The Haldrec's Black Sheep

 

The Haldrec's Black Sheep

A short story by KC

 

            Her cries rang through the corridors, making the man sitting at the edge of his bed sorry he had ever taken her prisoner. And though he clutched his ears and willed her to stop… she persisted.
            It seemed that the long, low wails now came at all hours, day and night. It had been many weeks since she had initially come to stay with him, however unwillingly, and nothing about her brooding attitude amused him anymore. At first she had been welcome company in the decrepit house he had established lordship of, but as the days waned in length he grew increasingly restless and wished to be rid of the nuisance.
            In fact he had imagined her death, like all her predecessors, many times – fire, drowning, hanging, suffocation… each wilder than the last and each yielding greater satisfaction. How many times had this mentality forced his hand upon the necks of his victims? Over the years the unmarked cemetery had grown with the graves of nameless victims. Those lain to rest had proved unworthy and weak against him. Surely she could see she was different? Could she at least see he was willing to compromise? He doubted it.
             The screams were the only thing marking her as even semi-human. Though his treatment of her remained as patient and steadfast as ever she had grown thin... each meal that lay uneaten saddened him until, ironically, he thought of another cause of death- starvation.
            The sharp tongue she had possessed upon arrival had been filed, she hardly ever spoke anymore.
 

            Among all his previous kidnappings she had shown so much more potential, but it meant nothing if she'd have nothing to do with him. Her intelligence was unmatched by the other vapid creatures he had wasted time on, her beauty unmarred even by disdain and anger. And damnit he would have her!
            He silently fumed and lay back again, lacing his fingers behind his head. It took great self-control to curb the temper he could already feel rising. It clawed at him, tempting him to take greater measures.
            Suddenly, as if giving in, he sat upright. He crossed the room, but not before grabbing a curious looking robe of white fleece….
            He strode down the hall, slipping the garment on as he did. It fully covered him, leaving only the glittering dark eyes visible and even these were partly hidden by a black mask he also wore.

            He was called the Sheep by those who hated him years ago. It was a childhood nickname that had haunted him until he'd finally learned to use it to his advantage. What was to be feared from a man named Sheep? This had led to the downfall of many, including those who had so unknowingly bestowed the name. The simple word had birthed many cruel interpretations, each an attack on his intelligence, attractiveness, pr prowess.
            His intentions weren't malicious as he neared the door at the end of the hallway, but with a name like Sheep… well, you just never know.

 

            The padlocks groaned in protest as he produced a set of keys and opened each one in turn. Beyond the warmth of the hallway lay only the cramped quarters he had given her.
 She was sitting on the bed with her knees to her chest and a glazed, blank expression as he pushed open the door. He had cut her off mid-scream. Even in anger she appeared devoid of emotion. Oh how she infuriated him, a being so like himself and yet so far... he had saved her! His little debutante had faired better than most when pushed into the world, but even she had felt the animosity directed at those just a little bit sharper of wit and tongue.
            How often did society condemn a mind intent on liberal thinking? He had spared her of everything harsh in the world.
            All because she was perfect. An unspoiled innocent to the cunning ways of truth and deception. If he could save just one; one child's eyes from disaster, once pair of hands from unnecessary labor, one heart from corruption of morals…. It would be her.
            This was precisely why he had chosen her. The reasoning behind the rashness of keeping her here. After careful consideration he had finally picked a girl lacking every quality that had been the downfall of all those who'd come before her. He couldn't let her go… that touched upon a madness of unthinkable idiocy. She would stay… or she would die.
            He walked into the room, ignoring the way her eyes followed him. She was small and crumpled looking as she shifted nervously; bringing her legs closer to her chest.
            The high windows turned the room into a pallet of gray shades, soaking everything in charcoal, silver, and soot.
            He must keep his temper above all, but he pretended nothing short of annoyance. "Why must this go on at all hours?"
            She didn't speak. This had become the tiring routine. Nothing he did even elicited one sound. She was tight-lipped as ever, unwilling to surrender.
            He moved closer, bringing his face down to hers. "Well?"  His sharp brown eyes sparked with frustration when hers remained undaunted. He paused, waiting for a reply. She made a mockery of everything he had strived for. Months of work leading up to this point seemed wasted on this insolent creature.
            "Then allow me to talk instead," he continued, "Was it enough to isolate you? No. Even here, so far from the main house you're a nuisance! What have I done? I was a perfect host while your good behavior lasted. I have been patient. I have been accommodating. I have bowed and groveled and begged for cooperation… and has it worked? No. You're going to find that one of these days my generosity will have run out and I'd hate to be the only person to know what happened to your pretty little face…"
            He let the words hang, motionless and foreboding. Their eyes met and beneath his mask he was suddenly breathless and desperate for her answer.
            "Please, can I go home?" she said quietly.

