Page 9

Billy

H er dread captured vividly on the security cameras ignites the adrenaline in my veins. I sink onto the couch, pulling up the recording from earlier. I stroke to the video of her playing with her new toy.

“That’s right, Lou. Fuck yourself with my cock.”

Replacing the dildo she purchased with a clone of my dick had taken only a few clicks of the keyboard.

“Take it all, my perfect slut,” I hiss and switch to the video of her admiring her other gift. What would she say if she knew that pretty little journal was bound in human flesh?

A primal urge to fuck her consumes me. For now, I let the ecstasy run wild as I stroke myself until the familiar sensation intensifies at the base of my spine. I jerk into my closest shirt and sprawl back on the couch.

I focus on the live feed, but she doesn’t freak out as much as I had hoped, so I turn it off.

Cleaning myself up, I walk down to the shop and pull out Miles’s skins, which are finished. I’ve been making a few purses, more stock to put away until Lucy can show me how to sell it.

I sit in the stillness as birds and insects sing their songs. The cool air flows through the open door and, as much as I am proud of the space I’ve made here.

I’m happy she offered those broken buildings to me. It was an idea I tossed around when I bought the place, but having it be from her makes it less suspicious.

The old barn, though…is what dreams are fucking made of. I’ll be able to hold more people. Hell, I’ll have enough room to mix the skins, and it’s private. Looking around, I realize just how much space I’ll have for my arts and crafts.

I bounce up from the stool and tuck away all the products I’ve made so far.

Tomorrow, I will work on her porch swing and bring some materials over to construct my vision of the barn.

Tidying up my workbench, I decide that tomorrow I’ll pick up someone new. The ever-present darkness clouds my thoughts and need prickles at my skin.

I check the live feed of the camera in Lucy’s bedroom and trace her sleeping form.

“Soon, darlin’,” I croon, slipping my phone in my pocket as I head upstairs.

Along the side of the dirt road walks a girl in a sundress, her long blonde hair whipping around in the wind. As the Cruze nears her, she stops and sticks out a thumb. Hell, I thought people were too scared to get into strangers’ cars anymore. I pull over.

“Hey, are you going to Kawartha Lakes?”

She leans against the passenger window, half her arm hanging in. Her gaze travels over my face as she adjusts the strap of her dress.

“Sure. Want a ride?” I grin.

She nods before opening the door and getting in. Her coconut shampoo is overwhelming. I tap the steering wheel until she closes the door.

I turn back onto the road. “What’s your story?”

“Don’t have one,” she says, buckling her seatbelt. “Just needed a ride.”

“Where we headed?” I turn down the volume of the music .

“5083 Cann Lane. Do you know it?”

“Sure. What’s your name?”

The breeze wafts through the windows before she answers. “Char.”

“Like for Charlene?”

“No, just Char.”

“Okay, I’m Miles.”

She says nothing. I’m usually not plagued by the silence, but today it drives me a little batty.

“Thanks for the ride,” she whispers.

She won’t be thankful soon, but the gesture is nice.

As I park behind the shop, she turns into a jumping bean, desperately trying to unbuckle her seatbelt.

“We need to stop at my place to snag my wallet. Chill the fuck out, dude,” I tell her, raising an eyebrow.

She gets free and hops out of the car.

“Where’re ya off to?”

She’s fucking skittish, like a beaten dog from the side of the road. I grab her by the wrist and pull her into the shop. Closing the door, I leave her to cower near it.

I walk in and grab the usual restraints.

Her cries make me smile, and with a swift motion, I pick her up and lower her onto the table. I make quick work of tying her wrists and securing her ankles .

Tears run over her dirt-stained face, her hair spanning out under her head like a pillow.

Twirling on my toes, I head to the storage cupboard and grab my silver mask, then secure it on as I grab the scalpel and a pair of scissors.

Moving back to her, I cut the length of her dress. Medium-size tits lay flat against her chest and simple white panties cover her pussy. Char’s body shakes.

