The Mad and the Macabre

- 5 -

"Did the address help at all?" Alicia asked the next day.

"I'm keeping it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Its name's Kutter."

"Well, that's great. Congratulations on the new addition to your household."

"Thanks."

Charlie looked at her more closely. He'd always liked freckles. Perhaps someday she'd let him take her out for coffee or--

--his basement. Perhaps someday he'd lock her in his basement. That's what he meant.

But maybe coffee to start.

Charlie wasn't even going to try to pretend to himself that he'd be even remotely close to capable of asking her out right now, so he ignored the thought and glanced back at his monitor.

"Do you have pictures?" asked Alicia.

Charlie shook his head.

"You need pictures."

"Okay." Charlie had no intention of buying a camera, even a cheap disposable one. Still, it couldn't hurt to pretend to go along with her idea.

"Well, I'm glad you kept the dog. Give it a great big hug for me." Alicia patted Charlie on the shoulder and then returned to her desk.

* * *

Alicia asked him about Kutter photos every day for the next three days. After the third day, Charlie realized that saying "I forgot again" just wasn't going to continue to work. It was really not her place to guilt him into photographing his dog, but finally Charlie decided to cave in to the pressure. He bought a surprisingly inexpensive disposable camera on the way home from work.

Taking the camera downstairs was not an option. Some clue about the basement activities, no matter how subtle, might appear in the photograph, and Charlie couldn't take the risk. He also refused to appear in the picture himself. He'd just get a couple of quick snapshots of Kutter and take them straight to the photo-developing lab at the grocery store.

He opened the door to the basement. Kutter happily bounded up the stairs. Charlie put on his leash, took him for a quick walk, then brought him back inside.

"On the couch," Charlie said, patting the cushion.

Kutter jumped up onto the couch.

"Good boy. Now smile." As Charlie peeked through the viewfinder, Kutter jumped off the couch and ran into the kitchen.

Stupid dog. "Hey, get back in here!" Charlie called out. He heard Kutter thundering around in the kitchen for a moment, and then the Boston terrier came running back into the living room. He patted the cushion again. "C'mon. Picture time."

Kutter woofed at him.

"I don't like it either. We don't have a choice."

Charlie patted the cushion a few more times, then decided that although the couch was the most aesthetically pleasing location for the photograph, it didn't much matter either way. He pointed the camera at where Kutter stood on the floor. The dog looked right at the camera. Perfect.

He pressed the button, and nothing happened.

"What the hell?" He pressed it again and the camera still didn't click or flash or do anything to indicate that a photo had been taken. Was it broken?

No, he just hadn't wound it.

Cameras sucked.

He wound the dumb little dial. Kutter ran back into the kitchen.

"Hey!" Charlie followed Kutter into the kitchen and nearly tripped over the dog as it ran back into the living room. He pointed the camera at the dog, trying to follow it as it ran in a circle around the living room, and squeezed off one shot that he knew wasn't even close.

"Sit down, Kutter! Stay in one spot!"

Kutter jumped up onto the couch. Charlie quickly pointed the camera and pressed the button, but he hadn't wound it this time, either. Kutter jumped back down before he could finish.

"Do you want me to tranquilize you? Quit moving around!"

Charlie managed to take another twelve action shots of the hyperactive animal, and then, finally, a few pictures of Kutter relaxing on the couch. He decided to splurge on the one-hour developing, and discovered that his thumb was over the lens on all of the pictures.

* * *

Alicia laughed at his feeble attempts at photography, but it was a nice kind of laugh, not a mean one.

* * *

Charlie bought a couple more squeak toys and a stuffed penguin, to give Kutter some variety. He also bought the forty-pound bag of dog food, which was the most cost effective, and a bag of pseudo-bacon treats. If all went well, Kutter would deserve the reward.

* * *

It wasn't as if walking Kutter opened up a whole new world for Charlie, where potential victims fell at his feet by the dozens. But there was no question that the dog was going to make things easier for him. Somebody fussed over his dog almost every other walk, and in two weeks there'd been at least three separate occasions where he'd felt completely confident that he could have safely gotten a woman home--and not homeless vagrants; attractive, desirable women who would be almost unbearably pleasurable to cut.

He altered his route often, sometimes taking Kutter out for as much as three hours at a time. Exactly one week after seeing the woman unloading groceries from her car, almost to the minute, he saw her again, doing the same thing. A creature of habit. Charlie liked that.

