Black Rose (12 page)

Dr. Anderson

I sit and scour the dating site. The cooling off period that serial killers experience has long ended for me. The last kill had been so exhilarating. It simply could not have been more perfect.

I suppose the reason I am resorting to searching this site is due to the fact that I crave intimacy in a kill. I can easily go and pick up some street whore and kill her, but I don’t like the way those crimes are depicted in the media. Street crimes are perceived as just that—street crimes—emblematic of race, class, and availability. You know…the whole wrong place, right time thing. My killing sprees are about anything but race and class. I rather prefer the intimacy of a suburban killing because I thoroughly enjoy the whispers of fear as people try to figure out how this atrocity could possibly happen in their neighborhood. After all, these things only happen to others, don’t they? I love being all powerful and planting fear in the hearts of those afflicted with having a false sense of security. They purposely move into a good neighborhood to raise their 2.5 children and then, all of sudden, out of nowhere, I appear and shatter all their illusions of safety. Yes, I truly am omnipotent…

I think, for me, much of it has to do with the hushed, frightened whispers from a public being terrorized by a man they don’t know the identity of. The public automatically pictures a maniac, a man of low class and social standing. I get my greatest rush from hearing the nurses’ quiet whispers in hospital halls about the mad man serial killer. They have no idea I am wolf in sheep’s clothing, standing right in their midst.

Needless to say, the excitement from the memory of my last kill has worn off and the craving has begun to stir the monster within me out of its lethargic state. The demon inside is hungry for flesh and blood, hungry for a dead, cold body to violate.

Yes! If someone doesn’t kill the beast that lies lodged within the recesses of my dark, depraved soul, the cycle will once again repeat itself. Either way, someone has to die…

Black Rose

The maître d’ immediately recognizes me and it definitely shows in his demeanor. I’m always astounded by how much a person’s behavior changes when in the presence of greatness. Money and social standing tends to cause people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. This is one of the reasons I love my little kitten; she couldn’t care less about prestige and wealth. My sweet girl cares about the important things in life, like her son. My mother had everything any woman could want and yet her mothering skills were inept. I doubt the witch cares whether I live or die.

I place my hand on Melanie’s lower back, guiding her in the direction of the private table I’ve reserved. Though the table is tucked away in a private corner, the large, plate glass window gives an accessible view of the bustling activity on the street. This same window gives me exactly what is needed for my preformed plan to go smoothly. Exposure is what I am after and today, I want the world to not only see, but to know, that my sweet Melanie belongs to me and only to me.

“Thank you. That will be all,” I inform the maître d’.

I lean down and whisper in Melanie’s ear, “I would have ordered you a white wine but you never drink before 6:00pm and usually you don’t partake before 8:00pm.”

Melanie can’t help but to be flattered by my intimate knowledge of details when it comes to her as I continue, “after you’ve put
our
son to bed.”

I am barely seated when her mouth drops open at the sight of a photographer snapping shots of the two of us together.

I chuckle as I lean in and speak, “Now the world will know we are an item, don’t disappoint me. You won’t be pleased with the results. I have a very dark side and I can assure you, you don’t want to be privy to it.”

She hugs herself as if a chill went through her—a chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning, a chill I gave her. I know she is afraid of me and I also know she can’t put her finger on why she has that fear.

I move my salad and situate myself next to her. “I’m not a monster. In fact, I am not the man you think I am at all. I like to think of myself as an equalizer, a man who levels the playing field for victims. I’m a man who makes opportunities for those who deserve them, yet have no access to them. I’m certain you have seen the various newspaper articles that tell of my encounter with a gang as a youth, have you not?”

She looks into my face and I raise my brow as if awaiting an answer. “Yes. I’ve seen them, Charles.”

“Then you know what motivates me to help others?”

Oh, the irony of those words.

“Charles, I am curious by nature. You can’t expect me to not be inquisitive.”

I cut my eyes at her in warning, “I don’t expect, I demand! When I ask you to do something, I expect for my mandate to be carried out verbatim. You should be very careful, curious one, you may find out more than what you’re bargaining for. Regardless of what you may or may not unveil about me, you’re expected to stay with me. Be very careful, love. I’m not a man to be toyed with. Now eat your soup before it gets cold, darling.”

Though my words are kind, the veiled threat does not go unnoticed. Once again, her trepidation towards me manifests itself in her eyes. So be it. She should fear me.