            Her voice startled him. It was calm and imploring. He straightened again, glad for the progress, and crossed the room again. The curtains of the window rustled softly as he touched them thoughtfully. "Do you really want to go home?"
            She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. "…of course."
            " …and if that wasn't an option?" He found his eyes studying hers, however much he hated to see her expression.
            "They'll come looking for me you know," she said finally.
            "Who will?" He laughed, a soft wicked sound that seemed to fill the room. "Friends? Or how about your estranged parents?" He laughed again, "… or perhaps a boyfriend? It's been a month for God's sake. No one knows you're here. You cleared the way for me, alienating yourself the way you do. Moving cities constantly, using credit cards under dozens of alias', shunning romance and friendship. You brought this upon yourself."
            It was true. He could almost see the realization hit home. Though she was charming, and smart, and pretty there were few people she bothered to take an interest in. It was a weakness he knew well. One that separated them both from society. One that strengthened his belief in their union. It was what bound them together despite everyone else, what made them so alike. Trusting in anything else would be folly.
 
            He was too smart as a child, so gentle and quiet in nature. It was the way he spoke and his manner of acting that gave his peers license to mock him. Everything from his grades to his glasses were scrutinized and subject to brutal taunting. That was how the nickname had come about. It was a careless insult thrown at an easy target. Cutting deeper into his skin than anyone bothered to guess and destroying any remnants of self-worth or esteem.
            It was worse when he got to high school. His reputation for being a pushover had preceded him. He was the laughingstock of his senior class. There was no way to fight back, they already thought so little of him… and he hadn't done anything to deserve it. He could feel the females sizing him up, detecting the insecurity and vulnerability buried within him. He despaired.        Until finally, one brave girl separated herself from the giggling, snobbish group of females- and introduced herself as Jenn. As it turned out Jenn was to be his first love. Though, romantically, she had never stuck her neck out so far as to say she liked him… he could tell. Something stirred deep in his chest, purring into life whenever he saw her. It was meant to be.

            Or was it? Not long after her introduction Jenn had retreated, suddenly scared, back into the protective walls of the pack. Throwing him back into the obscurity from whence he came, a sort of sub-human whipping boy. Leaving him with only a confused, vague impression of what could be felt between a man and woman. But it was enough to whet his appetite. His thoughts of her became obsessive. He followed her, trying to regain what she had given… and then stolen, haunting her every move, until she had been forced into action.
            A public bashing had knocked him down a few notches. He had been sufficiently shamed….

 

            "Poor thing, you act as if I really liked you! But we both know the truth. You're so desperate, so starved for attention you'd have followed me to the ends of the earth. Done anything!" Jenn screamed, as the crowd around her howled with laughter.
            He didn't understand, standing there with his head hung low, eyes carefully averted from the countless pairs boring into him. There was a pause and he hoped she'd finished with her speech. But she went on, "It's pathetic, you're pathetic. For a taste of something you'll never have you'd turn tricks… follow a smiling wolf to the death, like a lamb to the slaughter."
            There it was…
            The word that, since being spoken, had caused such a deep mistrust in women. Lamb…
And that was all it took. The crowd swelled, burying him within its pulsing, chanting walls. "        “SHEEP! SHEEP!" They cried.
            Various hands shoved at him, catching on his clothes, ripping, tearing. And through the mob of students he saw Jenn, looking smugly down at the people she'd churned into a frenzy.  She mouthed a word at him, the sound lost in the buzzing voices… but he understood at once. She had said, "Baa."

 

            He had felt sick at the surge of hatred, he recalled, shaking himself out of the memory.    Jenn was in the past… the distant past he reminded himself, looking at his hands. They had known thirty years of life. Thirty years of barely controlled rage, of ignoring, of accepting.
Thirteen years had matured the childish anger, ultimately refining it into a vendetta against every manipulating, calculating female… everyone like Jenn.
            But despite his mistrust he had re-entered society after college and found the world to be much the same. There were still thousands of Jenn's littering every continent. Thousands of men not unlike himself still suffering at her hand.
            That was when he'd decided to act. He couldn't condemn every woman for the faults of one. So he set out in search of the perfect woman. Someone perfectly compatible to him, someone to love him as Jenn never had… even if he had to force her to. His chase had led him halfway around the world, examining girls of every race and creed- and discarding most he came across.
            He was doing much more than killing for the fun of it. He was a connoisseur of fine women. Each needed to be isolated, scrutinized, and tested with the utmost sobriety. So far none had met full standards- that is… until he'd come across the little spitfire in his makeshift guestroom.
            She was watching him with curiosity at the moment. Sitting with perfect posture, lips set into a perfect pout… she was perfect.
            Now for the testing…

