by Susan Gnucci
A soft puff of breath on the side of her neck startled her, bringing her back to reality, sending shivers of apprehension down her spine.
“Now, Tess. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he drawled lazily in her ear.
As she turned to face him, she deliberately took a step back to create some distance between them. “I…I know you have a…a thing for hair,” she stammered, trying to disguise her disgust.
“Do you now?” he grinned, clearly amused.
“Yes, an…and if you want my hair, you can have it. Just…cut it off.” She knew he would see that for what it was – a plea for her life.
“Now, Tess. Let’s not be rash,” he drawled. “Besides, I usually collect…afterwards.” Stepping closer to her, he closed the gap between them once again. “It’s a little ritual I have, quite private, you know,” he whispered in her ear. With the back of his hand, he reached up to gently stroke the full length of her hair. Her horrified reaction seemed to delight him, and for full effect, he held up a lock of her hair and inhaled deeply and dramatically.
Some wild part of her wished she could rip out her hair by the roots and strike a match to it right in front of him just to wipe that smug grin off his face.
“Sit down, Tess. Relax,” his voice was soothing as he gestured to the sole chair in the room. As he watched her cautiously lower herself onto the chair and sit uneasily on the edge of its seat, he began to stroll around the room, hands laced behind his back.
Nervously, she glanced in the direction of the sink.
“I actually have a request of you this afternoon. Well, not really a request per se, but I will need your cooperation.” He smiled broadly at her.
She eyed him warily, afraid of where this was leading.
“You see, Tess. I am a collector of sorts, but I have never indulged in a fantasy of mine.”
Her breath hitched in her throat.
“If you will permit me this one indulgence…” He stood before her in all sincerity. “I’ve never seen a finer head of hair than yours. So thick, so glossy.” He reached out to touch her hair again, but she instinctively pulled away, forcing him to drop his arm to his side. He scowled at her before his mask of civility slid back into place.
Tess’ mind raced. What could he want of her? As if his possible intentions weren’t hard enough to bear, she stood rooted to the spot in tortured silence, rendered speechless when he moved over to the sink and picked up the shampoo bottle, holding it up to his nose, grinning almost shyly at her. She couldn’t help it – her eyes darted to the hairbrush whose altered handle was concealed by the towel only inches from where he was standing. If he picked up either, the brush or the towel, she would be caught. Luckily, he appeared engrossed in the heady fragrance of his shampoo. Although her insides felt like they were tied in knots, Tess struggled to keep her composure and desperately tried to think of some way to distract him.
Gesturing for her to join him, he began to roll up his sleeves.
“You…you want t…to wash my hair?” she stuttered, flabbergasted.
“Please, do indulge me,” he cajoled her, raising his eyebrows in mock sincerity.
Quickly sizing up her options, she knew she basically had no choice. A refusal would only anger him, in which case, he might force her. And then he was sure to be doubly angry upon discovering the brush. Her mind in turmoil, Tess reluctantly picked up the chair and carried it over to the sink. As she did so, wild thoughts raced through her mind. Should she throw the chair at him or try to pin him against the wall with it? Even as she schemed, she knew it was no use. The chair was a cheap plastic thing, unlikely to inflict much pain or be very useful. In an attempt to stall for time, she made a show of placing the chair just so in front of the sink, but his impatient sigh forced her to finally take a seat. It wasn’t until after she straightened that she realized she would essentially be sitting with her back to him, her throat exposed. This thought nearly undid her.
He caught whiff of her fear and used all of his charm to persuade her, holding his hands up to convince her he had nothing up his sleeves. “I give you my word, Tess. I only want to wash your hair; that’s all. It’s such a simple request, no?”
Worried he would restrain her if she balked, she sighed deeply in resignation. Steeling herself, she slid back in the chair to lean her head against the edge of the sink.
Thrilled at her capitulation, he rubbed his hands together. “Good girl! Good girl! Now, you must tell me if the water is too hot,” he advised as he turned on the taps.
The touch of his hands through her hair sickened her, raising bile in the back of her throat, causing her to grimace.
Undaunted by her reaction, he proceeded to lather shampoo through her long locks, his hands massaging sensuously from scalp to tip over and over again for what seemed like an eternity. The sickly sweet fragrance of his shampoo clung in Tess’ nostrils, turning her stomach. True to his word, he was gentle, but in spite of his promise, Tess sat in breathless apprehension. She never took her eyes off his face, watching it intently for any indication that the momentary thrill he was experiencing would be replaced by a frenzied need to kill. She needn’t have worried, for he was lost to his bliss, eyes rolled back in his head, a depraved grin splitting his face.
When it was finally over, he squeezed the water from her long locks and reached for the towel. In her desperation, Tess contemplated biting his arm as it reached past her face, but if truth be told, she was paralyzed with fear. Closing her eyes in anticipation of his fury, she sat trembling and breathless. God knows what he would do to her.
Grabbing the end of the towel, he jerked it toward him causing the hairbrush to slip off the lip of the sink and clatter to the floor. He made no comment, nor did he attempt to retrieve it, but instead, wrapped up her mass of wet hair and patted her shoulder.
