Nameless
Page 31
The game of Mexican Train dominoes had the potential to last for several hours. For the first hour, Isaac played along with the farce. The group of five engaged in some trash talk and munched on snacks they ordered from room service. Isaac’s keen sense of smell allowed him to detect the distinct body odor of each person permeating the air around him. The smell of perspiration invariably reminded him of his countless sweaty sexual encounters with his mother’s johns and had the effect of heightening his animalistic sense of aggression. As the banter continued between the Falcones and Tylers and the game wore on, Isaac had to make a conscious effort to bide his time.
At the half-way point, Daniel had a substantial lead. Deborah was so disgusted with her husband’s good fortune, she complained, “How the hell are you so lucky every single time, Daniel?”
“It’s not luck, it’s skill.”
“Oh, bullshit,” said Jack. “You’ve been getting the perfect dominoes every round. There’s no strategy to this game.”
“See, that’s exactly why you never win. There is a method to my madness.”
“Alright, alright people,” Kate interjected. “I think now would be a great time to take a break.”
“That’s a great idea,” Deborah responded. “Isaac, why don’t you make those special drinks of yours? I could use one just about now.”
“Sure thing. You guys sit and enjoy the beautiful night. I’ll go fix them. I’ll be right back.”
“The glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink. You sure you don’t need any help?” asked Deborah.
“I’ll be fine. I want to do this for you guys. It’ll just take a few minutes.”
Isaac entered the suite through the sliding glass doors. The cool of the cabin’s air conditioning was an instant relief. He made his way to the kitchen, carefully listening to be sure no one followed him inside. Hearing the constant, animated repartee on the courtyard, he went directly to the pantry and zipped open his provisions bag. Inside were a bottle of Cruzan Coconut rum, a tropical mixer he had laced with a strong tranquilizer, a .357 Magnum with silencer, a butcher’s cleaver, a surgeon’s saw, a scalpel, two syringes, several pairs of rubber gloves, a cigarette lighter, and the remaining fifty grams of heroin.
He removed the bottle of alcohol and the plastic jug containing the mixer and placed them on the kitchen counter. The excitement he derived from the execution of the final stages of a plan was at the point of escalating. He had to remind himself the job was far from over, that he must keep cool, calm and collected. His mind had to be razor-sharp dealing with a highly-trained law enforcement agent. He reached up into the cabinet, pulled out four high-ball glasses and placed them next to the alcohol and mixer. He poured a generous portion of the drugged mixer into each glass then added a shot of Cruzan Coconut rum. The date-rape type tranquilizer he chose quickly metabolized and seldom showed up in blood testing after twelve hours. If everything went according to plan, their blood wouldn’t be drawn until sometime late the following afternoon at the earliest, when they were turned over to the medical examiner.
When each of the drinks was properly mixed, he placed them on a tray and carried them out onto the courtyard. The family was still engaged in a playful exchange of insults. As he placed the drinks on the table, he said, “I hope you enjoy.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious. Tropical drinks are our favorite,” commented Kate. “But where’s yours?”
“I can’t drink. I’m a diabetic. I bought the alcohol to say thanks to you guys and to bring a couple of bottles home for some friends.”
“That’s so sweet of you, Isaac. It’s a shame you can’t enjoy it with us. I know alcohol is an absolute no-no for diabetics,” said Deborah.
“Don’t worry about me. You guys enjoy. Drink up.”
The Falcones and Tylers raised their glasses and toasted to better times for Isaac. They took their first sip from the glass and politely complimented him for his delicious family recipe despite the noticeable bitter under-taste. They chatted about the great times they had on the cruise while they downed their drinks. Isaac estimated it would take about fifteen minutes for the tranquilizer to take effect after drinking a minimum of half of the glass. By the time the game resumed, they were beginning to show signs of sedation. Their speech was slowed and slurred and Kate was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. They joked with Isaac that his recipe must have called for a heavy hand with the liquor.
Before the next round of dominoes was complete, Deborah and Kate had slumped over the table. Jack was barely conscious, but Daniel, being the biggest and heaviest of the group, was aware and alert enough to see his wife and mother-in-law had passed out. In his concern for them, he attempted to stand up to render assistance, stumbled, lost his balance and fell to the ground in a semi-conscious state. Shem had to control himself to keep from kicking the agent in the face.
Apparent they weren’t going anywhere any time soon, he went to the kitchen to retrieve his provisions bag. He removed the syringe and bag of heroin and measured out what he estimated to be one-hundred-fifty milligrams. After mixing the drug with water in a tablespoon, he heated it from underneath with the cigarette lighter. The drug melted into liquid form in a matter of seconds. He filled the syringe, went back out to the courtyard, tied Daniel’s upper arm with the sleeve of a shirt he found in the bedroom and injected the heroin into his radial vein. He hummed Cool and the Gang’s “Celebration” as he went back to the kitchen to retrieve the cleaver, gun and surgeon’s saw.