 

            She cringed, intently aware of his dark eyes on her. He had been lost in thought only moments ago, now he was surveying her. She felt exposed and vulnerable under his stare, much the same as the night she'd found him in her house.
            She had thought of his outfit as ridiculous… but that had been before he spoke. His silky, oddly familiar voice had possessed a razor edge. Suggesting he wasn't to be trifled with. So she had had no choice but to follow him, not at the point of a knife or muzzle of a gun… but rather mesmerized into movement by his beckoning hand (er… hoof) and soft voice.
            Being finally faced with the nameless, faceless terror she'd been running from had been oddly less stressful than imagined. In retrospect she supposed it was the hour of night that had lent a surreal quality to the scene, blurring the lines between what she was doing and what she should be doing. Any sane person would've screamed. Grabbed a phone. Fought. Done something. Still half-awake and stumbling with words she supposed she wanted to go with him. In the murky light he'd seemed so terribly frightening but more exciting than anyone she'd met in a long time. Yes, maybe it was rather sick of her to think that, but try as she may she couldn't make herself be too scared of him.
            And yes, he was dominant and demanding but sometimes he faltered over what he was saying and suddenly sounded nervous. As if she made him nervous. And even horribly anxious about her role in whatever game he was playing she remained curious about him. She had even resorted to screaming to get any emotion out of him at all; it was the only thing to get under his skin. The only thing that made his eyes glitter dangerously as he watched her.
But more often than not when she finally heard the soft snicks of the locks she found herself mute, unable to do anything but stare when he appeared in the doorway. The ridiculous outfit silhouetted in the most laughable way.
If course she never dared to laugh. Her lips stayed safely pressed together, but her mind whirled with exploring the possible identities of him. Her fingers had itched on numerous occasions with wanting to tug at his mask.
That didn't stop her from hating him though. She resented his authority her, his dictation of every menial aspect of her life. Sometimes she caught herself wishing they were equals.
She'd lost count of the days since arriving; he'd said a month hadn't he? It couldn't have possibly have been a month, not even at her most introverted had she gone an entire month without contacting her parents. Not that they would worry… they ere coolly detached from one another, had been since she was ten, neither would be suspicious of a missed call. They would both venomously assume the other had ensnared her attention. No measures would be taken to locate or contact the only surviving reminder of their association. If she were to escape it would have to be of her own devices…

He could see the wheels turning in her head and it intrigued him. What could his arrogant little she-cat be thinking of? Contemplating surrender, no doubt. It would be wise of her. A nice demonstration of the wit and cunning he knew lay so cleverly hidden.
It wasn't as if she could stage an escape. The room was furnished with the bare necessities, nothing to make tools, however primitive, at all.
The grounds were extensive, even if she managed to get outside- not to mention the soaring fence surrounding the entire property. A security system, looking sorely out of place in the old house, had cameras trained on every door, inside and out.
She was trapped and he hoped she knew it. A little humility might do her some good. All this nose-in-the-air garbage was starting to make him violently ill. Still… something made him ask, "Would you like a tour of the house?"
He could have kicked himself. He almost made a swift retraction of the invitation. But she replied quickly with a startled yes. What had compelled him to ask such a question? Stupidity. He sighed, resigned to take her anyway.
"Just stay close to me," he warned.
"What, do you have a boogeyman is residence?" She smiled in a self-satisfied, amused sort of way.
He caught the sarcasm. "Maybe… or maybe there are just an awful lot of booby traps around here."
Her mouth snapped back into a grim line.
So much for conversation, he thought.

