by Rick R. Reed
Darkness found Joe sitting with the knife still poised at his abdomen. His eyes stung. His throat was raw.
Joe put the knife down on the floor and walked over to the bedroom window.
The sky had cleared. A big moon had risen over the lake. There was a look of autumn to the moon, its brilliant orange reflecting off the dark and churning waters.
Undressing, Joe made his way to the shower. There was no thought to his actions; they were rote. Joe was an automaton.
After showering, Joe dressed in dark clothes: black Levi's jeans, a dark-gray sweatshirt, black boots. He knew there was a black leather jacket of his somewhere.
Where had Anne put it?
The door was framed in warm yellow light.
Joe sat in the darkness of the living room willing himself not to open it. He was seated in the bentwood rocker Anne had been in not three hours ago when he returned from Pat Young's.
This always happens when my defenses are down, Joe thought. But I can't . . . I'm going to lose Anne for sure if I go out and do it again. Another time could be the time I get caught. And his mind shot back: Now is the perfect time to do it. Anne had gone to her mother's for an indeterminate period of time; she would have absolutely no suspicions. Make one last kill; make it everything you ever wanted it to be. Pull out all the stops. Throw caution to the wind. Make it your farewell. Satisfy yourself so thoroughly you'll never want to do it agifrn. Then you'll be able to return to Anne a healed man. You can start a new life. Maybe move to New York where you and Anne can find even more work . . . and leave behind all the mementos that keep drawing you back.
Joe stared at the door. Pat Young already knows who you are and where you live; she claims there are others who know. Doing it once more could mean the end of everything for you. You could be caught; you could leave even more clues behind than you've already left. And if that happened, would you really expect Anne to hang around, visit you in prison?
But Anne won't know. How could she? And you won't get caught. You're far too clever for that, Joe. You haven't been caught yet . . . not really. And you get more clever with each kill. Besides, you need it. You know how good it's going to make you feel.
A slight smile played about the corners of Joe's mouth.
That's right . . . it's so good. Remember Maggie? Remember the others? Remember how everything felt? Nothing, not even Anne, can compare. Remember how alive you were afterward? Think about it: Think about the young flesh of those girls, their warm blood. The feel of it pumping into your mouth . . .
Joe's cock began to thrust itself jerkily upward in his pants.
He stood.
Walked to the door and opened it.
Yes, yes, this is so right.
The elevator, its doors yawning, waited for him at the end of the corridor.
Tammy Stone was cold. Three weeks a runaway, she was now questioning her motives. Sure, her stepfather had tried to put the moves on her, but at least at home she had a warm place to sleep at night. At least at home she had three meals a day and all the snacks she wanted. At least back in Lafayette, Indiana, she could talk to Shelley Perkins when things were really getting to her.
Tammy curled into a tighter ball on the park bench. She supposed, since she had passed a sign for the Lincoln Park Zoo a while back, that she was in Lincoln Park. The wool coat she was wearing was inadequate for the Chicago winds now blowing. Tammy thought she should get up and move around; she would stay warmer that way. But she was just too tired.
An entirely different scenario was what Tammy had envisioned when she ran away late one night, long after she heard her mother and stepfather go to bed. She had expected to come to Chicago and find work immediately as a model. Even though she was only fourteen everyone told her she looked older. Everyone told her she looked a lot like Brooke Shields. The only problem Tammy thought she might have in Chicago was deciding which agency to go with.
But after she found her way around the Loop and the near north side, the agencies she called on wouldn't even look at her unless she had some samples. Tammy had not even brought snapshots. She was turned *away by sympathetic yet firm receptionists at every agency she called on.
When she had exhausted all the listings in the yellow pages, Tammy gave up. Visions of her stepfather leaning over her bed at night were enough to keep her from hurrying back to Indiana, but it was hard to steal enough food to quiet the pangs in her stomach, which sometimes got so bad she would eat anything—even people's garbage at McDonald's.
She had lost fifteen pounds since she had purchased her one-way bus ticket to Chicago, bringing her down from a thin 113 pounds to an almost starved 98 pounds. Tammy knew she could find no work as a model in Chicago, or anywhere. She remembered once seeing a number on TV that runaways could call for help. She wished she had the number.
"What's a pretty lady like yourself doing out on a night like this?"
Tammy was startled by the male voice behind her. She sat up straight and turned to look. The man standing behind her looked to be about thirty. Even in her starved condition Tammy noticed how good-looking he was, powerfully built, with dark curly hair and a mustache.
"Nothin'," Tammy said, and turned her back to him.
He walked over and sat down beside her. She noticed he smelled good, clean, like Dial soap. His smile seemed warm. Maybe she shouldn't ignore him.
He spoke again. "I hope you're not afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Tammy smiled at him. "Oh, I didn't think you were. I just wanted a little time alone." She thought for a moment, then lied. "Boyfriend trouble."
The man smiled at her. "Oh . . . well, that can be upsetting. Would you like to talk about it?"
"Anything but." Tammy laughed. Maybe she could get this guy to buy her something to eat.
The man held out his hands. "No problem. What's your name?"