It was only about three weeks until his next hunt on January 24th. There was no question whatsoever in Charlie's mind that this was going to be the best one yet.

* * *

Charlie stood impatiently by the open basement door. "You know where to go."

Kutter never wanted to go down into the basement at bedtime. Not that Charlie blamed him--it was cold down there--but Charlie was the master and Kutter was the dog and house pets didn't have any say in the matter of where they slept. "Get down there."

Kutter whimpered.

"Do you really think that's going to work on me?" Charlie asked. "Seriously? If my heart melts, it's not going to be for you. So get your flat face down there."

Kutter just stared at him.

The dog's wounds had healed completely, so it wouldn't be ripping off its bandages and ruining his furniture. That was the primary reason Charlie kept him in the basement. As long as Kutter was quiet through the night, there was no real reason to keep him locked away.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and pointed his index finger at the dog. "All right, you're going to get your way, but let me make one thing perfectly clear: No barking. None. Unless somebody is breaking into this house--not a neighbor's house, this one--I don't want to hear a single peep out of you. Do you understand?"

Kutter continued to just stare at him, which Charlie took for a "yes."

"Good. Don't forget it."

Kutter ran into the living room, then ran back with one of his squeak toys. Charlie pulled it out of his mouth, a task made more difficult by the fact that Kutter assumed they were now playing tug-of-war. "I don't think you'll be keeping me awake with that thing," Charlie said, putting the toy on top of the refrigerator. He gathered up Kutter's other toys and placed them up there as well.

Kutter sneezed at him.

"Bless you. Good night."

Ten minutes after Charlie got under the covers, Kutter pushed open the bedroom door, jumped up onto the mattress, and curled up at the foot of the bed. Charlie carried Kutter back out to the living room and told him to knock it off. The second time Kutter pushed open the door, which never seemed to close properly, Charlie put him back down in the basement.

Charlie gave the dog another chance the next night, with the same result.

"This is your last chance," Charlie warned, tapping Kutter gently on the nose to emphasize his point. "If you try to break into my room tonight, you'll be sorry."

He was woken out of a sound sleep by the stupid dog jumping up onto the bed. Kutter curled up next to his right foot. Charlie was too tired to bother getting up to remove the disobedient animal, so he simply rolled over and went back to sleep.

It was surprisingly comforting. When he woke up the next morning, he decided that maybe the dog could sleep in the bedroom from now on.

* * *

Charlie looked at the calendar on his desk at work and realized that it was only a week until his next hunt could begin. He was surprised--for some reason he'd thought it was a couple more days than that. Great news.

Since he was going after a higher class of victim this time, he needed to change his cover story. He couldn't lure these kinds of women in with promises of a warm meal. Well, he could, but he'd have to sell the idea in a different way. Find out which unsuspecting women wanted to grab a quick cup of coffee with the trustworthy guy with the cute dog. Kutter would win their heart, Charlie would talk them into his car, and the chloroform would do the rest.

Charlie wondered if he should make some personal changes to assist with the success of his new plan. He'd always kept his hair neatly trimmed, but what if he added a bit of style? Nothing crazy and nothing unsuited to a guy in his forties--just something slightly more contemporary.

Then he wondered if that was the first sign of a mid-life crisis.

He'd do it. What could it hurt? He wasn't quite ready to depart from his usual barber, but when he went in on Friday he'd ask the guy to do something a little different.

* * *

It had been difficult to convince his barber that "different" did not include coloring, spikes, or any sort of hair product, but he'd eventually gotten the message across. Charlie walked out with hair that was a little wavier on the sides and a little mussed in the front. Though he wasn't sure if he liked it or not, he'd promised his barber that he'd stick with it through the weekend and give it a chance to grow on him.

They'd both laughed at the "grow on him" comment, although the barber laughed a little harder than Charlie.

Charlie knew that Kutter didn't care about his hairstyle, and indeed the dog didn't treat him any differently, but for the first time in his life Charlie found himself sort of looking forward to returning to work on the following Monday.

* * *

"Nice! I like it!" said Alicia, giving him a thumbs-up sign as she quickly walked past his desk on her way to a meeting. Charlie was a bit disappointed that she hadn't stopped to talk longer. The hair was staying for sure, though.