 

 

            Henry Haldrec winced. The sight of his late mother did nothing but make him recoil with disgust. And he would claim her as his mother only because they shared variations of the same double helix strand- other than that the women before him was unfamiliar. An alien apparition cleverly made from his own flesh and blood.
            She lay on the spotlessly clean table, a white sheet covering her pale, fleshy body from the neck down. Thousands of dollars were invested into that body. Ironic that it would see only the inside of its coffin from now on. Even in death she was immaculately made up, hair in place, nails polished... lipstick perfectly applied. No doubt all specified for years ago by her vain nature. Of course she would have employed someone to see to it.
            At only twenty he had been shoved into taking care of the funeral arrangements. His father, having had the life sucked out of him by his disagreeable wife, had died three years earlier. And they were, perhaps, the only three years since his marriage that he'd had any peace.
            So Henry was left to defend the family defend the family name, or rather what remained of it, from the hungry media. Because controversy surrounded the death of Marie Haldrec. All the trouble she'd caused in life had been magnified tenfold upon death.  Though most breathed easier with the insufferable wretch safely beyond this world. Some sympathized with her. Even went so far as to call her a victim.
            Poor Marie. Unloved by the man that married her, who had been so besotted on their wedding day, and the child she bore. Unlucky cards dealt to an otherwise lovely woman and being the chief reasons she'd become the vulture she was in the years preceding her death. What a pity, he thought with a rueful grin. He'd neither seen hide nor tail of the well-mannered woman some spoke of. But that wasn't uncommon; she charmed those who were willing to sing her praises and scorned the rest.
            Oh yes, Marie was a powerful wielder of fairy dust. She was a great beauty, but man-made all the same. Her beguiling tongue had been best suited for harsh words of reprimand. Her dagger-like, perfectly painted eyes had only ever looked at him with contempt. No... nothing about her had been lovely or well mannered.
            Henry couldn't remember a time when he'd ever addressed his mother any less formally than Marie, much less a time he'd thought of her lovingly. But this didn't distress him as much as it would some. He wasn't traumatized or scarred... in fact he wasn't any worse for the wear as far as he could tell.
            His father had been more than enough to compensate where his mother was lacking and the old man hadn't done terribly in the dual role. It was he that taught Henry the value of the right woman. So unhappy was Benjamin Haldrec in his marriage that he impressed the importance of perfect compatibility on his only child. As if by ensuring Henry's happiness he could somehow make his own hellish union to Marie more bearable.

           

            The man they called The Sheep smiled slowly as he remembered his father's cautionary words. Spoken more than thirteen years ago and yet they stayed sharp in his mind. As did the comforting image of his mother in her coffin. Even though the flesh had surely rotted away the fake nails would linger. As would the silicon implants embedded into her body.... and the diamond encrusted wedding band that had chained his father to her.
            He sighed. It had been such a long time since anyone had called him Henry...

 

 

            It only took her a few days to come up with her first plan. Catch him by surprise and run like hell. The chance came one day as he was escorting her to dinner.
She shoved him hard, trying to muscle past him at the same time. Caught by shock he sidestepped, attempting to move between her and freedom.
            But she was quicker; she slipped past him and was halfway down the hall before he caught up with her again. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around.
            "What are you doing?" He screamed, slamming her shoulders into the wall. She crumpled against it. His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her in place while he kneeled. "I expect an answer," he said.
            She turned her head, refusing to meet his eyes.
            He gritted his teeth, unable to ignore her snub. "Look at me." His voice had lost its previous fury. And his hands, gentle now, gripped the sides of her face, forcing her to face him. "I said look at me," he repeated.
            She did, but the glare in her eyes told him she didn't do it willingly. "Why should I? Every time I do, I see the same thing."
            "And what would that be?" His tone was soft and dangerous, daring her to insult him.
            "A coward…"
            Above her head his fist smashed into the wall. "Damn it! Look at me; do you really see a coward?"
            His other hand held her down when she jumped, fingers smoothing the fabric of her shirt thoughtfully. His excellent breeding returned, forcing his lost composure back into place. "I can assure you I'm nothing of the sort."
            Her eyes closed tightly, as if by that small action she could block out his touch. "Don't do that…" she said, exhaling sharply.
            "This?" he asked, running the pad of his thumb over her throat. "Might I remind you that you touched me first?"
            "That was different," she said.
            "Different? How was it different? A touch is a touch."
            "You know that's not true…." Her voice broke off as his thumb moved upward, feeling the way she nervously swallowed. Her pulse galloped underneath (or maybe as a result of) his touch as he traced the delicate veins of her neck.
            "What good did you think running would do?" he whispered, "Did you really think I'd let you go…. just like that?" He snapped his fingers in demonstration.
            Anger pulsed through his body, drawing blood to flush his face. Feeling feverish, he sank against the wall beside her, debating whether to reprimand her further or commend her efforts.
            After all, she was displaying the very characteristics he'd hoped she would. His initial fears that isolation and stress would weaken the traits he valued were unnecessary. She remained strong, fighting him at every turn, relieving his worries.
            "I don't want you to be unhappy…" he said, "I try, I really do. But you make it so difficult."
            She snorted faintly. "Well you did kidnap me." Beside her he tensed, she knew she'd made him angry again. But she continued, "I'm not saying I'm ungrateful for my basic needs. But what kind of life is this? You have no emotion. You go through the motions… like you've done this before. It's almost like you're waiting for me to disappoint you."

