The Mad and the Macabre

- 9 -

"What am I supposed to do with you?" Charlie asked the girl. He'd already taken off her gag and informed her that if she screamed, he'd cut her throat. It wasn't a threat he'd ever made good on--though he had cut vocal cords more than once--but he was feeling more paranoid than usual and didn't entirely trust the soundproofing in the basement.

"You could let me go," said the girl, her voice raw and scratchy. "I won't tell anyone."

"Yes, you will. I would."

She violently shook her head. "No, no, I swear to God I won't tell anybody. I've got a warrant out for my arrest--I can't talk to the cops even if I wanted to."

"What did you do?"

"I killed my ex-boyfriend. I shot him."

"No, you didn't." Charlie's spirits fell. He'd been momentarily excited, because the idea of her not going to the cops because of an outstanding arrest warrant made a lot of sense, but if she'd committed murder she wouldn't be going door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions.

"I did. I swear I did."

"I can look it up and find out if you're lying," Charlie told her, although he wasn't certain that he could. "If you are, I'll use my knives on your arms until they're just skeleton arms. That takes a long time. Are you willing to stick to your story?"

The girl began to cry.

"Answer me."

"No," she said.

"I didn't think so. Don't lie to me again." She was being pretty brave, a lot braver than most of his victims, but her body still shook with tiny sobs. Charlie usually enjoyed that sight. Not tonight. "I don't want to kill you," he said. "I thought I did, but I don't anymore."

"Then don't."

"It's not that easy. You know what I look like. You know where I live. How can I let you go?"

"I promise I won't tell anybody."

"But you'd be stupid if you didn't. Why would you let a serial killer roam free and not tell anybody where he lived? I don't want to hurt you, I swear I don't, but you'd tell the police. You'd have to tell them. You'd be a horrible person if you didn't."

"You'd come after me if I did."

"Not if you had police protection."

"I wouldn't have police protection forever."

"I'm not that kind of killer. I hunt easy targets, people who won't be missed."

"Everybody is missed."

"No they aren't."

"Yes, they are."

Charlie could talk to strapped-down women in his basement with an ease that eluded his interactions with other humans, but he found himself momentarily flustered. "Either way, a promise not to tell isn't enough. I can't believe you."

"Then what can we do?"

"I don't know! That's the whole problem! If we can find an answer, I'll do it, but I can't think of one! I probably shouldn't have kept you alive even this long. The police could be on their way right now."

"They're not."

"I'll make it quick," Charlie promised. "I never do, but this time I will. It'll be over in seconds. You'll hardly even feel it."

"My name is Patti."

"I don't care."

"I just want you to know that. My name is Patti."

"I said I don't care." Charlie ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly frustrated. She was ruining his celebration with Kutter.

"I can come up with a plan," Patti said. "Just give me time. Give me an hour."

Charlie considered that. It was a bad idea, a terrible idea, but it seemed fair to give her a chance. She might come up with something brilliant. If he could resolve this situation without murdering her and risking having the police hunt him for the rest of his free life, it would be worth taking the chance on keeping her alive awhile longer.

"Okay," he said. "I won't kill you yet."

"Thank you."

"Put your thinking cap on. I'll go get you some food. Do you like cereal?"

* * *

Charlie closed the basement door behind him as he stepped into the kitchen. He didn't have any steak in the house, and though there was a twenty-four-hour grocery store not too far from his home, he wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave the house right now. He and Kutter would just have to celebrate with bacon strips.

He walked into the living room. "Kutter! What the hell--?"

Kutter stopped chewing on the couch cushion. He'd exposed a piece of the stuffing, and another bit of white fluff was on the floor.

"Why are you chewing up my couch?" He hurried across the room. Kutter ran to the other side, thinking it was playtime.

"You idiot, I was going to buy you a steak tomorrow! Steak! I bet you've never even had a steak. A big, thick juicy steak on the way and you're trying to eat my couch? Why would you do that? Huh? Why?"

Charlie stood there, waiting for an answer. Then he remembered that he was unlikely to receive one.

He couldn't believe this. He hadn't even been the dog's official owner for half an hour and Kutter was chewing up the furniture.

He sat down on the damaged couch. Kutter jumped up next to him.

"Go away. I'm mad at you."

Kutter prodded Charlie's hand with his cold wet nose, seeking petting.

"No. You don't deserve to get petted. You're a bad dog. Good dogs don't chew up couches. Only evil ones do that."

Kutter continued to prod him. Charlie reluctantly petted his head.

"What's wrong? Were you just stressed out because your old owner tried to take you away?"

That might've been it. Byron's unexpected presence might've confused the poor animal. And Kutter might've been scared by having Charlie go down into the basement so soon after Byron left. Maybe he thought that Charlie had left him forever.

"I'm sorry," said Charlie. "You're not a bad dog. We'll make up." He took Kutter's paw in his hand and shook it. "Deal?"

Kutter licked his face.

* * *

Charlie watched the 11:00 PM news to see if there was anything about Patti. Nothing. That wasn't surprising--she'd hadn't been missing for very long, and if she lived on campus and had a boyfriend, it might not be unusual for her to come home late.

