tub. He brought her back over to the bed and chained her up again.
Joe scrambled some eggs and made
bacon and toast but Alicia would not eat it so he left it by the side of the bed along with fresh water. He emptied the
bucket that sat alongside the bed and
replaced it, just in case she needed to use it while he was gone.
"I have to go. I'l be back later." It was far too early for class so Joe
walked across campus to the gym,
getting there just as the wrestling team was finishing up their weight training and the footbal players were starting to pile in. Joe was bigger and stronger than
most of the players on the team. He
knew they thought he was crazy for not
playing, but he had more important
things to do than run up and down a field chasing a weather-beaten pigskin.
Ignoring the loud laughing and joking
from the players, Joe began stacking
weight onto the bar. He loaded 225
pounds onto the weight bench to begin
his warmup and then proceeded to do
two sets of fifteen reps with it. He ended by bench-pressing 405 pounds, doing
nearly five hundred on the decline press and 365 on the incline. He then did
some curls with 180 pounds and finished with five hundred stomach crunches.
With every grueling set of exercises
Joe's mind went inexorably back to
Trent. He couldn't get that damned
pedophile out of his mind. He had to find him and kil him and that meant he
needed to get a car, preferably a van so that he could transport Alicia without
having to lock her in a trunk. He had the librarian's wedding and engagement
rings and about forty dol ars from her
purse. The engagement ring was a huge
solitaire, at least three carats. Her last husband had probably purchased it for
four or five grand. Joe thought he might be able to get seven or eight hundred for it at a pawnshop but more than likely
he'd have to settle for five or six hundred, an eighth of its value. That meant some very cheap transportation. If he went to a used car lot it would probably be enough fora down payment.
Joe grabbed a forty-five-pound weight
and placed it on his chest as he groaned and strained his way through another fifty crunches. When he stood, his abdominal
muscles were wound up tight and
starting to cramp. He stretched
backward as far as he could to loosen
them up before he went to hit the
showers. By the time he had undressed
and stepped into the shower it was
empty. Everyone had hurried to finish
washing before he stepped in. He made
them nervous. Joe knew that as soon as
someone found the librarian's body he'd be the first suspect.
He doubted that anyone had seen him
going in and out of the abandoned
apartment building. The building was
located in a commercial area that closed up at night and he never went there
during the day. There were nothing but
derelicts and drug addicts down there at night after al the businesses closed and they would not be inclined to speak to
the police. That's why he had chosen it. He didn't have to worry about nosy
neighbors. Stil , everyone knew he
stayed at the library late almost every night and he was sure Emma had told
others about the type of stuff he read. Besides that, he just hadn't done a very good job at concealing his sexual
peculiarities.
No one knew for sure just what his
malfunction was, but the general
consensus was that the huge psychology
student definitely wasn't quite right. His sexual deviancy shone like a beacon
whenever he stepped into a room. In
many cases it had worked for him,
attracting women looking for a new thril , but now he was sure it would work
against him once they found Emma's
half-eaten corpse in the apartment next door to the one he was squatting in.
Everyone would point the finger at him. Before he left for his trip, he would
meticulously wipe down everything in the little apartment and then burn the whole thing to the ground. Everything would be okay. By the time the cops sifted enough evidence from the ashes to connect him
to the crime he would be long gone.
Joe started to whistle as he made his
way across campus to his psychology
class.
Everyone turned to look at him as Joe
walked into the room. The cops had
been there. He could tel . They had been asking questions about the librarian and his name had come up. That meant they
would be back.
Joe slipped down into his seat and
stared defiantly at the professor, waiting for him to begin his lecture. They had
nothing on him, not yet anyway, so he stil had every right to be there. The
professor stared back at him with an
expression that was ful of questions and suspicion. His hand shook as he raised
it to scrawl on the blackboard.
it to scrawl on the blackboard.
The eyes of his fel ow students crawled over Joe's flesh. He imagined he could
feel each of their curious stares like a legion of worms trying to wriggle their way into his mind to harvest his thoughts. It made him itch. He scratched the back of his neck as if to rake their stares from his skin. The professor kept looking
back over his shoulder at him as he
wrote on the chalkboard. Joe knew he
had burned that bridge. It was obvious
that everyone, including Professor
Locke, suspected him of having done
something to the librarian. Professor
Locke had spent most of his career
profiling and apprehending serial kil ers. If anyone could spot the monster in their midst it would be him. There was no way the professor would help him now.