"Alexis." She noticed he had moved closer and put his hand on her leg. The moves seemed so casual she thought nothing of them. The man didn't seem to even realize he was doing it. Besides, Tammy was trying to think of a way to turn the conversation to food.
"Chilly out here tonight, isn't it?" He slid his arm around her.
"It sure is. And you know what? I've been pretty stupid staying out here all evening." She looked at him. "I've missed my supper."
The man smiled. "Well, why didn't you say so? Come on." He stood up. "Let's go grab a bite to eat and then I'll see you get home safely."
He held out his hand and she took it. He seemed like an awfully nice man. It wasn't long before they came to a copse of trees around a little pond.
"This is the lagoon. It's really very beautiful," the man said. Tammy's mind was so set on dinner she didn't notice the intensity that had come into the man's voice. "There are little silver neon fish that swim in the water. They glow at night and you can see them swimming. It's really something. Wanna take a peek?"
"Sure." Tammy followed him down the little incline closer to the water. She thought she better go along with him; she didn't want to jeopardize a meal.
When she got close, all she saw was dark water with two Pepsi cans floating in it. No fish. She looked at him, starting to say, "There aren't any—" when she noticed the odd look in his eyes, the way he was smiling at her.
"Keep quiet," he whispered, "this won't take long."
The next thing she knew he had locked his leg into the space behind her knee and she was falling over backward. His weight was on her suddenly and his calloused hand broke open the buttons on her coat, then ripped at the blue flannel shirt she was wearing.
She screamed as long as she could. He slapped her so hard that silver flecks of light danced before her eyes. He began to struggle, tugging at her jeans.
She felt more than heard the zipper ripping away from the denim. One of his fingernails cut her as he ripped down her panties. The air's coldness rushed in; the feel of the frozen grass beneath her was painful. "Please, don't," she pleaded.
Another blow, more f
orceful than the first, caught her other cheek, causing her head to swivel into the frozen earth. She bit down on her tongue with the force of the slap and tasted blood. She thought, "I can get this at home."
He paused for a moment, one hand pinning her to the ground while the other fumbled to unzip his jacket and open his pants. Please God, she prayed, let it be over quickly.
Just as he was about to enter her he tensed, and Tammy dared not hope for salvation.
"What's going on over there?" The man's voice rang out over the lagoon. Tammy managed a grunt before he covered her mouth. "Just shut your fuckin' mouth and keep it shut," he whispered.
There was a rustling. Someone was searching the area around the lagoon. Tammy squirmed. The man tightened his hold on her. "Move again," he whispered hoarsely, "and I'll kill you."
The rustling noise stopped. He waited, poised above her, for subsequent noises. After a while there was no further sound. Tammy clamped her legs together as the man tried to enter her. His hands were strong as they pried her legs apart.
She felt the head of his cock pushing to enter her dry opening. "Damn," he breathed. "What's wrong with you? I only want you to be nice to me. Just for a couple minutes." He was smiling above her. Next she felt his finger enter her. She knew she was going to be sick and tried to hold back, but threw up anyway.
"Jesus Christ!" He withdrew his finger and Tammy thought for a moment she had saved herself. But he quickly pushed the head of his cock in her slightly lubricated vagina. "Gettin' better," he grunted, and pushed savagely at her.
She couldn't help it; the pain sent streams of heat through her as he entered.
She screamed. 01
His punch, landing squarely on her upper lip and the bottom of her nose, was swift. "I told you to shut up!"
Tammy was just as surprised as her assailant when two strong hands grabbed the man at his shoulders and pulled him back off her. Tammy heard a loud cracking sound and then a splash as the man was thrown into the water.
Tammy looked up into the face of her hero, dazed.
"C'mon," the man with the dark clothes said, "we better get out of here before he manages to climb out."
He helped her up as the other man swore and flailed about in the freezing water, trying to get out of the lagoon. Together they dressed her as well as they could and then ran.
Tammy was too happy at being saved to feel the pain of the blows she had received. She looked over at the man beside her and could not believe her good fortune.
He smiled at her. "My name's Joe. Joe MacAree."
The Chicago Center Inn sat at a busy intersection on Peterson Avenue. Its large sign, with a big pink neon circle, spelled warmth and comfort to Tammy. The sign spelled anonymity to Joe. There would be no need for the girl to leave the car while he registered under the name of Chester Worth, and no questions when he left the room.
Tammy had bought his story about his being an out-of-town salesman here for a few days. Had agreed with his suggestion that she come to his room and clean up before continuing on to the hospital. From there she could call her parents in Indiana. She had told him the whole story.
Joe returned to his car. He was smiling and holding a key on a plastic key ring. He opened the door and leaned in to whisper to her. "Sorry about the secrecy. They know I'm in town alone on business, and if they see me bringing you in they might get suspicious."
Tammy glanced over toward the office, expecting to see eyes peering out of a window. There was no one.
"I hate to do this to you, but could you wait till I go up and then after a few minutes follow me? It'll look better that way and I can get a hot shower running for you."
