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SIXTEEN
Who did Twenty-Five think she was, trying to slip under his defenses and pretending to be just like him? No amount of convincing could make him believe that a person with her destructive nature could possibly understand why the women in the cells needed to be punished. He inhaled the formaldehyde solution in the bathtub and sighed. There was something about the smell that made his heart race with excitement. It was an accomplishment to steal a woman from her home town, keep her prisoner, and then turn her into a warning of what would happen if the others didn’t behave. Smiling at his ingenuity, he wished he could share his achievements with others online, but for now this was his secret alone. He’d overcome temptation again and would return to his wife a loving and dutiful husband. I’m not like my pa.
He’d made plans for Twenty-Two and they would take time to organize. Using the solution would ensure the decomposition would be kept to a minimum and the body presented at its best. The townsfolk of Black Rock Falls needed to know adultery was a sin and his warnings needed to be heeded or they’d risk the consequences. He wanted women to be afraid and would keep leaving faceless bodies until he’d gotten results. The first two had gotten their attention, but it was obvious they needed more encouragement to comply. It was the same in every town he visited. He shook his head, recalling how Susie at Aunt Betty’s Café had hung all over him and made her intentions clear. She knew full well he was a happily married man. Taking her from town would be risky, but if she flirted with him again, she’d be waking up inside one of his cells real soon.
Carefully dropping the body into the bath, he kneeled beside it, taking in the perfection of the bruises so neatly administered along both thighs and back. He ran a finger down one arm, tracing the outline of each bruise. He loved the way the colors had changed and now stood out on the white bloodless flesh. The older bruises had a yellow hue and the ones inflicted moments ago remained red or blue. Dead bodies fascinated him, especially the way the blood collected to the side he left them on, leaving a dark purple mark on the skin, or the way the eyes remained fixed in the same position, just like the fish sitting on ice behind glass in the local store.
After positioning Twenty-Two face down in the tub, he washed her hair and meticulously cleaned each nail. He’d leave her in the solution overnight and turn her in the morning before leaving her for another day and then carry her to the plastic-coated bench for her final adornments. The skewers came fresh from the package, all shiny and bright. He laid them out in a neat line, beside the new hammer and caressed each long sharp spear with the tips of his fingers. The cool aluminum sparkled under the overhead lighting, each little heart-shaped end carrying a memory of the past. It wouldn’t be his fingerprints on the silver shafts because he always protected himself with gloves. He’d taken every precaution and his own flesh was devoid of hair apart from his head. He’d draped his naked body with a rubber fisherman’s apron that covered him from neck to knee to prevent skin flakes falling on the body.
The mask and glue sat on one side. He prided himself with his ingenuity in disguising each of the homewreckers. They came to him as faceless annoyances and would leave the same. He’d never hunted them down; they came willingly and with an agenda. It was always the same. They would play on his weaknesses by making themselves attractive to him and creating doubts about his own relationship. He understood now this was a ploy they used on any man they decided was an easy target. They were all the same. It was as if he’d been watching the same movie over and over again. In constant fear of becoming just like his pa, it had become his duty to rid the world of the pestilence. No marriage was safe while toxic women continued to walk the earth.
He stood and walked to the cells, wiping his hands on a towel. Number Twenty-Five intrigued him and he wanted to take another look at her. This one was different. She didn’t cower away from him like the others, and there was something about her he couldn’t fathom. Opening the trapdoor, he peered at her through the bars. She gave him a belligerent stare and lifted her chin as if in defiance. He shook his head. “So, you think you’re like me? Well, little lady, there is no one else like me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Number Twenty-Five’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “I’m more like you than you could possibly imagine. I can prove it. Just give me the chance.”
He searched her eyes, the windows to the soul. There was a hint of something there he recognized. They always say it takes one to know one, so maybe he’d misjudged her intentions toward the deputy. If she was like him and had been luring Deputy Kane into the forest to exact her own kind of justice when he spotted her in the park, he’d misjudged her. Maybe he could beat the truth out of her but not today. He flexed muscles still tingling from his workout. He’d always considered the punishments to be part of his routine. Most people exercised to music, but he preferred the screams of the guilty.
