needed to jack himself up, get ready for the next step. And this was the night to do it—the only free night he’d have for a while.
He turned the key in his apartment door and let himself in, making sure to lock the door behind him. He went through his customary room-by-room check, just to ensure that nothing had been disturbed. You could never be too careful.
Everything was exactly as he’d left it.
He tossed his duffel bag in the bedroom, walked into the kitchen and popped a microwave meal in to heat. When the timer beeped, he took out the dish and carried it into the living room where his big-screen TV was.
He set his dinner on the coffee table. Then he went back to the bedroom, opened his closet and squatted down over the brown cardboard box that was brimming with DVDs. He took each of them out, scrutinizing them as he made his selection.
He chose one of his favorites, Scream If You Can, in which women were choked almost to the point of asphyxiation during violent intercourse. Their pain, their gasps for air—it all really juiced him up.
He replaced the other DVDs and put away the box.
Returning to the living room, he turned on the electronic equipment and slid the DVD into the player.
His dinner was still warm. He picked it up and settled himself on the secondhand couch.
It didn’t take long to accomplish his goal. Soon, his heart was thumping in his chest, his breath was coming faster and his erection was throbbing.
Dinner was forgotten.
He could visualize his next victim, pleading as she lay beneath him, trying to escape the brutal pounding of his body as it tore hers to shreds. He could feel his hands around her throat, hear her choked cries of pain, revel in the power that was his as he— The ringing of his cell phone was a shrill, intolerable interruption.
At first he ignored it. He was too far gone, lost in the surges of his own release. His head fell back against the sofa cushion, and he gasped in air as the warm aftermath of triumph flowed through him.
The damned phone wouldn’t shut up.
It began ringing again, an insistent discord violating his peace.
He turned his head and looked down at the phone, recognizing the familiar number—a number he never dared to ignore.
“Yeah,” he said, having punched on the phone and brought it to his ear. He listened for a few minutes, his annoyance transforming to puzzlement. “A clump of her hair? How the hell do you expect me to pull that off?” He listened again. “Okay, yeah, I guess I can do that. I’ll start figuring it out tomorrow...Now?” His eyes snapped open. “You mean as in right now? I can’t possibly—” Another bout of listening, this one longer and more intense. “Fine, I get it—you know where she is every fucking minute, and now is when she’s there,” he snapped, kissing his plans goodbye for the rest of the evening. “I’ll take care of it....Yeah, half and half. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
Chapter Seventeen
There were very few things that made Casey relax.
Her monthly hair salon appointment was one of them.
As soon as they lowered her in the chair and cradled her head in the indented curve of the sink, her type A+ personality ebbed into an uncustomary type A–. She shut her eyes and let the warm water work its magic. The scent of the shampoo, the gentle massage of her scalp, it all eased the tension from her body. And then afterward, sitting in Louis’s chair—half watching him per
forming his artistry and half zoning out—it was a monthly experience that was like a minivacation for her.
Having a security guard reading a magazine in the waiting area and frequently eyeballing her for safety put a definite damper on things. But she refused to let that ruin her experience.
The next few days were going to be manic. This time was hers.
“I’m leaning toward creating a wispier look,” Louis announced. “I’ll take about a half inch off the bottom, and do more pronounced edging up the sides.”
“Sounds good.” The agreement was perfunctory. Louis did what he chose and his decisions were not open to debate. But that was fine with Casey. Louis was a genius with a pair of scissors. She was never disappointed when she left his chair. He went to work, alternately combing, snipping and scrutinizing his handiwork. Casey watched with half-shut eyes, thinking about grabbing a sandwich at the deli next door before she hailed a cab to NYU.
The salon was bustling. Upscale as it was, it attracted a high-end crowd, many of whom made their appointments for right after work. That gave them a chance to wind down before dinner.
None of the patrons paid much attention when the handyman entered the salon. He was wearing a gray uniform jacket and carrying a tool chest.
“Hi,” he greeted the receptionist. “I’m with Superior Plumbing. The deli next door is having water pressure problems. The landlord asked me to stop in here and measure your water pressure to make sure you’re not being affected.”