            How perceptive, he thought. She was only the latest in, so far, a long line of women. And although he didn't expect anything less from her… she still was completely in tune with him. No matter, she would learn.
            They had plenty of time…
            With a sigh he got up, offering her a hand. "Let me show you something."
            There was distrust in her eyes, he noted, and a hesitant pause before she extended her hand.
            His fingers met hers in warm welcome, palm folding over hers in a way that suggested being perfectly matched. She allowed herself to be helped up and led down the hall. "Where are we going?"
            He gave her a hand a little, reassuring squeeze. "You'll see…"

            That was exactly the kind of answer she hated. He was always so open-ended. There were never any definite answers to anything she asked. He wrapped everything in mystery, unwilling to allow anyone to understand him.
            And now, with her hand secured within his grip, she cursed her weakness. This unexplainable weakness….
            She should have resisted his enigmatic offer, and she would have resisted had she not been compelled by insatiable curiosity.

 

            The endless hallways fell behind them, the only testimony to their passing being their fading footsteps. The sounds reverberated, bouncing back from the walls to return, like obedient dogs, to their master's ears before dying away. He ushered her past door after door, once or twice pausing as if to open one…. but he always swept past them, dragging her along.

            "Come on!" He said, towing her by the arm. His footsteps fell heavy and loud, disturbing the year's worth of dust covering the floor. It scattered, marking in prints the proof of his passage.
            She bit her lip at his fingernails digging into her flesh, resisting the urge to brush his hand away.
            "Ah, here we are." He paused, letting his fingers stay on doorknob a moment before turning it and beckoning her inside with a disturbing smile.
            Though the lights remained off for several moments after she entered she could already feel the cavernous expanse of room before her. A flick of the switch was all it took to reassure her.
            It was large, extending almost a hundred feet, and nearly bare. The only furniture pieces were a tattered armchair and a small table. Each worn and scratched and companionably occupying the farthest corner of the room. This was where he led her, taking her hand gently and steering her towards them.

