"Hey, you! New kid. Go tell 'Mr. Carson' that we just got the dates for his trial." Officer Jensen barked at me. He was a big, beefy guy whose stomach jiggled like Saint Nick's tummy when he walked. Of course, they make the new guy in the department be their lackey. Bloody stupid was what it was, but I got up and grabbed the memo with the information that Jensen placed on my desk when he came over.
I walked into the back, where we kept the cells and pushed open the door. In the cell in the middle of three was our single prisoner. He was lying on the bottom bunk that was a little bit too small for him. His left leg was dangling off the bed, foot on the ground, and was snoring peacefully. How anyone could sleep like that after they had murdered about a dozen people was beyond me.
I walked over to his cell and kicked the bars hard. The loud metallic rattle made even me jump in surprise. Carson, however, just as I jumped back in alarm, sprang out of the bunk, head millimeters away from bumping on the top of the beds. When he realized what had made the noise and noticed my existence, he stalked over to where I was standing.
"You rang?" His throat still sounded thick with sleep and his voice carried an edge of bitter humor.
"Yes, I did." I looked him in the eye to show him that I was going to be in control of this conversation and he couldn't scare me, no matter how many people he killed. But when I locked our eyes, I saw something in them. There was a darkness there that terrified me. His eyes were the kind that could shoot out daggers with a single glare. I recoiled from his stare, which immediately put me in his power.
I smoothed out the piece of white paper that I accidentally crumpled when I jumped back. "Mr. Carson, we are finished collecting evidence from your house and in two days, we'll be done processing it. That means in three days, you shall have your court trial. And don't count on walking away free."
At that, I brought out a victorious smirk, knowing that he won't see the outside world for a long, long time.
After the naff little kid came in to tell me his opinion on my soon-to-be court trial, I went back to my bed to lay down. Almost instantly, when my bum touched the bunk, my thoughts turned and started revolving around Beth.
I couldn't get over the way she made me feel. I always think about what she looked like when I first chained her up. She really was a vision from heaven, even with her head lolling onto and resting on her raised right bicep. She enticed me in a way no other girl had ever made me feel. Although, Silvia was a "close" second…
Even with Beth always crowding my subconscious, it was Steve who stood out most. It was almost comical how a man that I never even knew, stood out more vividly in my head than a woman. But it wasn't the way he made me feel, it was what I felt when I killed him. It was what I smelled, what I heard, what I saw, what I tasted. It was so vivid in my head that bits and pieces of what had happened frequently flashed around in my mind.
I always thought it was funny, funny how I heard people say in random conversations, or in books that I read, or on television shows I watched, that blood didn't have a smell. It didn't have a taste. After Beth and Steve, I was about 600% sure that were all wrong. What did it smell like? Oh right. Irony.
When I whipped Beth, the strong, overpowering iron smell wafted frequently over to my nostrils. When I massacred Steve, however, the repugnant blood smell clung to my walls for days. But it was only that one time. All the other guys: Jacob, Bill, Adam, Gerry, and Mike; their scents weren't very strong or lasting. I believe it was because your 'firsts'
I could still recall the way Beth had tried her best not to show her pain and suffering, while the other girls did. I can remember the surprise I felt in the way Steve's bones felt under the teeth of the chainsaw. I could still taste his blood, which was metallic and bitter, as it soaked through the rag around my face and dripped into my mouth. The images in my head were as vibrant as the day I first saw them.
I began to think of Beth yet again, when I remembered Silvia. Poor bird. I wonder what'll happen when she tries to yank out of those handcuffs. My darling Beth couldn't do it, as well as that fragile little lamb, Silvia, would never be able to. I still think of myself as clever for thinking up the cellar for my killing activities. It is hidden, so no one would ever think of going through a pantry to get to the little door that leads to it.
Late that night, I laid awake in bed, trying to get at least an hour of sleep. Come on, Shoemaker. Just sleep! But for me, it was hard. All I could think about was the information the guys had found on Dayne Carson, whom I had met that afternoon.
His file was actually kind of sad and morbid. His father was schizophrenic and refused to be medicated for it. He died about ten years later. His mother disappeared when he was very young, and every girlfriend his father had had fallen off the face of the earth, for all we know of them. They just never came home. I think the abandonment attributed to Mr. Carson's serial killing.
But we know for a fact that almost all of Dayne's girlfriends since the Yank came have mysteriously left and never heard from again. All of them were last seen with him. And after we escorted Carson out of his house, we found an aluminum baseball bat that tested positive for blood. We also know that the blood on his shirt and the floor was human. The results came back belonging to a Silvia Lesile. She was also known for recently dating Dayne and was last seen with him. This guy was bad news, despite his probable mental condition. At least he'll have his court trial soon.
I rolled over on my side, flipped my pillow to the cool side and punched it until it was the right shape. I was just starting to feel the wave of sleepiness hit me when I finally realized I was going to be able to sleep.
The one thing I dreaded was meeting up with Mr. Carson tomorrow. No matter what anyone said to me, he was still a terrifyingly cunning guy.