The Night Before
Page 45
Because he wanted her so badly that he’d lost his judgment and slapped her. Long before her likeness had hardened.
“Fool,” he ground out and slapped himself alongside the head. “Idiot!” All that work for nothing. The beautiful face—could it be reconstructed? Where once it had been nearly lifelike, now it was goo; once a Michelangelo, now a Picasso, her beautiful features distorted as they pooled around sightless eyes that were glassy and stark.
He leaned back, away from the mess on the bed. There was no blood. No flesh and bone. Not from this lifeless form. Swiping the sweat away from his forehead, he glanced across the shadowed expanse to his darkened stage, already set, where several near-perfect mannequins stood silently waiting in the gloom. They were beautiful, if not alive. Replicas of Jenna Hughes.
But this one! He looked again at what had once been his masterpiece and frowned. A pathetic imitation! He’d been distracted lately.
“Please . . . let me go.”
He rocked back onto his feet and looked over his shoulder to the murky corner. His eyes focused on the live woman, bound and naked, just waking up from a drug-induced slumber. Hers had been the voice he’d heard. Her terror was the emotion that had rippled through the room.
“Please . . .” she mewled again softly, and he smiled, feeling a renewed hope as he surveyed her musculature and facial features. The width of the forehead, the straight nose, the high cheekbones beneath big, frightened eyes. She was a dirty blond, but hair color was the least of his worries. Facially she was a near-match. His grin stretched wide, and the mess on the floor was instantly forgotten.
His next replica of Jenna Hughes would be perfect.
This pathetic creature, bound and begging for her life, was anatomically correct.
His anger subsided in an instant as he glanced to one window, where the barest hint of moonlight slipped through the panes. Snow was melting on the outer sill.
Winter was slipping away.
The spring thaw was already in the air.
He’d have to work fast.
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Copyright © 2003 by Susan Lisa Jackson
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