            Twelve boxes lined the table, sitting neatly in a row, each plain black and compact.
            At this sight a chill slid down her back. She knew what they were and even as he reached into his pocket, producing a thirteenth box, she backed away.
            He smiled knowingly, maskless, the once liberating costume long forgotten. "I'd hoped to leave your present here for a few days, you know- build up the moment- but then the perfect opportunity presented itself. I couldn't resist." He shrugged as if to emphasis his helplessness.
            Oh, God help her. She felt so sick. Sick with his words, at his actions… sick with his subtle innuendos. What had she done to deserve this? Was a life of solitude so unforgivable?
            She watched in terror, her eyes widening at the telltale bend of his leg as he lowered himself to one knee. He opened the box, holding it towards her eagerly, "Caitlin… will you-"
            "No…" She said it so low that she scarcely even heard herself.
            He leaned closer, looking doubtfully from her to the box and then back again. "What?" he asked.
            She began to cry, with this one small no she had sealed her fate, there would be no escape from his wrath.
            He crawled forward; head hung low like a dog that's been kicked too many times, fumbling for her left hand. He attempted to slide the ring into place but she pulled away. "No," she repeated, instinctively hiding her hands behind her back.
            He moved toward her with desperation in his eyes, entirely consumed by the uncontrollable hunger that compelled him. "Just let me…" He reached again for her hand, sliding across the floor on his knees.
            "Stop… please…"
            For a few minutes she had his undivided attention, he was flesh and blood- a man she so fleetingly saw- a man momentarily attainable but also vulnerable. Dropping his gaze from hers to inspect the box, he blew the dust from it.
            The foreboding cloud fanned across the room, settling over the remaining undisturbed twelve boxes on the table. 
            "What's the matter?" He asked flatly, his fingers idly playing with the box's silver clasp.
            He placed it on the table, his hands shaking the fragile legs, and the row of rejected engagement rings was complete. "Please what?" he said, an eyebrow rising in mock confusion. "Please don't kill you? Please don't love you?" He growled at her, losing himself in the sudden anger. "Tell me Caitlin, I don't understand! PLEASE WHAT?!" he screamed.
            She retreated farther, shrinking away from his rage.  "Please don't do this…"
            He kicked the armchair violently, sending it careening to the ground in a flurry of stuffing, and grabbed the first box from the table. "See this one?" He yelled, "This one was for Holly!" He threw it across the room, the lid snapped open as it hit the far wall, and a diamond ring went skittering across the floor.
  "And this one?" he shrieked, working himself into a temper, "This one almost belonged to Sarah." He flung this one too, his disturbing smile growing, and reached again- this time grabbing a handful of the jewelry cases. "Genevieve, Lena, Amanda, Nicky…" he sent each one sailing as he called the names. "All worthless!"
            He was sobbing now, throwing his hands up in defeat and collapsing to the floor, still screaming the names of the buried women as he overturned the table.
            The remaining boxes crashed to the ground with a series of dull, metallic clinks. "Cassidy… Lauren… Brianna…" he murmured, touching the three closest to him. And then he pointed to the final few, "Corinne. Leanne. Sasha… all worthless, each as undeserving as the last…"
            The hatred was gone from his voice, replaced by the despondent tones of regret and disappointment. "They were unwilling to love me. Or perhaps unable to handle the challenges of loving someone as complex as me…"
            "You'd like to believe that wouldn't you?"  She snorted, her bravery returning. "You're not as hard to understand as you think. What's so hard to grasp about you? You're insecure. Selfish. Stubborn. Haughty… in fact you know what your problem is? You don't want to be understood. You're so wrapped up in feeling sorry for yourself, you willingly run headfirst into rejection." As she spoke she moved closer, strengthened by his inactivity, getting louder with each accusation. "You are the fuse and flame of your own self-destruction!"
            His hands flew to cover his ears, fiercely shutting his eyes, "Shut up…"he said quietly, the dangerous edge creeping back into his voice.
    But she couldn't, the words poured from her mouth in a crazed fervor; bitterly slicing through his silence. She was helpless to stem the flow of venom.
            "Shut up!"
            On she went, daringly plunging ahead with whatever words found their way to her tongue.
            "I SAID SHUT UP!" He roared, lunging for her legs. She landed with a gentle thump next to him, and no sooner was she down then his hand was around her neck. "You b***h!" he screamed, cinching his fingers tighter. "You f*****g b***h, I'll kill you!" His grip was slowly cutting off her windpipe and she stuttered incoherently, choking. "What makes you better than me?" He shook her until her head lolled grotesquely to one side. "Huh? What makes you better than anyone, Jenn?"
            Her eyes rolled, the whites flashing as her eyelids fluttered up and down.
            "What's the matter, Jenn? You need to breathe? You need oxygen like the rest of us?"  He smiled viciously, counting the seconds until he passed the point of no return- until she blacked out and never regained consciousness. His knuckles, now white with the effort to remain so tightly clenched, paled further as the time of decision drew near.
 Four…
Three….
 Two….
 Think, Henry, think. Alive or dead? Alive or dead?
 One…
 
            Her sides heaved as he withdrew his hand, dragging in lungfuls of air to replenish her failing organs.  Her hand went to her neck, feeling the distinct indentions and swollen flesh where he had grabbed her. Still panting, she scrambled to her feet. He made a move as if to comfort her, but she stumbled away. "Don't touch me." Her voice was deadly serious, the panic of the last few moments replaced with burning hatred.
            He looked at his hands in disgust, holding them away from his body as if they were tainted. "I didn't… I didn't mean to… Oh, God."
            "Just stay away from me." She said, still backing up.

