And if they didn't, there was something wrong with them, it was not his problem, he was certain of that. Some women were just like that, so to hell with them. Strangely enough, it was not necessarily the ones who didn't respond that he killed. There did not seem to be any pattern to his choices. He had given it a deal of thought, trying to figure out what the victim might have done to trigger his response, but he could never find any consistent cause.
Sometimes he thought of himself as a wolf or a lion. some strong and wily carnivore that selected its prey out of the herd from among the weak, the lame, the very young, but that model wasn't right, he didn't work that way in picking the ones he killed. But then he didn't do the picking, that was the key. It was not his needs that made him do it, it was the mania. The mania operated on its own timetable, in accordance with its own hungers.
He thought of the mania as something apart from himself, but he did not disapprove of it, he did not resent it. Far from it. Despite the danger and complications, it was welcome when it arrived and he always felt bereft and depressed when it was gone.
His current victim was named Inge, a young German girl working as an all pair in Clamden for the summer. Summer was a great time to find victims, they came from abroad and they came from the great Midwest to be mother's helpers. They were young, eager, innocent, and lonely, frequently away from home for the first time, disappointed at the dreary and confining routine of cleaning house and acting as baby-sitter, seeking the excitement and sophistication they had expected to find in far-off Connecticut. They were all rebellious in the first place, or they would not have come. And they were dumber than older women; he could had never heard before, sincerity was tell them lies they not so important, they had never seen it anyway and didn't know how to recognize it. It astounded him the things he could say to them, the things they would believe. He usually had no problems other than overcoming their initial resistance to his age. Many of them liked the idea of an older man anyway, and once he had talked to them for a few moments, they saw the sensitive, loving, patient, troubled man within.
Or that's what they thought they saw. What they did not see, because they were blinded by the mirrors of his art, was the wolf that sat in the dark corner, grinning, salivating, laughing softly to himself.
Inge was a groaner, and he rewarded her by taking even longer than usual. The silent ones were difficult, there was too much guesswork involved when they provided no allditory feedback. It was much better for all concerned when he knew how things were progressing, what worked and what didn't, what she liked and what she liked even better. Some of them told him directly what to do, and of course he did it, but there was always an air of command to such a direct approach. He didn't like to be told what to do, he preferred to discover it, to improvise as he went alongand of course, the victim benefited from such an arrangement as well, because he could come up with combinations and approaches that she'd never known before. And sometimes things that he'd never done before. There was art to sex as well as craft, and the permutations were limited only by the imagination.
He continued tugging at her breast with his mouth and she moaned, in her slightly accented English, 'You are making me crazy. Oh, you, you.' He grinned to himself without removing his mouth from his work. Sliding his hand slowly from the other breast to her legs, he toyed first with her inner thighs, teasing the tender skin until she was arching to meet his hand with her pelvis. When he caressed her tenderly between her legs she writhed and moaned even louder.
Oh, you make me crazy,' she gasped. 'What you are doing to me? You make me crazy.'
Inge was practically bowling now, He wondered if that was the European influence. American girls of her age were usually too inhibited to enjoy themselves so obviously. They went at it, he often suspected, because they thought they were supposed to, not because they allowed themselves to truly delight in the experience.
When he entered her at last, she cried out, then buried her teeth in his shoulder. He pulled away.
'No marks,' he said sternly. He had to go home to his wife after this and he couldn't come in spotted with bruises and discolorations as if he'd just been in a fight. She was suspicious enough as it was.
Inge paused slightly at the rebuke, so he withdrew himself partway and lingered there at the very opening, teasing her with it. She went into a series of gasps as if hyperventilating, and when he plunged into her she gave a shuddering sigh. He held still then and took her head in his hand.
'Oh, baby,' he whispered, and felt her shake all over in response to the endearment, the clutch of her head, the fingers in her hair. It was amazing what they fell for, what simple tricks they mistook for passion, what passed for affection with them.
He heard the step in the hallway outside the door and stopped moving again, waiting to listen. Before the scratch on the door he put his hand over Inge's mouth. The scratch came again, louder, not quite a knock.
'Inge?' a woman's voice called. Inge's eyes bulged with fear but Captain Luv grinned broadly down at her. Some real fun, he thought.
'Are you all right, dear?' Inge squirmed beneath him, trying to get free, her eyes frantic. She had smuggled him into the house in the dark of night, certain that she would be safe in her own room after the mistress went to bed.
'Are you all right?' the voice insisted. 'I heard you giviining, are you sick?… Are you having a nightmare?'
She's having Cap'n Luuuvvv, he thought. How about you? He withdrew from Inge and stepped unhurriedly toward the closet. He would not be caught, he knew that, he had never been caught and he never would. He was too controlled, too cool in a crisis. Even when the mania was upon him, he never got stupid. A wolf did not become frightened or flustered when trouble arose. It became even more of a wolf. Captain Luv was never more himself than when others would be panicked.
'May I come in, dear?' the woman asked, but she was already in the room, the light from the hall casting its beam on Inge, who lay, flustered, on the bed.
With the door still ajar, Captain Luv nestled in the darkness of the closet, holding his clothes, his shoes, his socks. There was no trace of him left behind except for the high flush on Inge's face. He was never careless, always meticulous in the cleanup. Like a shadow, he thought, I am come and gone, leaving nothing behind. No proof, no evidence, not even a suggestion. Neatness in the workplace, he thought. The woman stood next to the closet-he could see her through the crack in the door, the hall light haloed around her head. I know you, he thought happily.
She was a woman in her thirties, a young mother of two. Quite pretty, not that that mattered to Captain Luv; he was an indiscriminate lover, offering his services to the comely and plain alike. He could see her breasts through the skimpy material of her summer nightgown.
Perhaps he would seduce her another time, he thought, chuckling to himself. That would be good, that would be perfect. Only a mother-daughter combination would be better. But he had done that, of course. He would find an excuse to run into her next week and start a conversation. It frequently took little more than that. Just give them some attention.
The mother was trying to comfort Inge, who had inexplicably burst into tears, muttering some incomprehensible nonsense about a nightmare.
Captain Luv could imagine the mother sitting on the bed next to Inge, who would have the sheet pulled up over her nakedness. The mother would put her bare arm around Inge's uncovered shoulders, flesh to flesh, lean her pretty head against the all pair's. Her breast would be pressed against Inge's side. He thought of stepping out of the closet and presenting himself, buck naked, suggesting a threesome. He had to stifle his sniggers at the thought.
Again, he heard the footsteps before anyone else. A heavy tread in the hall, and then a man was in the room.
'She had a nightmare,' the woman said.
'Uh,' the man grunted. He was wearing only pajama bottoms, his arms crossed over his broad and hairy chest. Standing in the gap of the open closet door, filling the gap with his size, he ran a hand through his rumpled hair. 'Pretty loud.'
The man cast his eyes around the room. Looking for me, thought Captain Luv. Quite right, too. Can't have young Inge fucking while the kiddies lie asleep next door. A young husband and father should be suspicious, there was an awful lot of sex around these days. Probably not with your wife though, eh? Probably not nearly often enough with the good lady, but not to worry, Captain Luv will take care of that. Please the lady and relieve you of the duty.
