The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [127]
Vail looked at the wall of crime scene photos: Marci Evers, Noreen O’Regan, Angelina Sarducci, Melanie Hoffman, Sandra Franks, Denise Cranston, Eleanor Linwood.
“Some things,” she said, “end sooner than they’re supposed to.”
fifty-five
He was hungry again and fighting the urge to do something. He couldn’t hold himself back much longer, which meant he needed to start planning his next target. He already knew who it had to be, but it would be a tough one. Much tougher than the others. Tougher for reasons only he knew.
But as the old man had said time and again, “You gotta be fuckin’ tough.” There wasn’t much worth taking from the man, but that was one thing he never forgot. Because when dealing with that bastard, you had to be tough just to survive. But his definition of “tough” differed from his father’s. The old man meant for others to take what he had to give, to endure the pain. Taken another way, it meant having the strength emotionally to defeat him. To eventually find a way out, an escape.
And as time passed, that way out became clear—at least, it was a method by which he could deal with it all. As he sat in his studio, the kiln cooking his class’s ceramic work, he sat down at the keyboard and thought of the time when the light finally came on, when he realized who he was and how he could deal with his situation.
Like any thirteen year old, I’ve got my limitations in dealing with adults. They’re bigger and stronger. But I’m getting bigger, too, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let him continue to take advantage of me without some kind of consequence. So I’ve been putting up a fight.
But that hasn’t stopped him. Now he knocks me out from behind and ties me down. I know because when I wake up I’ve got a bump on my head and rope burns on my wrists and ankles.
But he still hasn’t found my secret room. I can get there from outside the house now, through the crawl space. Caught me a ’coon who was trying to move in on my place because it was warm. Reminded me of Charlie, but his eyes were bigger, and I didn’t like the way he looked at me.
He’s not a problem anymore. I took care of him, and that was that. My secret room is the only reason I stay here. It’s my place, I call the shots. And I don’t want anyone in here, not even animals.
Sometimes the simplest of goings-on makes you realize how things really are, and what needs to be done. Once you see how straightforward it all is, how the solution was right in front of you all the time, you get mad and promise yourself you won’t make the same mistake twice. You learn from what you’ve done, get smarter.
As he flipped through his photos, the ones he stole from Super Agent Vail, he realized that he’d missed out on an incredible opportunity. What a perfect way to relive the kill. He could buy a camera, take photos of the bodies like the cops do. He could store them on his laptop and view them anytime he wanted. Even better—a camcorder—one of those small ones—could be set up on a tripod to record everything. Then he could watch it. Play it in slow motion. His pulse quickened just thinking about it.
And he could walk into any store and buy one. A normal Joe buying a camcorder like any American who wants to tape his kids, grand-kids, nephews, bitches.
Out to tape his bitches. Dead and alive.
Ultimately dead.
fifty-six
The tour of Silver Meadows Assisted Care was longer than Vail would have preferred. She had much on her mind, and the last thing she wanted was a sales pitch that had more shine than shoe polish. Especially