The order of the killings was decided weeks ago. The least satisfying would be the bullet to the father-in-law’s head, so he would be first. The mother-in-law would be next and he would save the wife for last. He pulled the bodies one by one into the suite starting with the agent. Once everyone was inside and exactly where he wanted them, he stripped Daniel of his clothing. Shem then removed his own shirt, slacks and shoes, set them aside in the bedroom and put on Daniel’s clothes.
Before grabbing the .357 Magnum with the silencer already attached from the bag, he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. He picked up the gun, pointed it at the father-in-law who was lying on his back closest to the sliding glass doors, placed the end of the barrel of the silencer just five inches from the center of his forehead and fired three times in rapid succession. Jack’s body jolted spasmodically as the bullets penetrated his cerebellum. Bits of brain matter and blood splashed in all directions covering the sliding glass doors, the wall, Daniel’s pants at shin level, his shoes and the carpet underneath the old man’s head. Holding the fingers of Daniel’s left hand, he molded them around the pistol’s handle and trigger and fired the gun out the open sliding glass doors a fourth and final time.
The butcher’s cleaver he chose for the mother-in-law was of the highest quality. To maintain the edge, he had honed it every day since he purchased it. He carefully pulled it out of its protective sheath. The mother-in-law was lying right next to her husband in a supine position. Shem stepped over the corpse and knelt over the unconscious woman. With his left hand, he grabbed her hair and pulled the head up and back to expose her neck. He raised his right hand, which was holding the cleaver, as high as he could reach and with brute force swung down across her throat cutting through the flesh all the way to the spine. Blood spurted across the room dousing the far wall with spatters of red gore. He stood over her, in front of the fountain of blood, so it would drench Daniel’s shirt and slacks. The sensation of warm blood against his skin sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through his body. When the bleeding slowed, he returned to Daniel and placed the cleaver in his right hand.
Shem intended to take his time to sculpt his next piece of artwork. He wanted it to last as long as possible, though the first step of the process would be extremely unpleasant. When he first devised this part of the plan, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it. In the end, he decided it would be an essential factor in determining guilt in the agent’s trial and couldn’t pass up on at least giving it a shot.
He was both pleased and infuriated at the amount of semen produced. It was too much of a reminder of his own sexual inadequacies and inability to ejaculate. Petulance seethed from deep within threatening to burst to the surface at the recollection of the mocking he endured as an adolescent and young adult. The shame came flooding back as if it were just yesterday he suffered the embarrassment caused when his mother, her johns and prostitutes he hired laughed in his face at his inability to produce a drop of semen. At that moment, he wanted the agent dead. If a cooler head had not prevailed, he would have castrated him. He took a few minutes to calm down, convincing himself the agent was going to suffer a fate much worse than death.
Shem’s next task wouldn’t be any more pleasant. He removed the second syringe from the bag and filled it with the agent’s ejaculate. The agent’s wife was lying in a prone position in a pool of blood beside her dead mother. He turned Deborah over, ignoring the blood that covered the entire front of her body, unzipped her pants and pulled them and her panties down below her knees. After injecting most of the syringe full of semen into her vagina, he splashed a few drops on the surface of her labia.
At that point, he was ready for what he expected to be the most exhilarating part of the evening. He would have preferred to wait for the wife to wake up to mutilate her, but time was an issue and there was still much to accomplish. The toughest decision he had to make was whether to slice her from navel to sternum first or cut off her hideous head. He chose the former. He hoped the intense pain from the incision would wake her from her unconscious stupor if he was sure not to puncture any vital organs. He reached into his bag and pulled out the scalpel. He removed the wife’s blouse and bra and threw them to the side. With the steady hand of a trained surgeon, he placed the sharp end of the scalpel a millimeter above the navel and applied just enough pressure to cut through the skin, thin layer of fat and underlying abdominal muscles. Upon reaching what he estimated to be a safe depth, he tore upward through the stomach area continuing in a straight line to the sternum. Blood poured in streamlets from the wound over both sides of the body. Gripping the torn flesh on either side of the incision, he pulled the skin, underlying tissue and ribs apart to expose her innards. He was disappointed she never woke up; having to settle for the fact she was still alive. He wanted her heart to be beating when he sliced through her throat.
Blood and gore was saturating the carpet and spreading through the room up to the linoleum floor of the kitchen. The smell of death was beginning to imbue the air. Still, the bloodbath was not complete. Shem removed his final piece of equipment from his provisions bag. The surgeon’s saw was not easy to come by. He originally tried to order one from a medical supply store. They wouldn’t issue it to him unless he submitted his physician’s license number or proved he was ordering it on behalf of a hospital or doctor. He ended up stealing one from Broward General Hospital. Despite its near perfect condition, he used his sharpening stone to give it a clean, razor-sharp edge. By the time he was done tapering the blade, it could split a human hair.
He knelt on one knee next to the agent’s wife and placed the edge of the saw on her throat. Just the slightest touch to her skin immediately drew blood. He began to saw in a slow, easy motion, cutting through the flesh as though it were a loaf of bread. Blood gushed in pulsating rills drenching his face, neck and shirt. He averted it splashing into his eyes while he continued to saw until he reached the spine. The saw was so sharp it only took ten additional strokes to cut through the spinal canal and vertebra to completely detach the head from the body. As it rolled away from the neck, Shem achieved the most intense orgasm of his life. The sensation lasted for more than a minute, causing his body to spasm convulsively with exquisite pleasure.