Confused, she opened her eyes and sat up. Frowning, she craned her neck to look back at him, fearful of the rage she would find there. Instead, she was astonished to simply discover a satiated look on his face. Stupidly, she looked around for the brush but couldn’t spot it. Had it fallen underneath the sink?
“Leave it,” he waved at her.
She sat dumbfounded before him, her eyes darting to and fro, hardly able to believe her luck.
Sighing contentedly, he grinned like a Cheshire cat and acted like they were now the best of friends after having shared such an intimate experience. “Now, tell me, Tess,” he asked her in all seriousness as he moved to stand in front of her. “Have you had your ability all of your life?” His interest appeared genuine, and he waited patiently for her answer.
Tess faced a dilemma – she could refuse to answer his questions, which she desperately wanted to do, or she could play along, the mere thought of which galled her. By keeping him interested and engaged though, he might forget about the brush. And maybe after some conversation, he would simply leave her to dry and comb out her hair by herself. On the one hand, she felt like she was being forced to sell her very soul, but on the other, it was better than losing her life. She was not naïve – she knew the futility in attempting to form any kind of relationship with him in the hope he would spare her. Sociopaths like him didn’t feel anything for anyone. She just needed to keep him distracted for now, and so reluctantly, she answered his question. “No.”
Undeterred by her curt response, he continued, “How old were you when you realized you had it?”
“Ten.”
“And what was that circumstance?”
“A car accident.”
“Ah,” he sounded intrigued. “So you never had the ability before the accident, but you had it afterwards?” He stroked his chin absently.
“Yes.”
“How extraordinary! Is this the same car accident in which your parents were killed?” he raised his eyebrows at her in mock innocence.
Tess’ head jerked up.
The look of dismay on her face pleased him immensely. “Such a tragedy to be orphaned at such a young age. Ah, well. W
hat do they say? If something doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger, no?”
She closed her eyes and turned her head away with a pained, defeated expression. A crushing sense of helplessness flooded over her with the understanding he had free reign to her private life. She was left feeling incredibly violated, like he had taken away some precious part of her. When she could bear to look up at him again, she found he was grinning at her with a smug, self-satisfied expression as if to say…Touché.
Well, she deserved it. How could she have thought to spar with this man? This…thing? She was not on his level, nor did she want to be. Her revelation yesterday about his sister was foolhardy. She had unwittingly poked a hornet’s nest, and now she had been stung. What other weakness of hers would he find to exploit? Aside from her very real fear of losing her life at this man’s hands, her more immediate concern was losing herself in all of this. Would he strip her of that first before he finished her off? Would she lose her very soul to him as well as her life?
Her agonized thoughts were interrupted by a clearing of his throat. Believing his control over her was now well established, he continued with his line of questioning as he paced the room. “So tell me, Tess, how do your visions come on? Do you have any warning at all?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she answered dully, “Yes.”
When it was apparent she was not about to provide details, he prompted her, “A headache? Blurred vision? Lights?” He flashed her a look that compelled her to answer.
“A buzzing here,” she indicated the back of her head. “And nausea.”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate. I myself suffer no real ill effects. Just a little dizziness. How often do you channel?” He stopped directly in front of her, forcing her to look up at him.
With only a few feet between them, Tess fought the urge to launch herself at him. She had no desire to share such intimate knowledge of her ability with him. It outraged her to have to do so. With a sigh of resignation, she replied wearily, “I…I don’t know. It usually comes on of its own accord. I don’t have much control over it.”
“Oh, I think you have more control than you realize, Tess. I’ve grown quite good at controlling mine in certain circumstances.” He did not elaborate but smiled mischievously at her.
Under his piercing stare, she dropped her eyes.
“And, of course, I want to hear all about your first time…”
Her head snapped back up.
“Channeling, my dear,” he laughed. “Your first time channeling. But I must be gracious. I’m not being a very good host, am I? You may ask me a question.” He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “After all, we have no more secrets between us, now do we?” he grinned.
Caught off guard, Tess was at a loss for words. Struggling to regain her composure, she blurted out the first thing to pop into her head. “How many women have you killed?” She was mortified the minute the words tumbled out of her mouth, but rather than anger him, her question actually seemed to amuse him.
“Good question, Tess. But if I told you…” He paused and leaned toward her for dramatic effect. “I’d have to kill you, now wouldn’t I?”
The blood drained from her face.
He waved good-naturedly at her. “You mustn’t mind me,” he chuckled. “I’m afraid I have a rather morbid sense of humour.”
How ludicrous for a serial killer to joke about something like that! And why had she even asked such a question in the first place? A big part of her didn’t want to know the answer. But if he had been killing for years, how many women had there been?
“Let’s see. I have a strict rule of thumb – no more than two in any one location.” He seemed to be doing a mental calculation, but then simply threw his hands up in a dismissive gesture. ”Let’s just say over the years, I’ve moved around a lot.”
“But why?” Tess blurted out.
He sighed wearily and turned away from her, walking to the far side of the room by her mattress where he lounged against the wall. “I suppose this is the point where I confess I hear voices telling me to do it, or I was abused as a child, or I have anger management problems, but it’s really none of those, Tess.” He levelled his gaze at her. “I just…want to,” he stated plainly as he shrugged nonchalantly.