            The build-up of resentment and revulsion broke through his protected gaze, the years of rejection finally taking their toll on him. She was another lost cause, another disappointment. She had failed him in the worst possible way and payback was a b***h.  
            The inevitable task had become a source of comfort; her death would leave him relieved, and then after the relief would come sadness and finally the conclusion that her death was just another causality in the name of love. A stepping-stone toward the nirvana of perfect compatibility.
            There was no other option. Death would come, unstoppable and untimely,  sweeping her away to join the others in the graveyard.
            The overturned earth, chastely hiding its vulgar secrets, impervious to the passing of time was a safe haven for him. Time… relentlessly marching forward, smothering everyone with its racing seconds, was the perfect place to hide a secret. Buried beneath the years, a secret could flourish, feeding upon all of the dead moments… the unused moments, the moments never spent with anyone.
            He sighed, resigned to the act. His hands, the murderous hands that had seen many a slaughter, were suddenly uncontrollable. He reached for her.
            A delicious expression of panic settled over her fine features as she turned and began to run for the door.
            "Oh, now don't run Caitlin." He said, jangling a set of keys he'd taken from his pocket.
Her back stiffened and he knew that she'd figured out the door was locked. "Don't you want to stay? Even just a little longer? I promise to make it worth your while." A smile, the menacing, unsettling smile of a madman, spread across his face. He crossed to her, carefully prying her desperate hand from the doorknob. "Tsk, tsk," he said, wagging a finger at her, "Naughty girls lose their lives."
            "Please," she cried, "Don't kill me…"
            "Haven't you figured it out yet, Caitlin? For all of your brain power, all of your intelligence, you sure can play dumb really well." As he spoke he steered her towards the chair, and picked it up "Sit." He ordered.
            She obeyed, more out of fear than anything else. It was amazing how docile a person could become when faced with the prospect of death.
            "The history of this room is a bloody one," he began, settling into a story, "It's the same room your predecessors died in. The same room my mother died in. You might call it unlucky, actually.
            The lines of distrust run deeply in this room- engrained into the very fibers- oh, the stains may be physically gone… but they linger on beneath the surface. A wound disguised with perfume and roses never quite loses its festering stench, after all."
            He brought his face to hers, "Do you know what I mean?"
            She nodded, afraid that any other answer would incur his anger.
            "Good… I can see we're on the same page. Now, Caitlin, imagine that wound suddenly finds solace under the touch of someone. A relieving touch that soon becomes an addiction and then the source is ripped away, taking with it the scab." He made a motion as if someone were tearing his heart out. "Blood! Fresh blood, do you understand?" He shook her, pleading with her to interpret his chaotic rambling correctly. "Tell me, what gives someone the right to offer succor and then take it away?" He was nearly screaming now, lost in the bad memory that had held him captive for so long. "WHAT GIVES THEM THE RIGHT?!"
            "They must've done quite a number on you…"
            He looked at her disbelievingly and blinked. "Who?"
            "Your parents," she said, "They must've done something to traumatize you so badly…."
            He shook his head with disgust, "It wasn't a they, it was a she. Her name was Jenn."
            "What happened?"
             "It wasn't like that… nothing happened, Jenn was a coward, a bully who liked to inflict pain. In my junior year I became her latest target, not that she was the first to half a laugh at my expense…. She was merely the most excruciating." He ran his hand along the arm of the chair, picking at its worn threads. "I didn't understand women back then, I didn't have the…" he searched for a word, "I didn't have the finesse required to understand them. I was clumsy and unskilled, an awkward child in all the predictable ways."
            She nodded, able to commiserate. "I know." It was a small confession, one that fumbled over her tongue on its way out. She hated the feeling of comradery he charmed into being, as if by presenting her with artificial sentiment he could persuade her to love him. It wouldn't work. For all his research, for all his notes and files and papers, he still didn't understand the basic idea behind love. The fact that it's something to be taken willingly and given freely was still an alien concept to him. He wanted to force the emotion.
            She turned her attention back to him, having tuned him out. "What do you want from me?"         She asked, cutting him off.
            He looked startled, as if the question had never been asked of him. "Excuse me?" he said.
 "I said… what do you want from me? Anything. Just name it." She shrugged, "Name it. Whatever you want. My body? My mind? My heart?"
 "I'll settle for your mouth…" he breathed, closing the distance and pressing his lips to hers.
 She jumped back, upset by the contact. "What are you doing?"
 "You said anything," he whispered, gently pushing her back in the chair, "And right now I want your mouth"
 She made a soft sound as if to protest, but the thought dissolved before being spoken.
 "Shhh."
            His kiss was dangerous, the irrational coaxing of a madman, dragging her deeper into the vast emptiness of space. "We're perfect together- you can't deny that…"
            "Ugh, get off of me!" She said, his arrogant words effectively pulling her out of the fantasy.

            [Insert depressing, cheesy movie music]

            She shoved at him, "Get off! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
            He reached for her as she tried to get up. "No, wait!" His fingers scraped uselessly down her arm, leaving faint red marks.
            "Wait?" she sneered,  "Nothing will ever make me wait for you!"

             He could tell she was angry. Perhaps he'd taken things a bit far, maybe she wasn't ready yet. Then he shook his head in an amused sort of way. Nah…
            She was watching him now, carefully following him as he moved in a wide circle around her.  She was sizing him up, looking for a weakness. He had news for her. He had no weaknesses, no moral or chivalry system to honor, no one to dictate his actions tonight. It was the greatest of freedoms.
 