Dr. Anderson

I sit at my desk deep in thought. I can’t have that slut of a call girl, Selena, ruining my reputation. I can’t take a chance on her revealing that I was once one of her clients. Revealing information like that to other hospital staff will taint my reputation and ruin my social status. I’ve worked too damn hard to have some slut fuck it up. There isn’t only the fact that I fucked her, there is also the matter of all those other things I would have her do. Icing down and playing dead looks too coincidental with a serial killer on the loose who is into necrophilia.

Why haven’t I thought of it before? She will be my next victim. Nobody will care about a dead whore. It is the perfect plan and, as the old adage says, it will kill two birds with one stone.

Yes, killing Selena would serve to both quench my thirst for blood and shut her mouth for good. Though I don’t perceive her as the type to kiss and tell, I can’t take that chance.

Regardless of what kind of monster lies beneath my lily white reputation, the public views me as a saint. Hell, the only reason I’m marrying Evelyn is to give the appearance of normalcy. I’m well aware people don’t know the statistics that many times serial killers are married men with families. Evelyn is nothing more than my ticket to murder at will.

I’m always astounded when people are shocked to find out most serial killers are middle aged white men with normal lives. Perhaps that is the issue—our lives are too fucking normal, too boring and mundane. Regardless of the reasons, statistics don’t lie and they say a majority of us are Caucasian men in their thirties. What I’m saying is true, ladies. Look it up for yourselves. Google it, if you dare, and remember when you’re out there in your yard talking to your neighbor as he finishes cutting his grass, you just never know who you might be conversing with.

Melanie

His hot breath blows over my ear. As soon as we enter the apartment, he locks the door and pins me to the wall.

“I need assurance that my deep, dark secrets are safe with you.”

“I don’t know your deep, dark secrets, Charles.”

“Why, if I didn’t know any better, I might think that you were giving me an ultimatum. You sound like you may be saying if they are too dark, you’ll leave me. Would you dare to leave me?”

He clamps down on a nipple and speaks gruffly in my ear. “I’m a man who enjoys control. I need that—to be in control. In fact, in my bedroom I insist on it. I tell you what, Melanie, I want you to do something for me.”

“What, Charles?”

“Wear my engagement ring.”

“I’m not marrying you!”

“Wear the fucking ring. I want the world to know that you belong to me.”

He spins me around, cupping my face in his hands. “I’m going to bend you over the arm of that couch over there and fuck you senseless. Tonight, I am coming back over here and doing the same thing again but I’m taking my time this evening. Right now, I have to get back to work so I’m just going to fuck you fast and hard like the real bastard I am.”

I can feel the moisture pooling between my legs. It doesn’t matter if this man is a monster. He’s my monster—my beautiful, damaged monster. My body doesn’t listen to reason when it comes to him.

He pulls me over to the end of the couch and forcefully bends me over it, smashing my face into the cool leather as he palms my upper back between my shoulder blades. I can hear him fumbling with his zipper and then I feel the cool air graze across my ass as he lifts my dress. His hand strikes my ass three sharp times, bringing tears to my eyes.

“I never forget discipline, Melanie. You just never know when it’s coming with me. The element of surprise is a true weapon when used correctly. It offers control, my love, because the offender never sees it coming. You answer my fucking texts from now on. The next time it will be with a cane. Now would be a good time to say, ‘Yes, Sir.’”

“Yes, Sir,” I sniffle through the pain induced tears. How can a hand hurt that severely? His hands are so large that the sting covers one whole cheek of my ass!

He doesn’t even take the time to remove my g-string. He just pulls it to the side and begins stroking the head of his cock in my opening. When I turn to look at him over my shoulder, his palm slams down on my ass cheek and, once again, tears fill my eyes to overflowing at the fresh onslaught of pain.

“Did I give you permission to look at me?” He smacks me again and I instinctively cry out, “No, Sir.”

“Oh, you are so wet. You are just as twisted as I am. Your cunt gets wet for a man who uses you and takes you at will like you’re nothing but property—my fucking property. You enjoy the nasty, vile, dirty things I do to you. Don’t you, Melanie?”

His fingers lock onto my hips. “Tell me, beg me to soil you, to use you, and to defile you. Beg me to take you and violate you. Beg me to fuck you like I hate your guts.”

I do it. I do everything he asks me to. I know in my heart of hearts that I won’t care what I find out about him. I will never reveal his secrets. I have fallen prey to a man who may or may not be a monster.

Whether I like it or not, I am bonding with this man. My body is addicted to Charles the same way that a junkie is addicted to drugs. My drugs of choice are dopamine and endorphins, and Charles gives them to me. There is no way I am going to take a chance on losing the best sex that I have ever experienced.

Now who is the sick, twisted fuck?