They enter and she turns in a full circle, taking it all in. 'Wow! What's your kink, man?'
The floors and walls are lined with clear plastic sheets. The only piece of furniture in the room is a bed, and that's also similarly covered.
'I like plastic.'
'I can tell.' She smiles in a way that she probably thinks is sexy. Annoying bitch. He's going to enjoy slicing her up.
'I want you to wear something for me.'
'Let me guess. A plastic garbage bag?'
'No. These.'
He reaches into his pocket and takes out a pair of earrings. Silver hoops, antique-looking.
'Those are pretty.'
She removes the dangly gold ones she has on, shoves them into her little spaghetti strap designer purse. When she puts the first hoop in, he begins to pant. His expression must scare her, because she stops smiling.
'You know, I usually don't make dates on my own. I normally go through the escort service.'
'Don't worry. You trust me, remember?'
She nods, but it's uncertain.
'These earrings look beautiful on you, Eileen.'
'Thanks. Um, how did you get my number, anyway?'
'I have ways.'
'Yeah. I guess you do.'
'The bathroom is over there. I'd really like it if you came out wearing nothing but those earrings.'
She gives him a half smile, hesitates, then trots off to the bathroom like a good little whore.
He undresses, folding his clothes neatly and putting them on the floor of the closet, next to the axe. His other instruments are laid out on a stained towel.
What to use, what to use?
He selects a garrote for the murder and a box cutter for the detail work. The garrote is something he picked up at work -- a twenty-inch strand of piano wire, the ends twisted around wooden pegs. He hasn't tried it yet. Should be fun.
She comes out of the bathroom, strutting. Her confidence is back. Her naked body is flawless.
But it won't be for long.
'Well, you're a big one, aren't you? What do you want to do first, big boy?'
Severing her head is harder than he'd have guessed. He has to prop his knee up against her back for leverage, and then use a sawing motion with the garrote to get through the spine.
There's a lot of blood.
When he's finished, he goes to work with the utility knife.
He attends to her eagerly, like a starving man. The feeling is more than sexual. It's euphoric. Mind- altering.
Pain-relieving.
The moment he walked behind her and stretched the wire across her pretty little throat, the pain vanished. His vision cleared, his jaw unclenched, and a feeling of pure relief a thousand times better than any orgasm flooded through him.
He doesn't understand why. He doesn't care why. The throbbing is gone, replaced by a mad giggling fit as he works harder and faster with the utility knife.
It soon escalates into a mindless frenzy.
Afterward, he takes a shower. The water is tepid and smells like rust. He doesn't care.
The pain is gone.
How long it will stay gone is unknown to him. Sometimes it lasts for weeks. Sometimes, only a few hours.
He takes what he can get.
He scrubs his nails with a toothbrush and a lot of soap, cleaning out all of the gore and little bits. He notices similar bits in his mouth, spits something bloody onto the shower floor.
Must have really gotten crazy there.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he sees how crazy he's actually been.
It's a mess. Worse than he's ever done.
He sits on the bed, naked, in a Thinker pose, staring at the body. He doesn't even remember doing half of these things to her. And using only a one-inch blade and pure strength. Impressive.
'I am one scary son of a bitch,' he says to himself.