He had time.

"What a waste," he told Kutter. A beautiful girl in his basement, and he simply didn't feel like torturing or killing her. How had his life turned out this way?

He decided not to go downstairs to check on her. She'd be fine until tomorrow. Then Charlie would call in sick to work, and spend the morning either following Patti's plan, or disposing of her body.

* * *

The alarm went off as usual at 6:30 AM. Charlie got up, threw on a robe, took Kutter for a quick walk, came home, brushed his teeth, and then practiced his "sick voice" a few times. He thought it sounded pretty good. He considered leaving his voice mail without using a script, then lost his nerve and wrote down what he wanted to say. He kept it simple--giving more information than was necessary made it sound like a lie.

He dialed Bob Testiro's number. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

Charlie froze. Bob was never in this early. "Uh, Bob? It's Charlie Stanlon."

"Hey, Charlie, what's up?"

He considered coughing into the phone, then decided it would sound forced. "Nothing much. I'm just calling in sick."

"What's wrong?"

"Sore throat. Some aches and pains."

"Charlie, we're already two people down this week. I worked all day Saturday and half a day yesterday to get ready for the global operations center's visit. You really can't fight through a sore throat and some aches and pains?"

"I...guess I can."

"Thanks. It's just really not a good time for you to be out. If you're still not feeling well on Tuesday, it won't be an issue. See you in a bit."

Charlie hung up. That hadn't quite gone as planned. He couldn't afford to get fired, so it looked like he'd be going in to work today.

It would be fine. He'd left women in his basement countless times while at work. It even made the day more pleasant, knowing they were down there. He'd simply have to treat this situation no differently than any of the others. If there'd been a witness, the cops would've been at his door by now, so he'd just trust that the security measures he already had in place were sufficient. And maybe this was a good thing. His job was pretty boring, so he'd have all day to brainstorm ideas on how to let Patti live.

And after he dealt with that, he thought he might build Kutter a doghouse.

* * *

Charlie stared at the stapled papers.

Alicia had been doing so well, but there it was, stapled in the top center instead of the top left. Only one of them--the others were done correctly--but this could be the start of a trend. If he didn't say something, the entire batch of papers could be improperly stapled tomorrow. He'd have to pluck out all of the staples and redo them, which wasted staples and put his fingertips at risk for puncturing.

He started to type an e-mail to Bob, then stopped after "Bob, I need to bring to your attention--"

Alicia was always nice to him. She was the one who'd suggested that he keep Kutter. If he hadn't listened to her, Kutter could've been gassed or adopted by an unloving home. She'd said that if he had a problem with her, he should bring it to her directly, so that's what he'd do. She deserved that much.

He picked up the flawed papers and walked over to her desk.

"Uh-oh, did I screw something up?" Alicia asked.

Charlie shook his head. "No. It's all fine."

What was he saying? It wasn't fine. It was wrong in a way that he'd already asked her to fix. Why was he suddenly compelled not to mention it?

Coming over to her desk was a mistake. He should've just e-mailed Bob. It was never a good idea to change the plan.

Alicia was a lot more beautiful than he remembered.

"I just wanted to tell you that I get to keep the dog," he said. "The real owner came over, but he's letting me keep him."

"Really? That's great! I bet you're thrilled!"

"Yeah. So...thanks."

"For what?"

"For your help."

"Oh, I didn't do anything. I just told you to keep him."

"That helped."

Alicia smiled. "Well, then I graciously accept your thanks. Now tape a damn dog picture to your monitor. That's the rule."

"Okay."

She returned her attention to her work. Charlie didn't leave. His mouth had dried up and he ran his tongue all over the inside, trying to replenish the moisture so he could speak.

"Did you...did you want to get coffee sometime?" he finally asked.

Her smile faltered. Just for a fraction of a second, but it faltered.

"You know," she said, "some of us get drinks after work on Wednesdays."

He knew. Alicia had mentioned it a couple of times, but he always declined the offer. It sounded boring.

"You should come with us."

Did she really want him to come along, or was she just trying to get out of a coffee date? He was almost positive it was the latter. He couldn't blame her for that.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I wasn't asking to...I wasn't asking because I wanted to..."

"No, no, I understood. Coffee as friends. I'm sure you have a rule against dating co-workers just like I do. But you really should come with us for drinks on Wednesday. Coffee counts as a drink."

"Maybe."

"Is that a legitimate maybe, or a maybe meaning no?"

"A legitimate one."

"Great! We'll look forward to having you along."

Charlie returned to his desk, feeling humiliated. He never should have asked her out. That was idiotic. There was no possible way she'd ever have said "yes," and now she'd go around the office telling everybody what he'd done.

He could hear her voice: "Oh, he's got a cute little crush on me! It's so adorable!" She probably thought he was a pathetic little puppy, following her around, too stupid to know that she was out of his league.

He wasn't sure if he should go with them on Wednesday or not. Most likely, Alicia had just invited him to escape from the awkward social situation.

He'd leave her alone from now on.

* * *

After an endless day, Charlie drove home. At least he knew Kutter wouldn't decline his invitation to go for a walk.

