Malefica

Chapter Eleven- Mementos

If you follow the old railroad tracks out of town, and into the wilderness, you will eventually come across an old house-ruins, mostly. What remains is a skeleton- scorched wood spaced out widely, patches of roof pulled back, bird's nests and cobwebs. Behind the corpse of the house is a bomb shelter.

Bomb shelters were built during the 1960s to protect citizens from possible nuclear attacks from Russia. No, the house was not bombed. It's demise is a different, unrelated story. The best thing about the shelter, he had discovered, was that, through the thick concrete walls, every sound was muffled into nonexistence. The walls were absorbent, drinking the sound in, and holding it like a sponge.

He had been testing the place out for a while, and after testing it, he had begun setting things up. His leather bag, full of rope and duct tape and other useful supplies. Like pliers and knives and scalpels. Today was the day to test it out. He could feel it as soon as he had awoken that morning. Deep in his gut. Today was the day.

He went to town, and sat down at a local coffee shop. He was searching for the girl he had seen a few weeks ago-the one who had stopped, and smiled at him, and walked away. Her apron had the name of this coffee shop printed in cursive across the front. He waited for her to appear.

Finally, she did. Walking from the back like the coffee bar was her stage. Mid-thirties. Long blond hair. Strawberry lips surrounded with faint smile lines. Beautiful. Simple. He watched her work. She was deft, and fluid, her movements graceful. A wedding ring flashed on her ring finger. He stared at it contemplatively.

Finally, the work day drew to a close. He had been sitting in the same booth for three hours. He watched as she walked back into the back, flipping off machines. Her coworker waved a quick goodbye, and left her alone.

The man stood from his booth, and followed the coworker out. He stood in the shadows, and watched the other man ride away on his motorbike. After about thirty minutes, the woman appeared, walking out of the front door.

As she turned the lock, he approached her from behind, and pressed the cloth to her face. She fainted. Ether. It does the trick.

He quickly loaded her into the backseat of his car, binding her wrists, and driving off, passed the old railroad tracks, out of town, and into the wilderness.

Today is the day.

...

A group of officers, so many officers, were gathered in a field just outside of Malefica, staring down at the body.

"How'd you hear about this?" Officer Smith asked, eyes narrowed beneath the thick frames of his glasses. The glass made his eyes look huge. Cartoony.

"An anonymous tip from a payphone down by the gas station," Officer Willis said, shaking her head. She was only forty, but all ready going gray, the stress of the job aging her prematurely.

"Load her up, take her to the lab, we need to identify the body," one of the younger officers was shouting commands at the others. Officer Smith ignored the man, and looked back down at the body.

She was lying flat on her back, her hair spread out around her, her lips parted in death, wide blue eyes staring up at the sky. She had been redressed, it was obvious, because there was no tears in her clothing. No indication of struggle.

Rigor mortis had already set in, she had been dead awhile. Something about death had changed her, like it wasn't really her, but a poorly drawn portrait. A caricature.

"I know who she is, she works at the Coffee Shop," Officer Smith sighed. "She used to take my coffee order every Sunday before church, but I never knew her...I wish I would have talked to her now..." he looked away from her, he couldn't bring himself to look at her corpse any more. "Dianne Fox. That's her name."

Officer Willis nodded. "I knew her too...she used to babysit my friend's children. Real sweet lady," she said, and the two of them walked back to the other officers, leaving Dianne's body alone.

When they got her to the lab, they found evidence of rape, but no semen. Her body had been mutilated post-mortem- pieces of skin removed in large areas across her stomach, with a sloppy sort of conviction. Cause of death- slit throat.

"The killer is more than likely a white male," Officer Willis began analyzing. "Mid thirties, a local," she paused, switching from analyzer, to profiler. "I see her, I want her. I am angry because I feel she has rejected me. I have had issues with women in the past. But I am in control now."

One of the younger officer was taking fast, sloppy notes as Officer Willis talked. "I know one thing for certain," Officer Willis said, changing from profiler to herself again. "We're going to catch this asshole."

...

The man made his way softly down the stairs of his storm shelter. He had finally made it his, decorating it with strips of skin, and blood. Blood soaking through the spongy concrete. He grinned at the thought of it. His.

In his pocket, he carried his first trophy. His first memento.

He found a shelf in the back corner, clear of objects except for cobwebs.

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the wedding ring. Inscribed inside were the words "Til Death do us part," in heavy cursive.

He sat it on the top shelf.