She wondered if he was trying to figure out how he might bottle her self-discipline, or rather lack of self- discipline. Would he try to find another answer? Then she caught a glimpse of shiny metal. Her empty stomach plunged. In his folded hands that sat quietly in his lap, he held what looked like a boning knife.
Her muscles tightened. Her eyes darted around the room. The panic crawled up from her empty stomach, on the verge of becoming a scream.
He had come for her thyroid. He planned to cut it out. Would he even bother to kill her first? Oh, dear God.
Then suddenly he said, “I never thought you looked fat at all.” He was looking down at his hands and glanced up at her with a smile, a shy, boyish smile. It reminded her of the way he had been when they first met, polite and quiet with interested eyes that listened and wanted to please.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing herself to smile.
“Sometimes doctors make mistakes, you know.” He looked sad now as he stood up, and every nerve in her body prepared itself. “They don’t know everything,” he told her.
And then he turned and left.
CHAPTER 31
Midnight had come and gone, but the nausea had not.
He had an hour before he needed to leave. Today would be a long day. He had done these double-duty days before, hadn’t minded, but not like today. Last night sleep never came, reminiscent of his childhood, when he waited for his mother to come in at midnight, administering her homemade concoction of medicine only to leave him with even more pain. Today he’d be forced to hide that same nausea, that relentless nausea that had lived with him day after day during his childhood. But he had done it before. He had survived. He could do it again.
If only he had taken care of her that first night like he had planned. He had even brought the chain saw with him, expecting to cut her up piece by piece, hoping to somehow find the prize. Instead, he had decided at the last minute to wait.
It was the wrong decision, a
He thought he could wait, thinking she’d tell him where her precious hormone deficiency resided, saving him a mess, because he hated messes.
He couldn’t think about it now. He needed to get ready for the day. He needed to stop worrying or his stomach would make it impossible to get through this day.
He scraped the mayonnaise from inside the jar, the clank-clank of the knife against glass only frustrating him, grating on his nerves, which already felt rubbed raw. How could he function? How could he do this?
He spread the condiment on the soft white bread, slow strokes so he wouldn’t tear it, taking time to reach each corner but deliberately not touching the crust. He unwrapped two slices of American cheese, laying them on the bread, making sure neither slice hung over the edge, again, not touching the crust, but letting them overlap in the center. Then carefully he cut the top slice of cheese exactly at the overlap and set aside the unneeded section.
He reached up into the cabinet, back behind the Pepto-Bismol and cough syrup, grabbing hold of the brown bottle his mother had kept hidden for years. He opened it, carefully sprinkled just a few of the crystals on the cheese, then replaced the bottle to its secret place.
He topped the sandwich with the other slice of bread, but not before slathering it with just the right amount of mayonnaise. Last, but most important, he cut away the crust, then cut it in two, diagonally, not down the middle. There. Perfect.
He wrapped his creation in white wax paper, putting it on a tray that already included a can of Coke, an individual-size bag of potato chips and a Snickers candy bar. It was the exact lunch his mother had packed for him every day of his childhood, or at least, every day for as long back as he could remember. The perfect lunch. Rarely a substitution. It always made him feel better, but this lunch wasn’t for him. It was for his guest.
He smiled at that—his guest. He had never had a guest before. Especially not an overnight one. His mother would never allow it. And despite this being an accident, a mistake, a mess…Well, perhaps, yes, just perhaps, he liked the idea of having a guest. He liked having someone he could control for a change. At least for a little while. At least until he decided how to dispose of the parts he didn’t need.
That was when he remembered. He might be able to use one of the freezers. Yes, maybe there was room for her in the freezer.
CHAPTER 32
Luc Racine sat in the second row of folding chairs. The first row was reserved but remained empty, so Luc had a perfect view of the coffin at the front of the room. Too perfect a view. He could see the woman’s makeup- caked face with cheeks too rosy. He wondered if she had ever worn lipstick that deep a shade of red. It almost made her look as if she wore a mask.
Luc pulled out the small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket, flipped it open and jotted down the date. Then he wrote, “No makeup. Absolutely no makeup,” and he underlined “absolutely.” He kept the notebook out and glanced around.
Marley stood by the door waiting for someone coming down the hallway. Perhaps it was that girl reporter. Luc had seen her in the reception area when he came in. Thank goodness she didn’t recognize him, but then she probably couldn’t see without her glasses.
Marley was in what Luc called his funeral director position, shoulders squared, back straight, his hands coming together below his waist, folded almost reverently as if in prayer, but his chin was up, showing an amazing amount of strength and authority. And there was the look that went with the posture.
Luc had observed Jake Marley so many times that he could catch the transition process though it happened quickly, within a blink of an eye. The man was an expert. He could go from any range of facial expressions, whether it be anger with an employee, sarcasm or even boredom, then within seconds the man could transform his entire face into an expression of
Holy crap! He had forgotten to shave.
Then he glanced down at his feet—dad blasted! He still had his slippers on.
He looked back at Marley to see if the funeral director had noticed him. Maybe he could slip out the back. He twisted around in his seat. Shoot! This room didn’t have another door. And now Marley was escorting two women in, directing them to the coffin. He gave Luc a slight nod of acknowledgment but nothing more. Marley’s attention was, instead, on the two mourners, and Luc knew he didn’t have to worry about Marley paying any more attention to him.
The elderly woman had artificial silver hair and big red-framed glasses that swallowed her small pigeonlike face. She leaned on her companion with every step. It was the companion who assured Luc he didn’t have to worry
