Chapter 17

He sat at his desk, happily writing on lined paper. He was documenting his experiences of the day, the way it had felt to be in that conference room, to know that they were all gathered there for him. He wished he had recorded it somehow, had taken in a mini recorder. Instead he had to rely upon his memories.

But that was okay. He remembered how it felt to have Detective Nick Saint shake his hand, talk to him as if he were an equal. The seriousness in the man's voice when he had spoken of the 'horrors' that he had committed.

He had watched the sexy deputy, saw how she looked as the details were discussed. He had memorized her face, the nuances of her speech, of her emotions. It had excited him almost more than he could stand. And now she was a big part of his plans. He wouldn't take her yet, though he could have, very easily today. He wanted to watch her find more of his grisly presents, see the frustration in her eyes. And he wanted to watch her when she finally recognized him when he did finally take her. She would realize that he was the master of this game, that she was only a tiny pawn. Just that anticipation had him up and going to the table where his newest research project was just waking up.

She had the same golden blonde hair, it was a little too long, but he would fix that. Her eyes weren't quite as smoky, but it was as close as he could get. Her body was fine though, rounded and firm, with big breasts that had his hands itching to touch. He bet she had brown nipples, big brown nipples.

She had been so easy. A drink bought, a few words exchanged. He had walked her out to her car and had made sure she saw his. She had looked him up and down, saw dollar signs and had agreed to go with him to another bar he knew where the band was much better. She climbed into his car turned to grab the seat belt and he had been ready for her. The cloth had been plastered to her face and she was out in seconds.

It was so easy to drive at night with a girl slumped in the front seat of your car. People thought she was drunk or tired and had fallen asleep. He had gotten home easily enough, carried her down the steps and into his lab and now she was his.

He watched her wake up, saw the confusion when she realized she couldn't move. It was always the same. The confusion and then the dawning horror that she was tied down. And then came the pleading and the crying. But tonight he was in too good of a mood to even worry about the knife. The knife couldn't call to him tonight. This night was his.

"Do you know who I am?" he whispered to her, wiping her face down with a wet cloth.

She whimpered and tried to move her arms, to get up.

"Do you know who I am?" he said again, stroking the cloth down her neck and into the v neckline of her tee shirt.

She shook her head and he could see the desperate fear and disbelief beginning to register in her eyes.

"Do you watch the news?" The wet cloth was left at the corner of the table, his hand continued down into the v of her shirt. He grasped her breast over her bra, squeezing. His fingers flexed rhythmically, tightening until he knew she would have bruises.

"Answer me, darling." He squeezed hard enough to bring a cry of pain to her lips. "Do you watch the news?" he repeated, getting closer to her face.

"Yes." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He loosened his hold and pulled up the cup of her bra, making sure the band edge flicked across her nipple. He found it with his fingers and began stroking and pulling gently, making it stand erect.

"Then you know who I am?" He voice was getting rough, this new phase was exciting him more than he had thought possible. He liked the way her nipple looked, standing up, outlined by her shirt. He leaned down and took it in his mouth, wetting the fabric and then blowing on it. He liked the fact that she shuddered, whether in fear or in desire didn't matter to him. It was the reaction that counted.

"Please, God. No," she started crying.

He laughed and reached for the knife and his camera. "You won't find God here, sweetness, He doesn't have anything to do with this." He took the first picture and then made his first long, slow cut. "Only me," he said, staring at the soft flesh he uncovered. "Only the devil."