            Though the night's main event remained unavoidably attached to the schedule he couldn't help but toy with her a little longer. Once upon a time he had loved everything about her- her fire, her determination- it seemed a month of captivity had stripped her of those traits. What a pity she had proved domitable, so pitiable and unworthy… his time had been wasted yet again.
            Her grave had been dug, the newly turned soil littered with bone fragments. He'd even unearthed a skull or two, to which he'd cheerfully said, "Hello, girls!" before unceremoniously dumping them back into the dirt to be covered again.
            "You're going to love Cassidy," he said, smirking at her. "She was the talkative one, I had to slit her throat to keep her from screaming the night I killed her." He shrugged and laughed a little, "But she was a walk in the park compared to Corinne- I don't imagine she enjoyed being burned alive. Man, she had a set of vocal cords." He turned, searching the room as if unsure of something, "I think…. Yes, I think it was over there-" he pointed to the farthest corner, "The blood was damn near impossible to get up. Stubborn… just like her, you know."
            He spun back to her, "So, what about it Caitlin? Caitie?" He snickered, as if he'd made a hilarious joke, "Any last words? Or perhaps you'd prefer to die in a certain way?"  
            She glared at him. "Yeah, eighty years from now. Peacefully. In my sleep."
            He laughed harder, "My, my, what wit! Too bad it's come just a tad too late. You've already failed." He walked toward her, shoving her too the ground. Picking up one of the broken table legs, he swung at her, barely missing her head.
            She rolled, biting off a cry as the jagged wood grazed her neck. Red lines of blood appeared. She got unsteadily to her feet, swaying a little, and grabbed another table leg.
            "Oh, you like combat? Fair fight?" He sneered, swinging again. This time it connected with her stomach, leaving inch-long splinters visible through her torn shirt. The breath left her body with a loud whumph!
            She screamed in pain and in fury, staggering toward him. Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to hit him with her makeshift weapon, missing.
            He chuckled; amused with her fight, and just as she rose to strike again he swung a fatal blow.
            It connected with a chest, audibly cracking the breast bone, and the body fell to the floor. For it was a body now, without any life left. The last heartbeats faded into silence and the room was still.

 

 

            Henry Haldrec sat, staring out across the yard. Behind him a fire burned, stoked into a fat blaze. Ashes flew from the pyre, filling the air with gray flecks and more wood was thrown onto it, sending up a flurry of angry sparks.
            It was a depressingly, gray day; heavy with the promise of rain, burned flesh, and new beginnings as Caitlin shoved at his body, rolling it over the ground. She managed to get him maneuvered into the greedy flames, and used a stick to prod his legs further. His eyes seemed to follow her as she walked around the inferno, stopping to throw stray twigs in.
            She turned, feeling sick, as his face began to melt away, slabs of skin falling, sizzling and spitting, into the blaze, and then winced as the step tugged at the newly formed scabs. Her neck and her stomach ached, wounds to evoke her memories of the battle she’d waged with personified evil. She watched as the wall of flame moved closer to the house, hungrily devouring the rotting timbers… and the last reminder of Henry's horrifying reign began to burn.
            The grounds covered several hundred acres and it took a while to get to the edge of the property. Hills and gray sky stretched as far as the eye could see, broken only by the long curve of driveway fading into the horizon. It was an isolated feeling, sitting at the gates of the manor with only the burning house for company.
            Then as if making up her mind, she pushed the gateway. It swung easily open, heavy and creaking, and instantly there was an explosion from behind her. She spun around, suddenly scared, and watched the inferno move rapidly from the house to the surrounding grass.
She began to run but the wall of flame caught up to her almost as soon as she took the first step.
The smothering heat overpowered her, forcing her to the ground. Her lungs felt like they were internally smoldering, and they began to scream for oxygen as she coughed and sputtered, trying to draw breath. With one last ounce of energy she reached for the gate, for freedom, and then collapsed.
            Her body convulsed as the flames began to lick around her and she took a final breath; the thirteenth and last victim of the house's infuriating owner.

 

            The sky was filled with billowing, roiling smoke. The house, leveled to it foundations, still smoldered in the aftermath of the fire. Two bodies lay lifeless, unidentifiable, as the helicopter circled overhead, searching for survivors.
            But of course there weren't any. No one escaped Henry Haldrec…