"There have been many theories that have tried to link the compulsion to kil to brain abnormalities. There was once a
theory that murderers possessed an
extra Y chromosome. This was, of
course, disproven. There have been
theories that have sought to link early head trauma to violent criminal behavior. Neurologists have even presented CAT
scans that actual y showed increased
brain activity in the limbic region of
violent sexual offenders and decreased
activity in other areas of the brain. They have found that most signature sex
murderers were themselves victims of
physical or sexual abuse or at the very least mental y abused, but then there
were others, like Ted Bundy, who had
very normal and happy upbringings. And
then there are, of course, people who
have been abused, who have had brain
traumas, and who have active limbic
systems that don't grow up to murder
strangers. So what makes them do it?" The professor turned to look directly at Joe.
"Are they just evil?" the professor asked. Joe raised his hand and he felt the
students on either side of him flinch.
Professor Locke stared at Joe's rising
arm then looked around the room as if
seeking the class's approval before
cal ing on him.
"Yes, Joseph?"
"Is it possible that it is an evolutionary mutation?"
"A what?"
"An evolutionary mutation, part of natural selection. Man is the only creature on the
earth without a natural predator, except other men. Perhaps as our population
explodes Mother Nature has felt the
need to select certain individuals to act as population control. Perhaps giving
them drives and instincts that other
humans don't have, which genetical y
predisposes them to mass murder-to
cul the herd, so to speak. In the wild the weak and the helpless would have died
off, kil ed by other animals, other
predators, but civilization and our
technological advancements have made
for the possibility of even the weakest human beings surviving and flourishing. As a result, a world that was adequate to support smal tribes is now populated by nations of mil ions, smothering the earth and draining it of al its resources; kil ing it like a cancer. Just three hundred years ago there weren't even a bil ion people on the planet and now there are six
bil ion. There are more people alive right now than have ever lived. Perhaps
nature is just seeking a remedy for the plague. Isn't it possible that murderers are the natural antivirus?"
Joe didn't care about the stares and the whispers. After today he would have to
get out of town. This would probably be his last opportunity to pick the
professor's brain before the cops came
knocking on his door.
"Wel , Joe, if what you suggest is true and signature kil ers are just men who
are higher up the food chain than us, not a glitch but an advancement in the
would be no hope to cure these
individuals. There would be no need for the psychiatrist, only the policeman and the executioner."
"Perhaps that's why no one has ever cured one," Joe replied.
"I think I liked your virus idea better. At least that one contained a little hope."
"Yeah, I liked it better too." The class ended and Joe left the lecture hal and walked quickly to his sociology class. He scoured the campus for signs
of police. They had no evidence that the woman was even dead, just that she was
missing. Someone probably cal ed when
she hadn't shown up for work and they
couldn't get an answer at her apartment. He'd parked her car down in the projects at Hunter's Point and caught the bus
back home. By the time they found it the car would probably be completely
stripped and they would assume she'd
been the victim of a carjacking. Except that half the fucking campus was
probably tel ing the cops that Joe hung out at the library every night and he was sure a few of them had seen them at the coffee shop. If they somehow found his
apartment they'd find the body. But by
then he'd be in Seattlekil ing Damon
Trent.
Chapter Nineteen
Joe's sociology class seemed to be
exploring darker and darker subjects.
His constant questions were certainly a major impetus behind the trend but he
could not take sole responsibility for it. They'd begun by talking about Indian
folklore and the subject of the Wendigo had come up.
"Both the Chippewa and Ojibwa tribes tel a similar story of a fierce warrior who would cut off a piece of his enemy's flesh after defeating him in battle and eat it to gain strength. This warrior soon
developed a taste for human flesh and
began to prey on his own tribe. He
began to prey on his own tribe. He
ceased to hunt animals and sustained
himself solely on other humans. So the
Master Of Life, the Great Spirit, decreed that if he chose to live as a savage
beast then he would forever appear as a monster and transformed him into the
Wendigo. Now he is said to prowl the
forests and frozen wastelands of North
America, starving for human flesh.
"They say that anyone who commits the sin of cannibalism wil likewise be
cursed with the spirit of the Wendigo,
becoming a monster that must now eat
other humans to survive."
The students were silent as kids sitting around a campfire listening to a real y good ghost story. They seemed to be
waiting for the traditional shock ending. Most of them were looking at Joe as if
expecting him to suddenly grow hair and fangs.