When he was able to regain his composure, he took several minutes to admire his work. He considered masturbating to reach orgasm again, but there was no time to waste. The meticulous and thorough clean up he had planned would take a great deal longer than the actual murders. By the time he was done, he expected the most minute trace evidence of his presence to be gone. He decided he wouldn’t leave the surgeon’s saw or the scalpel at the scene. He wanted the investigators to figure out for themselves how Daniel accomplished the decapitation. There was also the possibility the defense might be able to identify the two pieces of medical equipment and use the information to create a reasonable doubt at trial.
The plastic jug of mixer and the Cruzan Coconut rum were still in the kitchen. Moving with purpose again, he retrieved both items, replaced them in the bag, pulled out the cigarette lighter and liquefied an additional twenty-five milligrams of heroin then injected it into Daniel’s arm. With the drug syringe already in hand, he collected the semen syringe and the cigarette lighter and threw them overboard with the towel he used to clean up the remainder of the agent’s ejaculate. When he returned indoors, Shem stripped of the soiled clothing and put them back on the agent as he lay unconscious. After tying Daniel’s final shoelace, it was time to clean the remnants of the murders from his own skin. He made his way to the bathroom where it took him thirty minutes to scrub the blood, gore and brain matter off of his face and hands. The washing served two objectives. In the unlikely event someone saw him as he returned to his room, it wouldn’t do to be covered in blood. Secondly, since much of Daniel’s face and hands would be free of any bodily fluids, Shem wanted the authorities to believe it was the agent who used the sink to wash himself.
After dressing in his original clothes, Shem grabbed a towel from the bathroom and took to the task of wiping down every surface he had touched in the suite. He had made a point of making finger contact with items as little as possible before he put on the gloves. Since he had only been inside the suite for a limited amount of time, he made quick work of wiping away any fingerprints he might have left behind in the living room and bedroom. Next, he slipped on a new set of rubber gloves and fastidiously rubbed the fingerprints off of all ninety dominoes. That job complete, he returned to the kitchen to wet a clean dish rag. Back in the living area, he temporarily removed the butcher’s knife from the agent’s hand and proceeded to wash Falcone’s fingertips and those of the three corpses. For a solid hour thereafter, he set himself to the chore of pressing their fingertips against the front and back of each and every domino. In order to conceal the fact the corpse’s fingers had been washed, he placed their hands back in the puddles of the blood-soaked carpet and applied pressure then replaced the cleaver in Daniel’s right hand.
Continuing with the tedious task of erasing his presence, Shem scrubbed the courtyard table top and repositioned four of the chairs so they were equidistant from each other. He gathered the high-ball glasses, washed them thoroughly in the kitchen sink and wiped down all surfaces in the room including the refrigerator and freezer doors. When he was certain he had eliminated all of his fingerprints, he grabbed the chair he was sitting on for the game of dominoes and put it in its original place in the living room. Finally, he fetched the towels he used to clean the hands and fingerprints and tossed them overboard.
Before leaving the suite, he took one last, lo
ng look at his masterful work. The agent would wake up in a few hours in a drug-induced trance. Shem would like to be there for that, but it was time to make himself scarce. He opened the door and peeked out into the hallway. Seeing no one, he exited the suite, closed the door behind him, and strolled back to his cabin experiencing an unrivaled and unprecedented high.
Three hours after Shem Chassar left the Falcone suite, Daniel began to stir into a state of semi-consciousness. A thunder and lightning storm raged inside his head making it impossible to formulate even the most simple of ideas. If he had been required to identify himself, he would have drawn a blank. He couldn’t recall where he was nor would he have known the day of the week, if asked. He tried to open his eyes. The effort sent bursts of searing pain radiating through his forehead to the base of his skull. An attempt to move his limbs was pitifully unsuccessful and only served to exacerbate his suffering.
After twenty minutes of lying motionless on the floor, finally, he was able to raise himself up on his hands and knees. He wasn’t conscious that he was holding a meat cleaver in his right hand. When he applied pressure against his arms to lift himself to his feet, the blade of the knife cut across his arm causing a deep laceration that just missed severing a major artery. Due only to Shem’s concern the agent could accidentally kill himself, the .357 Magnum in his other hand was on safety or Daniel would have shot off his foot. He did his best to try to get his bearings. His vision was significantly blurred and he couldn’t see more than six inches in front of his face. He stood in place for a minute waiting for the intense pain in his head to subside while trying to maintain his balance. Several minutes passed before he was able to see clearly enough to notice there was a door directly in front of him. He walked toward it, every step causing an explosion of throbbing agony between his ears. Absent-mindedly, he reached for the knob, but something in his right hand was preventing him from getting a firm grip. Daniel placed the object under his left arm, opened the door and exited the cabin. As he walked down the hallway, he felt a stabbing pain in his arm pit. Instinctually, he removed the object and placed it back in his right hand.