As soon as his key touched the lock, he could hear Kutter's happy barking on the other side of the door. He opened the door and his best friend gave him the usual wildly enthusiastic greeting. "Good boy," Charlie said, crouching down and petting him. "You're always a good boy, aren't you?"

He glanced over at his couch.

No new tooth marks. No stuffing all over the floor.

However, there was a big puddle of vomit on the left cushion, much of which had trickled down the front and onto his carpet.

"Aw, come on, Kutter, why would you do that?" Charlie asked. "You couldn't hold it in until I got home? I've got an entire kitchen of tiled floor that you could've puked on. Why did you need to do that on my couch?"

Kutter did not answer.

"What are you even eating that you would've--aw, shit!"

Literally.

"That's horrible, Kutter. Horrible. That's a horrible thing to eat and a horrible thing to vomit on my couch. I can't believe you would do that."

Charlie's was not always a life of great dignity--after all, he'd once found himself in his basement sobbing over the corpse of a victim who'd died too soon--but he'd never eaten and thrown up his own feces. Even his moments of most intense shame were never that low.

"You suck, Kutter." Charlie glared at his dog. "If I had let you lick my face before I saw that, you'd be out on the street."

Oh well. If there was one thing that Charlie's home didn't lack, it was cleaning supplies.

He took Kutter for a much shorter walk than usual, then brought him back inside and took off his leash. When Charlie opened the basement door, Kutter pushed past him and ran down the stairs. Charlie didn't bother calling him back--Kutter couldn't jump up on the table, and Patti couldn't get down, so it really didn't matter if the dog was down there or not.

He had mentally run through scenarios all day, trying to figure out how he could let Patti go without putting himself in serious danger. He couldn't think of any, except to leave her here and flee to his cabin, but even in that scenario he'd be more likely to get captured and arrested than if he just killed her. Still, he was the first to admit that he didn't always think of every possibility, and he hoped that she'd been more successful.

Kutter scampered around the room while Charlie cut off Patti's gag. "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She looked scared, but she also looked defiant. She could be as defiant as she wanted--she was still strapped to a table, and she wasn't getting away.

"I tried to find a solution," Charlie said. "I really did. What did you come up with?"

"Here's what I came up with. If you kill me, my parents will hunt you down to the ends of the earth. You will never know another moment of peace. You will--"

Charlie put his hand over her mouth. "I didn't ask you to come up with a speech. Is that really all you've got for me? A threat? All this time down here and your answer is to tell me that your parents will seek revenge?" Charlie was incredulous, but it also made him feel a little better about himself. If she'd spent about twenty hours in a basement with absolutely nothing to do but think about how they could work things out, and even she was unsuccessful, then there truly had to be no answer. It wasn't just him.

He pulled his hand away. "They'll torture you," Patti said.

"They'd do that even if I let you go."

"They'll fuck you up."

Charlie picked up the knife. "You didn't do what you were supposed to. This isn't my fault."

"You'll burn in hell."

"You think I don't know that?"

"They'll—"

"Enough! Do you want the blade in your throat or in your heart? You pick."

Patti bit her lip and said nothing.

"Throat or heart? Come on. It's not that difficult of a decision."

Her voice became frantic. "I have a place where you can stay. My parents own a cabin. Nobody will find you there. I'll take you there right now if you let me go. I'll never tell. I swear."

Charlie shook his head. "That won't work. It's better than the threat, but it won't work. Heart or throat? You can also think of it as slice or stab. Which do you want?"

"I--I don't..." Tears began to stream down the sides of her face. "Which one hurts less?"

"I don't know. I think heart."

"Please don't kill me."

"We'll do heart."

Charlie raised the knife over Patti's chest. Kutter began to whimper.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked. The dog continued to whine, clearly distressed.

What was wrong seemed pretty obvious: Kutter didn't want him to stab her.

Great.

"It's okay, boy," Charlie assured him. "You don't have to be scared."

He set the knife down on the table. Wow. He never would've expected to interrupt killing his prey to avoid traumatizing a dog.

"Kutter, upstairs. Come on." He whistled and started up the stairs himself. Kutter didn't follow. Halfway up, Charlie clapped his hands and whistled again. "Come on, boy!"

He spent another full minute trying to coax the dog onto the stairs, then gave up and just picked Kutter up. "It'll be fine," he said in a soothing voice. "Nothing bad's going to happen to you." Kutter continued to whine as he carried him upstairs into the kitchen. He closed the door behind them and set Kutter on the floor. Kutter immediately started to scratch on the basement door.

"Stop it," Charlie said. "You know better than that."

Charlie decided that he might as well clean up Kutter's mess before tending to the problem downstairs. Stupid pukey dog. "It's not too late to take you to the animal shelter," Charlie said, even though he was considering no such thing.

By the time Charlie finished cleaning up the couch, Kutter had fallen asleep on the floor and was snoring softly. It felt weird to be sneaking around in his own house, but Charlie crept into the kitchen and slowly opened the basement door. He shut it behind him as he went down the stairs.

He walked over to the table and sighed with frustration.

And then he slid the blade across Patti's throat, receiving no pleasure from the sight of her gushing blood.