Page 33 of All He Takes
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The dim light from his TV filled the room. The news was out. He couldn't believe it--his story was finally breaking. Finally, the world would see what he was worth.
He sat on the cold concrete floor of his basement in front of the old tube TV, biting his nail with his knees to his chest. On the screen, a news reporter:
"Several reports are coming in that somebody has been leaving photographs of homicide victims in antique stores," the woman said. "The photos, which are graphic in nature, appear to show actual victims, and police aren't sure who is taking them. Two victims have so far been identified as Paris Conner of Miami, Florida, and Francine Gibbons of Stoneycreek, Florida. A third victim has been photographed, but police have not yet identified her."
"Yes!" he exclaimed, smiling wildly. "Yes!"
He launched to his feet and danced around the studio, smiling gleefully.
"This is it! Finally, the cat is out of the bag... I can finally show you to the world, for real!"
He turned to the woman, lying slumped on his couch, with her throat slit. She looked so gorgeous in that red dress and had looked even better in the photoshoot he just completed. Alive, she had failed him.
But in death, she had proved to be a truly great model.
He took a deep breath.
"Now, it's time for my masterpiece."
The perfect image for his masterpiece.
He walked back to the girl and looked down at her. She was so beautiful there, lying on his couch with her throat slit, her blood pooling on the floor under her. He wished he could just leave her there, but as nice as that would be, it wasn't practical—she would start to rot, become stinky and fleshy and stain his wonderful couch, so the next subject would have their set ruined. No, this one, he had other plans for.
He turned back to the TV, where the reporter was still talking: "To date, police have no clues about who is taking the photos, or why. If you have any information about this case, please contact the police."
He laughed bitterly. "Oh, I will," he said. "I'll give them plenty of information. I'll give them a little clue..." He turned back to the woman on the couch.
It was time to move her.
She was surprisingly heavy, but he managed to throw her over his shoulder. He hauled her up the stairs. He knew just where he'd bring her--the perfect place to leave his mark. All he had to do was get her in his car, and then they would begin their final road trip together.
It was a warm, beautiful night, the perfect night to make his true debut. He threw her in the back of his car, and then climbed into the driver's seat. He started the engine, and then pulled out of the driveway and began to drive.
The woman's body was in the back seat. He smiled as he saw her in his rear view mirror.
"I'm so sorry, my dear. I know this isn't how you imagined your career would end, but you are my muse, and it's your duty to help me." He reached back and stroked her hair. "You will be remembered, my dear. You will be remembered."
He drove on.
He had his masterpiece in the back seat.
All he needed now was an audience.
It must have been an hour of driving under the hazy night sky, but it felt like a blur of euphoria and bliss. He breathed in deeply, listening to the lull of the car beneath him, thinking back to the days when he was invisible.
That would be no more.
His art teachers never appreciated him. They never saw his talent.
They never saw what he could do.
But soon, they would.
And they would be sorry they ever treated him like a nobody.
After all, he was finally going to get what he deserved.
