Page 4 of Pose for Me
I smile at her, letting her see the intentions in my eyes. She screams at the top of her lungs, her dread and anguish sending euphoria crashing through my veins.
Fuck, this is what I live for.
Her eyes lock on the small fifteen-blade scalpel I have in my hand. I twirl it around deftly, used to the feel of it during my times as a general dentist and now as an oral surgeon.
She visibly quakes, and her bladder releases, making a mess in her chair. I give her a dry look but continue to walk closer to her. Her wrists bleed as they wear on the coarse rope I have her bound with.
I run a gloved hand through the vital fluid that sustains her, wanting, fuckingaching,to see more.
Like all my captives, she asked what I wanted and what my plans were for her.
My plans were simple: I wanted to kill her. Once I laid eyes on her in my clinic, my drawing came to life, and she was marked for death.
When her screaming stops, I place a gentle hand on her chin. She tries to pull away from my touch, but I tighten my hold. “Janet, begging won’t help. Your life will end today, right here in this room.”
She cries loudly, her shoulders quaking. Her sobs do nothing but send more zings of excitement pulsing through me.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice thick, tear-drenched, her words barely audible.
I tilt my head as I look into her eyes. Eyes I plan to pluck from her skull. “Because I can.”
With that, I drag the sharp blade across her carotid artery, watching the blood spurt from the wound, coating my gloved hand, wrist, and running down my arm. The warm liquid makes tracks over my skin, turning the olive hue into a burgundy playground.
Janet pulls against the bindings, her eyes wide with fear and pain. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she bleeds out, making her more perfect than she already is.
When her chest heaves its last, her eyes dim and focus on me, the last thing she saw before the Grim Reaper claimed her.
Sure she’s dead, I grab a melon baller and deftly pluck her eyes from her skull, careful not to damage the skin around her eye sockets. I gently place the orbs into a small glass mason jar, then I complete my ritual.
It takes me about thirty minutes to wash her body with a chemical solution to remove any trace of DNA and dress her properly. Then I wipe the trails of blood from her eyes and reapply her makeup, light and with a steady hand to mimic the sketch I first saw in my mind’s eye.
Finishing applying her lipstick, I step back and rake an eye over her. She’s beautiful. The vacant caverns in her face where her eyes used to be are mesmerizing. Like I was staring into her soul and took what I wanted.
Gently, I run a finger around the empty space, feeling the softness of her flesh and the give of her eyelids.
Janet made the perfect canvas, the perfect kill.
My gaze drifts down to her wrists, the deep grooves where the skin broke and blood pooled under her in her bid forfreedom. A flash of white catches my gaze, the bone bright under the soft overhead lights I set up.
“You were more flawless than I could have asked,” I whisper to her corpse, thumbing over her visible radiocarpal joint. “Ready for your debut appearance?”
After I don new gloves and stuff the jar of her eyes into my jacket pocket, I lift Janet into my arms, taking her through my basement and up to the garage where my van is waiting. Carefully, I arrange her in the back and place the jar next to her.
I drive to a semi-secluded park close to forty-five minutes away. Traffic is light this early in the morning, and there are no cameras in the park, so I can take my time setting up the scene. I park by a bank of trees, looking around to be sure the coast is clear.
Rope in hand, I exit the van and pull Janet from the back, throwing her over my shoulder. I trudge through the woods, searching for the perfect backdrop to place my new canvas.
I find a stretch of pine trees that have some brambles flanking their bases, the lower part of the tree free of any branches, and the trunks thick and sturdy. They’re far enough away from the running trail that Janet won’t be seen unless someone crosses her path directly in either direction. Whoever ventures here will be in for a shock. I wish I could see the look on their face when they see my masterpiece.
I toss Janet to the ground and arrange the ropes around the trunk the way I want them. Then I grab Janet’s wrist and drag her over before angling her body and tying her in my desired position. I arrange her dress so it hangs just so over her slim frame and attach the bracelet to her right ankle.
When I have her body posed perfectly, I step in front of her and adjust her hair, making sure it obscures her face. Then I pull the jar with her lifeless brown eyes from my pocket and,with care, arrange them so they’re gazing up at her, taking in her beauty.
A faint smile crossing my face, I survey my work. I pull her sketch from my pants pocket, noting the similarities and how exact the pose matches what I saw in my mind’s eye.
“Thank you for tonight, Janet. You were perfect.” I roll my shoulders, feeling relaxed after claiming her life.
Folding the sketch until it’s small enough to fit in my palm, I place it into her dress so it won’t get ruined by any inclement weather or blow away in the breeze. After one last long glance, I turn back to the van, leaving my latest work behind.