It didn't occur to Tammy to ask why he had to go to the office for a key if he was already staying there. The only thoughts she was having right now were of getting home to her mother. Maybe if she told her everything that was going on, her mother would leave her stepfather and things would go back to normal; she could forget this whole episode. The fact Joe had rescued her from a rape elevated him in her eyes to a full-fledged hero. She would never have questioned any of his motives.
So she agreed to do as he asked, even promised to be extra discreet about leaving the car.
"Great, great," Joe said. "I'll have the shower running for you."
And indeed, upstairs, Joe did turn the shower on, regulating it just a fraction below being too hot to stand. The small tile bathroom filled with steam as Joe unwrapped a bar of soap, spread out a towel on the floor, and turned on the heat lamp.
As Joe heard the soft tap on the door, he thrust the X-Acto knife he had with him into a night-stand drawer.
"Shower's going," he said as he opened the door. "I know you're going to feel a whole lot better once you clean up." Joe was questioning his choice when he saw the girl in a better light. She probably was good-looking, but the beating had bruised and cut her face. Besides, she was filthy, her hair a mass of greasy strings.
She smelled bad.
The shower will take care of that, he cut himself off. There would be no turning back.
"Take your time," he said to her, using his most gentle tone.
"Thank you so much," she said, her words slurred by her swelling lips. She went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
With the door closed, Joe prepared the room. He dimmed the lights; all that was left was a desk lamp that he placed on the floor and covered with a pillowcase. There was a soft grayish light in the room that gave a quiet fuzziness to everything around it. The corners of the room were in shadows. He pulled back the sheets, although he would not let her stay in the bed once he cut her. That would have to be done in the bathroom, where the tile could be easily cleaned.
She turned off the shower sooner than he anticipated. When the girl emerged, wrapped in a towel, her hair in soft, wet curls, Joe felt he had made a good choice.
She looked with alarm at the darkness of the room and the turned down bed. For a moment, there was confusion on her face, then pain. "Not you," she said, on the verge of tears. "I thought I could trust you."
Making certain to stay right where he was, Joe said, "You can trust me, Tammy. I just thought you'd like to rest a little after being out so many nights in the cold." He smiled and could see the lines of tension in her face begin to dissolve. "Really. I don't have anything in for you. I'm a happily married man, got two kids." Joe smiled. "Why don't you lie down and get some sleep? I'll go out and get you something to eat. I know you've got to be hungry."
Tammy finally smiled. She hurried to the bed and sat down on it. "This is just too much! People like you just don't exist. Or, at least until tonight, I didn't think they did."
Joe looked bashfully at the floor. "C'mon, now, I just did what anyone would do. What would you like me to bring you?"
"Anything would be fine. At this point it doesn't really matter."
"Anything . . . coming right up." Joe grabbed his jacket from a chair, put it on, and hurried out the door, making certain to lock it behind him.
"I'll give her time to sleep," he thought. "It'll be much easier if she's asleep."
Cl
When Joe returned with a bag from McDonald's in his hand, he could see, even from the outside, that the room was brilliantly lit. He took the stairs two at a time and unlocked the door.
Inside, all the lights had been turned on, the bed was slightly mussed and . . . empty.
It was then he heard splashing in the bathroom. Tammy's humming voice, high and girlish, came through the bathroom door. Joe was disappointed she wasn't in bed and asleep. Things would have been so much easier if she was a little groggy.
But, he consoled himself, she had placed herself right where he would have put her.
Deciding not to carry the charade any further (because his desire would not let him), he tossed the Big Mac, fries, and chocolate shake into the wastebasket and removed the X-Acto knife from the drawer.
He paused for a few seconds outside the bathroom door.
&n
bsp; From Joe MacAree's journal, February 23, 1991:
She was stunned when I flung open the bathroom door. I don't think she was aware even that I was back in the motel room. My sudden appearance in the doorway and the loud "bang" of the door slamming against the tile wall caused her mouth to drop open. She stayed that way for a few moments, giving me a full view of her naked body in the tub. Feebly then, she covered her breasts and crossed her legs beneath the water.
In all the women I've killed, I don't think I've seen one as terrified as Tammy. And for a split second I questioned why I was doing it; there was a tinge of remorse. Maybe that's something I can be proud of, maybe that means I'm coming to the point where I won't be driven by these . . . needs . . . compulsions? . . . anymore.
I know she said something to me. I know she screamed. But the funny thing was: I couldn't hear any of it. That's when the humming started. A low drone, like white noise, started up and it was like I was deaf. There were those sparks again, little flecks of silver light that my eyes wanted to follow. All the while this was going on I was moving rapidly to the tub. She stood for a moment then slid in the water. I laughed when she went down because she struck her head against the rim. There was a look of confusion on her face for the briefest of moments and then she was out. I knew then this was preordained; I knew for sure she was part of the plan; this turn in the scheme of things made things too easy for me, too convenient. It was meant to be.
I lifted her out of the water and lay her on the cold white tile. Her skin didn't offer much of a contrast. Her flesh was so young, damp and warm from the bath. I licked her all over, then bit down hard on her breast. That brought her back to consciousness. She groaned as my teeth sank deep into her and I had my first taste of blood.
I still couldn't hear anything. Or if I could it was as if it was at a distance.