“Good,” he says, setting the lipstick on the counter, then the protein powder. “Getting much better.” But his attention is suddenly riveted by the headline on the newspaper on the rack beside the checkout. His hand stills.
Violent Sexual Assault in Ross Bay Cemetery—Young Woman Left in Coma
It’s the first he’s seen of this news.
He was up late last night. His work made him so tired that he slept most of today, waking only around 5:00 p.m. Tam nods toward theCity Sunfront page. “Terrible attack on that young woman,” he says. “That’s this morning’s issue, but latest on the radio is that she died. Only sixteen years old. Drowned. How in the hell doesthathappen in a hospital?” He moves the first bag of goods to the end of the counter. “They said on the radio that she’d been mutilated, a crucifix carved right into her forehead. And then there was the body found this morning floating under the Johnson Street Bridge. All bound up in plastic or something. Apparently she could be that missing woman from two weeks ago. Fine way to head into Christmas—that new mayor better live up to his promises.”
He looks up from the headline. “What missing woman?”
“UVic student. Eighteen years old. Clean vanished off campus and into the blue about two weeks ago. Annelise ... Janssen, that was it.”
He takes the paper from the rack, reads the first paragraph, then studies closely the black-and-white photo of the two detectives from the Metro PD sex crimes unit. They look like haunted things in the swirling snowflakes under the glare of the flash. Behind them, a shadowy gargoyle face is carved into the stone wall.
“Those officers look as scary as the bad guys they hunt, eh?” Tam says. “You want that copy?”
“Yeah.” He places the paper on the counter. “And a pack of menthol lights.”
“You should tell her to stop smoking those things,” Tam says with a smile as he reaches behind him for a packet of cigarettes and plunks it on the counter.
He meets Tam’s gaze and returns the man’s smile with a big, high-wattage grin of his own—his is a smile that makes people trust him. Forced or not, it comes with dimples that can melt the logic in a certain kind of young woman’s brains. He has a keen radar for that kind of woman. Something ... needy in them. “That’ll be the day that she listens to me,” he tells Tam. “Oh, and I’ll take a lotto Quick Pick.” The sign outside the store declares the prize is up to fifteen million this week. He could do with winning a few million, especially given his work situation now.
Tam rings up the total and hands over the lottery ticket. “Tell your mom I say hi.”
“Yeah, I will.” He picks up his bags.
The walk home is blustery and cold. When he returns to his mother’s neatly painted little early nineteen hundreds house, he shakes out his coat, hangs it carefully on one of the hooks near the front door before unpacking his bags. He then lights the fire, puts the television onto a recorded episode ofCoronation Street, and he sits down to read the paper.
So, she was found alive.
That was a bad slip. He supposes he panicked a little, thought she was dead when he left her in the cemetery. He’ll have to make certain next time.
Sloppy Johnny, stupid peeping Tommy, stupid, stupid child ...
He gets up, paces, clenching and unclenching his fists. He picks up the paper again and peruses the story further, taking note of the detectives’ names. Angie Pallorino and Kjel Holgersen. He tries pronouncing their names out loud.Kell? Key-yell? Kay-gel?
Angie.That one’s easy.
A kind of power, arousal, spreads through him.
Game is on, detectives ... you can’t catch Johnny, watch Johnny run, no one has caught Johnny, peeping Tommy, because for years Johnny’s had fun ...
But it’s more than fun now. It’s a calling. Now he has a higher purpose.
Save the Bad Girls, Johnny ... make them Good Girls, Tommy ...
He reaches for the new tube of lipstick on the table, opens it, and applies the color carefully to his lips. He then opens the new packet of menthol cigarettes, puts one between his lips, lights it, then balances it at the edge of an ashtray on the kitchen table where it continues to burn, releasing a tendril of smoke like incense into the air. Atmosphere. It arouses him. He fetches the sewing box from downstairs and places it upon the kitchen table, where he seats himself before opening the box. Inside are spools of colored thread, needles, buttons. A small bottle of resin. His ultraviolet pen flashlight.
Beneath the bottom tray is the lock of hair he was too tired to fix last night.
He removes it. A lovely walnutty brown.
Humming to himself, he opens his bottle of UV resin and dips the end of the lock into it. The strong scent makes his eyes water and his nasal passages burn. He shines his ultraviolet flashlight onto the resin to dry it, and the tip of the lock goes smooth and shiny-hard within three seconds. This will ensure the hairs stay nicely together. Until recently he used clear nail varnish to finish his trophies, but then he had to find a way to clamp the locks of hair so that the varnish could air-dry. It took time, and it sometimes got messy and stuck to surfaces. Then he saw this fly-tying documentary on the sports channel where the angler used UV resin for his flies. It works like a charm.
The scent of the resin itself is becoming a trigger now, a delicious neural shortcut firing straight from his nose to his groin. He’s going hard already, and he opens his thighs wider to better enjoy the sensation. He picks a spool of mauve embroidery thread from his mother’s sewing box, and he ties a tiny bow around the fixed lock of hair.
He runs the strands softly across his upper lip. Ticklish, silky. He closes his eyes, and her scent fills him. It’s as if she’s with him again. He can taste her, can see her lashes soft and dark upon the swell of her cheeks, can feel the satiny texture of her skin. He moans quietly as his penis hardens to an exquisite, almost-painful peak. A gentle girl. Who had to be punished before she could be saved ...
The sound of Her voice mingles with the fragrance of menthol smoke, theCoronation Streettheme tune playing on the television ...