When she made no comment, he asked her, “Haven’t you ever given in to an urge, Tess, only to find it becomes stronger?”
His words made her skin crawl, and she flinched in disgust.
“Ah, I’ve offended you.” He straightened his shoulders as if to shrug off her disapproval.
“Don’t you feel any guilt? Any remorse at all?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Tess, but no. What I do feel is release, but sadly, it never lasts.” He gave her a playful pout and then suddenly grew serious. “It’s not the bloodlust you see in the movies, Tess. Quite the contrary. I personally find gore extremely distasteful.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s a messy, messy business for which I have no appetite. I only resort to it if circumstances dictate it, but I certainly do not enjoy it.” He shook his head vigorously. “And I’m no sadist, Tess. I take no pleasure in inflicting pain on anyone.” He caught her incredulous look. “Ah, no. You’re wrong if you think that.”
He approached her slowly and knelt down on his haunches in front of her, his hands pressed together in front of his mouth.
For a brief instant, she feared he would spy the hairbrush from his vantage point, but he was lost in his speech.
“You see, it’s the power, Tess. The power to hold another person’s life within your hands.” With this statement, he lowered his arms and extended them in front of her, unfurling his fingers with deliberate care so she was staring into the palms of his hands. “To feel the pulse of their life force; to take in the last breath to leave their body; to look into their eyes knowing yours are the very last thing they will see in this world.” His own eyes bored into hers, leaving her no escape from his madness.
Lowering his hands, he rested them briefly on her knees, prompting Tess to suck in her breath and bite her lower lip. Every fibre of her being screamed out in protest at the vileness of his touch. Straightening suddenly and rising in front of her so she was forced to lift her head in order to maintain eye contact, he continued, “Do you know what I see there, Tess? Time and time again?” He smiled lazily, drawing out the suspense, taking obvious pleasure from her distress. “I see wonder. It’s a marvelous thing, death is. I see their wonder as they greet it.”
She couldn’t help herself – she gagged.
Chuckling at her reaction, he clapped his hands together. “Now. Let’s brush out that lovely hair of yours,” he drawled as he reached to remove the towel from her hair.
Her stomach dropped at his words, and she hung her head and closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for discovery.
Mistaking her despair for unwillingness, he coaxed her, “Come now, Tess.” His voice was low and persuasive. “Don’t deny me such a simple pleasure.”
She felt the towel fall away and then his hands were upon her hair as he extended it to its full length. Even with her eyes closed, she could sense his wonder. What she did not see was his hand reaching inside his jacket…
And then…slowly…gently, she felt the soft bristles of a brush working through her hair; rhythmic strokes that under any other circumstance would have been pleasurable. As comprehension dawned, Tess was at once horrified and baffled. Her eyes snapped open. Turning warily to face her captor, she had to blink twice before she could actually process what she was seeing. When he caught her incredulous look, which he mistook for admiration, he held the brush aloft for her to see.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” he exclaimed proudly as he turned the antique silver hairbrush this way and that. “It’s a family heirloom.”
McLean and Baxter sat in Mrs. Peterson’s sunny kitchen and politely declined her offer of tea and cookies. Both of them were impatient to get to the task at hand although neither wanted to
appear rude. When Leah had informed McLean that her neighbour, Mrs. Peterson, wanted to speak with the police, it had taken him a minute to recognize the name. Tess had mentioned a Mrs. Peterson once – the nosy neighbour. With this recollection, he had grabbed his partner, and together, they’d rushed over to speak with the woman. Nosy neighbours were a godsend in cases like this.
“Now, Mrs. Peterson,” McLean began. “We understand you want to speak with us in relation to a suspicious man in your neighbourhood.” He smiled kindly to set her at ease.
Although in her early nineties, Mrs. Peterson was far from frail. She looked like someone who had spent a good portion of her life outdoors. Her tanned face was heavily lined, and she moved with an easy grace for someone her age. It was obvious she still possessed most of her faculties as she managed in her own home, having outlived her husband by some dozen years. As she bustled around in her kitchen, she exuded a nervous energy McLean found endearing. When she finally took a seat at the table with them, she turned her keen eye to the flyer in her hand.
“Well, when Leah brought over Tess’ flyer, I took a good look at the police sketch. It didn’t really resemble a fellow I chatted with a few weeks ago, but because I’ve never seen him before in the neighborhood…and now with Tess missing and all… Well, I just thought I should report him all the same.”
“And where was this, Mrs. Peterson?” Baxter asked.
“Across the street in the park,” she indicated, pointing out the front window. The row of houses in which both Tess and Mrs. Peterson lived faced a large open green space complete with playground, soccer pitch, baseball diamond, and tennis courts. “Oh, it can be a nuisance living across from that at times with all the noise from teenagers on the weekends. I’ve phoned the police more than once about their shenanigans,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “But I do so love to watch the young children. There’s nothing like a child at play to keep one young at heart.” She winked at them.
“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re right. Now, this man. He was in the park, you say?” Baxter tried to steer the old lady back on track.