“Men are all the fucking same. Gonna rape me, too?” Her voice is shrill.

I glance into her eyes and laugh.

“What the fuck is funny?”

“Char, you shouldn’t accept rides from strangers,” I simply state, which isn’t wrong.

“You’re fucking crazy. You looked like a nice person. Someone trustworthy.” Her voice raises as she thrashes on the table.

“Funny thing about nice people: you can’t see what they’re hiding. Sorry, it has to be this way.”

She flinches when I pull out the scalpel.

“So, what’s your story?” I wait for her to talk, although with the way she’s trembling, I’m not sure she will have a lot to say.

“Mom died, dad’s a drunk. I wanted to take off.”

In the end, honesty prevailed, but the trade-off was a less thrilling experience. I’m putting down a beaten dog, though I’d never harm an animal .

Her thighs are nice-looking, but her stomach skin is too thin. I start to cut off pieces of flesh from her legs, laying them at the end of the table.

I enjoy the melody of her screams, like a long-awaited symphony for my ears.

Filling up the solution, I glance over at her face. Her eyes are closed, her breath having gone shallow. I’m going to have to find a new way to keep ‘em going.

“What the fuck? Just kill me, you sick fucking bastard,” she gasps. The warmth of her fear wraps me in a hug like a cozy blanket from the dryer.

The metallic tang of blood fills the air as it cascades down the edge of the table. Her muscles are tense and I roll her onto her stomach. I slide my scalpel across her upper back, where the skin is firmer.

Once I’m done, I move all the flesh pieces to the tub and glance at her body. It’s like one of those paper snowflakes you cut as a child.

I scrape over the fat on her back and move the sharpened spoon along her sides. I’ll sell this as organic soap—the laughter bubbles inside of me.

Char has long since passed out, and based on her breathing, she isn’t far from death’s door.

My hands are crimson as the blood drips down the table, staining her once flawless skin. Setting my finger over her throat, the beat of life is done. I clean off my scalpel and lift the mask off my face.

The sun is starting to set as I get the fires started out back, the crackling of burning wood echoing through the air. Armed with a larger saw, I diligently work to break her into more manageable pieces.

The fire comes to life when I pour stump remover into it, the flames dancing and flickering as they change from a vibrant orange to a brilliant white.

I add her limbs first, and once they’ve burned, I add the two chunks of her torso. I continue this process until she is all gone.

Shifting my attention to the table, I add the fat to the stainless-steel pot and stir in the lye. It’ll be my first time making soap. I’ve read enough about it to have a clear understanding.

With the last pieces of clothes, hair, and bone in hand, I walk outside and toss it all in the flaming bin. I rip off my shirt and throw it in the fire, too.

Heading back into the shop, I give everything a quick wipe down and lock up. After, I walk over to the burn bins and put a lid on the embers before finally ascending the stairs to my apartment.

I tear off my jeans and put them in the laundry before getting into the ancient shower.

As the hot spray pelts down on my tight muscles, I relish the sensation and run my hand through my hair.

Once done, I fix my moustache in the mirror, taking a moment to admire the edgy combination of ripped jeans and a dark band tee that I’ve chosen for the evening.

The darkness has receded from the centre of my mind. Light gets let in, but it’s not enough, and some days I wonder if I will ever be satisfied. My craving gets stronger with every kill.

Each time I extinguish a life, the vivid memories of my past etched deep in my mind quiet down. Scattered fragments of long-forgotten words haunt me, piercing my soul.

Shoving my hand through my pink hair, I set a black hat on backwards. From my fingertips to my toes, a tapestry of tattoos covers my skin, a constant reminder that nothing will ever satisfy my craving for more.

I tear my gaze away from my reflection. I snatch my keys off the counter and make my way to Lucy’s place.

On the drive there, the idea of taking two at once pops into my head. Just to experience it before I get the barn started. Snatching two tonight will ensure that the skins share the same timeline as the other in the solution.

I tap on the steering wheel to the song on the radio, a surge of adrenaline coursing through me.