Freedom of The Press

Triumph

For the next few days I was overjoyed. I wore the belt I used to kill the worm proudly. I decended the dark basement stairs several times a day to admire my trophy. The eternally sleeping journalist I had branded. He looked almost beautiful lying there. His brown hair falling over his face, the frozen flesh nearly appearing like porcelain. Still the mark I had given him was the most beautiful feature, the blooms of purple and red that the ice had captured in time. It wasn't long before a couple of people got suspicious as to why I made such frequent trips to the basement and wouldn't allow anyone else inside. I then limited my visits, I can't have anyone else investigating my actions. 

Then my wife commented that the way I had been smiling recently was unnerving. Others said the same thing, that the way I smiled made them uneasy. I guess they are all just afraid that I have nothing holding me back now, no one left to expose me. I decided to take my victory further and put a lock of the journalist's hair in a belt buckle. When my wife asked about it I said that the hair was from a long deceased relative and that I had found the heirloom while going through some of our old junk. 

It didn't take long before the news told of his disappearance. It seemed to be quite an ordeal for those in the newsroom to write about the disappearance of their colleague. If I didn't want to keep it a secret I would have loved to see the look on their faces if they saw him now. Perhaps that would make them stop pestering me. The servants to his estate said in their interview that they expected a ransom note, but I'm never going to give up my priceless trophy. 

I am glad that I limited my visits to the basement. Not just because it minimizes suspicion but it also makes every visit so much more special.