The Mad and the MacAbre

* * *

He was deeply ashamed of himself the next morning. Grabbing her arm? How could he be that careless? That impatient? He was starting to lose control, and if he didn't shape up soon, he'd find himself on the receiving end of a three hundred pound convicted rapist's penis. At least, that was the fate he'd overheard a co-worker wish upon the person who stole her laptop. For what Charlie was doing, he'd probably end up with a much larger rapist. Or a much larger penis. Either way, he needed to get himself back to normal.

There was always his emergency shelter, but that was a last resort. He'd rather not spend his remaining years hiding out like an animal.

He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 'Shape up or ship out,' he told himself.

Charlie brushed his teeth and rinsed with Listerine, then practiced his smile a few times. He didn't think it looked that creepy. Maybe it was his eyes. He knew people whose eyes seemed to sparkle when they smiled, but his never did.

Contacts might work. Lighten his eyes up. Turn them from brown to blue or green. Then the women might trust his smile. He should make an appointment to visit the eye doctor sometime soon.

After work the next day, Charlie decided to empty his change jar. All of his spare change went into the plain glass jar. When the jar was full to the very top, he'd dump it into the grocery store's loose change machine, get his savings in paper currency (minus an eight percent service charge), and then buy himself something special. With his last jar, he'd bought a really nice power drill with dozens of different bits. He found that he preferred the smallest one.

The jar was just over a third of the way full, and Charlie's official rule was that the top coin actually had to protrude over the surface before he could consider spending the money. But having already decided to break the biggest rule in his life, using the change jar early was a pretty minor infraction, and a handful of bills could possibly accomplish what his personality couldn't.

* * *

He walked out of the grocery store, disappointed. Only fifty-five dollars and twenty-one cents. Less than he'd expected. The jar must've been heavier on pennies than usual.

Still, it should be enough to get somebody into his car. Though it felt like cheating this way, he didn't think he had a choice. After this one, he'd get completely back on track. Follow all of the rules. He just needed to get this one out of his system and then everything would be back to the way it used to be.

* * *

The money worked. He didn't even have to promise that more was forthcoming. He drove with the hooker-- really, a crack whore, though he hated that term--in his passenger seat and tried to keep his eyes on the road.

'So what do you want to do?' she asked.

Charlie shrugged. He didn't have a script for this sort of thing.

'I bet you have some idea.'

'Okay.'

'This your first time?'

'No.'

She smiled. 'Not first time ever. I meant first time for money.'

'Oh. Yes.'

'I can tell. I know a guy who can give us something to make us both feel better. It doesn't cost that much.'

Charlie shook his head.

'You sure?'

'Yeah.'

'You're the boss. Pity, though. You'd have a lot more fun if you relaxed a bit.'

'I'm okay.'

She pointed through the windshield at a building up ahead. 'How about you pull behind that bank over there?'

'My house is better.'

'How far is it?'

'Not far.'

'You know I can't drive around all night with you, right? Not for what you're paying. Let's just go someplace quick.'

'My house is better. It'll only take ten minutes.'

'You got beer?'

'Yes.'

'What kind?'

Charlie tried to remember the commercials. 'Bud Light.'

'All right. But we're gonna have to be quick.'

The first thing she did when they walked into his house was excuse herself and go into the bathroom. When she emerged a couple of minutes later, her eyes were glazed over and she gave him a half-smile. She wasn't anywhere near as appealing now, but it was very easy to get the chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth.

* * *

'I never had any interest in finding my real parents,' he told her, as he polished the blade with a cloth. 'I could probably find them, I guess, but I don't see any reason to do that. I lost touch with my first foster family, too, and I spent a lot more time with them than I did my birth parents, so it's just not something that's important to me. I feel guilty about that sometimes, like I should care, but I don't. Why do you need parents when you're in your forties?'

She continued tugging on the straps. He liked that.

'I think maybe if I'd had a really good childhood or a really bad childhood, I'd be more interested. But I barely even remember being a kid. What would we talk about? I don't even use credit cards, so it's not like I'd try to borrow money from them. This is going to sting a lot, so brace yourself. I mean it--it's really going to hurt. I'm going to cut you right there. Not a long cut but a deep one. Are you ready? Blink if you're ready. I bet you can't keep your eyes open like that for more than a minute. Want me to time it? One one thousand, two one thousand, three...see, you blinked. Ready?'

Charlie winked at her, then slid in the blade. Not too deep. He left it there for a few minutes, giving it a slight twist every now and then.

Finally, he removed it and showed her the tip. 'Don't worry, I'll make the bleeding stop now. Then you can relax for a while.'

He giggled as he tended to her wound. This was well worth the risk he'd taken. Not that he planned to ever do it again--he had to follow the rules--but for this one time he deserved the pleasure.

She went into withdrawal on the second day and died on the third, but Charlie felt completely satisfied.

* * *

His September 24^th hunt went much more smoothly. He got her the first night. She'd begged him for money. It probably would've been harder to keep her out of his car than to get her in there.

She screamed so loud when she regained consciousness that Charlie worried that even the extensive soundproofing in his basement might be insufficient, so he put on the leather gag. By the third day, she wasn't screaming very loud anymore, and he took it off.

* * *

His November 24^th hunt was about average. Last year around Thanksgiving he'd told his victim that he was celebrating with human flesh instead of turkey, and then he read her some cannibalism jokes he'd gotten out of a book. He dug out his notes and did the same thing this year. He didn't really eat her, though.