Page 59 of Savage Seduction

Ben reaches for my hand, but I pull away and put my hands on my lap.

“It’s at this point that my memory gets a little fuzzy. I recall hearing a sound like a rubber sole from a tennis shoe scraping against the concrete floor, but as I turned, I was struck from behind… or at least that’s what the egg-sized knot on the back of my head indicated. When I regained my faculties a few hours later, gagged and my hands bound by duct tape, I knew I was as good as dead. None of his victims who’d been successfully kidnapped to that point had been able to escape. Why should I be any different, right?” I clear my throat and try to swallow despite the emotions choking me with each word I speak. “Anyway, I could tell I’d been drugged by the way my muscles felt—heavy and weak.”

“Where were you?”

“I was in an abandoned meat processing plant near East Los Angeles.”

“How’d you know? Were you familiar with the place?”

“I was hanging by my wrists on a meat hook suspended from a rusted-out assembly-line track they used to slaughter cows and sheep.”

Ben shakes his head as the color drains from his face. He swallows and then opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. It’s the same reaction I get from the very few people I’ve told this story to other than my fellow officers.

“Long story short,” I say. “He hurt me pretty bad, but my partner shot him dead on the Sixth Street Bridge. I watched as he toppled over the guard rail and disappeared into the raging L.A. River.”

“Holy shit, Max,” Ben says with a gasp. Then, almost as an afterthought, he says in a low voice, “Can I ask, how did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “I was carved up. Let’s put it this way, the sick bastard left his mark on me—permanently. If it hadn’t been for the wonderful doctors, nurses, and therapists at County… I wouldn’t be here today.”

Ben’s expression changes from one of concern to determination. He looks away and palms back his short dark hair. “When you were at my home, I saw part of the scar on your belly.” He gestures vaguely around his own torso for a visual.

I nod. “Yep, he’s quite the artist, isn’t he? Decided to mark me as his… add me to his tally of kills.”

Ben sighs. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“There’s not much you can. My own police-issued psychologist didn’t know quite what to say either when I showed her the scars.”

Ben remains silent for a while. Long enough to process what was being said, but too long for my comfort. “Can I ask you something?”

I chuckle, but there’s no mirth. “Sure, why not?”

Ben clears his throat and shifts in the chair. “When I saw the scars, it looked like an ankh.”

It feels like a gut punch. It’s not like I'm trying to hide what the image carved into my flesh is, but to hear someone else say it for some reason really hurts. Made me feel disgusting. I nod. “Yep.”

Ben doesn’t respond, simply looks out the window and sighs.

“You, okay? Doc… you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His eyes dart back and forth as if he's remembering something, but then he shakes his head. “Sorry, I was thinking back to when this all happened to you… I was working at County during that time.”

“Hmm, maybe our paths crossed while I was there.”

He rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds. “Yeah, that must be it.”

“Ben,” I say. “Are you okay? I probably shouldn’t have shared so much, so soon.”

It looks like the good doctor is rendered speechless. His jaw works a piece of gum with such vigor the muscles ripple under the flesh of his cheeks. Finally, he breaks his silence. “It’s not that, Max. I simply can’t imagine someone… you, going through this. It hurts me to think of you being treated like this. Makes me sick.” He looks down at his coffee and doesn’t speak for a few moments. It probably wasn’t long, but to me it felt like forever. Then, he looks up and says, “What happened at the restaurant? Did you have a flashback? Did something trigger you?”

“I’m not entirely sure. If I’m being completely honest, the last few days have been like I’m seeing ghosts.” I’m not about to tell him who I think was behing the break-in. Not yet anyway. Better to have things solved before talking about them. “You remember how someone at the bar sent me a drink?” Ben nods. “Well, I thought it looked like Viktor, the L.A. Butcher.” I shake my head. “The really crazy thing about it though, is I watched him die. Felt the bullets tear through his body as he tried to cling to me, hiding behind me as if I was no more than a fleshy, human shield for him. And yet I saw him at the restaurant. Against all odds and everything that seems possible, he was there.

“Then who attacked you in the bathroom?”

“Good question. Some guy… didn’t recognize him. My guess is he was a fan of the notorious L.A. Butcher. Maybe a copycat killer?” I shrug. “For all I know the guy could be his protégé. He did mention that he wasn’t going to let me escape, not like I had before. I think since I was the only one to ever get away from the famed serial killer, his followers are probably hell bent on correcting history.” I look into Ben’s eyes and search him for a sign as to if I should continue.Should I tell him about the break in? The stalking?

“Damn, I’ve heard of things like that happening. Crazy people falling in love with serial killers in jail, but never when they’re supposed to be dead.”

“First time for everything, I suppose.” I shrug. “Honestly, there’s more to tell you, but I think I’ve revealed enough about myself for one coffee date. Speaking of dates, I’m sorry for ruining our big romantic dinner that night.”

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