"Once you become one of these
monsters, how do you reverse it? Does
it say how they're cured?" Joe asked. The professor shook his head in
exasperation and sighed deeply.
"They aren't cured, Joseph. Once they cross that line and become cannibals,
they remain monsters forever."
"But that can't be! There has to be a cure!"
"Settle down. It's only mythology. No need to get yourself al worked up." Prudence was not one of Joe's strong
points and he had once again drawn the
snickers and stares of his peers. He
lowered his head and crossed his arms
over his chest as he settled back into his chair.
The professor continued. "Wel , then. Normal y in Native American folklore, the ability to take on the shape of animals was used for purposes of spiritual
enlightenment, healing, and personal
growth. Even evil shape-shifters didn't general y attack and eat humans. This
horrific trait was solely that of the
Wendigo, and the legend of this creature appears to have been used to warn
against the practice of cannibalism."
"Was there any truth to the legends? I mean, did anyone claim to have actual y seen one?"
The professor closed his eyes and
cupped his forehead in his hands, trying to maintain his composure.
"It's an old legend. And though I'm sure there were a great many who believed in it a century or two ago, "Wel , maybe they should," Joe replied.
He fel silent, his eyes daring the
professor to inquire further. The
professor stared back with the unasked
question lying flat on his tongue.
Did you kil that woman?
Suddenly Joe felt claustrophobic in the little classroom. He stood quickly, nearly flipping his chair over as he snatched up his backpack and made for the door.
The professor flinched when the huge
sophomore stormed past.
"That's a very disturbed kid," he whispered as Joe left the room and the
door shut slowly behind him.
I'd be surprised if anyone gives it much credibility nowadays."
Chapter Twenty
Alicia trembled as she lay on Joe's filthy sheets, which stil smel ed of blood,
sweat, cum, and urine. Her legs were
spread wide and bound along with her
wrists. She had never been more
terrified. The room stil stank of death even beneath the overpowering
chemical smel of Pine-Sol and bleach.
In her mind she could stil see the body of the heavyset woman her captor had
devoured where it had lain on the floor. The wood where her blood had pooled
and coagulated was now bleached
lighter than the rest of the floor. Alicia's ears stil rang with the woman's
screams, sending shivers up and down
her spine. That woman had died in
unimaginable pain.
Alicia knew she was going to die next.
No matter how kind the big col ege kid
had been to her before he'd left this
morning. No matter how he'd tried to
reassure her that he would never hurt her that way. The Band-Aids on her nipples
said otherwise. She was dead.
Even if he was right about the serial
kil er virus, that it was something like the vampire or werewolf curse, Alicia was
stil not convinced they could reverse its effects. Especial y not after last night. Joe had consumed both blood and
human flesh. If he had not been damned
before he was certainly damned now
and that meant Alicia was fucked right
along with him. Stil , as long as he
believed he could cure himself there was hope for her to escape.
Her wrists were getting infected where
her skin had abraded from her daily
attempts to wrestle free of the restraints. They would have time to heal now,
though. Alicia had given up on trying to break free. She laid her head down on
the pil ow and dreamt about her father. In her dreams he came to her, wiped the blood from her stomach, undid her
restraints and told her he loved her and forgave her. He looked younger now,
though, stronger, as if death had
restored his youth. He wiped the tears
from her face and kissed her forehead.
Then he began to comb her hair. She
couldn't remember her father ever being this gentle and nurturing in life. He
looked so different now. He looked ...
Just like Superman.
Chapter Twenty-one
After leasing the Ford cargo van for their trip, Joe had gone back to the apartment to get Alicia ready to travel. He'd found her in a deep sleep, mumbling to herself. She'd woken up just as he'd started to
dress her.
"Joe! I thought ... I had a dream that my dad was here."
"You looked so happy."
"I was."
Joe knew what she meant. She had
been happy until she'd woken up to find herself stil locked in an apartment with a murderer.
"We're going on a trip."
"We're going after that child kil er, aren't we?"
"Yes. We're going to Washington."
Chapter Twenty-two
The big muscular col ege kid hadn't
been to an SAA meeting in almost a
week. And Frank hadn't seen
SuperPredator online lately either. His ass stil hadn't healed from his last
encounter with the gorgeous cannibal.
Stil , al he could think about was another private moment with the clean-cut
muscle-bound man with the hard blue
eyes that scurried over every inch of you as he spoke as if sizing you for the kil , eyes that seemed to rip their way inside and invade every inch of you. He wanted him again, but he feared what another