Chapter Fifty-one
Brooklyn, 2011
She had gone insane. That was the only explanation Sheila could come up with. Less than a half hour ago she had him alone in that alley all ready for the slaughter. It would’ve been easy and safe. Nobody had seen them together in that Bushwick bar, and nobody would’ve stumbled on them in that alley. But instead of injecting him with a dose of succinylcholine when his back was turned, and then having another do over with good old dad that she so desperately wanted, she had put the needle away and invited herself to his apartment for sex. Since then they’d been seen together by enough people to where it would no longer be safe to kill him, and now she was standing naked in front of him, which had to mean she was actually planning to have intercourse with him, and she couldn’t understand why.
If he hadn’t drawn that picture of her, she would’ve made him her next victim, but that picture changed things somehow. It was very beautiful in its own way, but it also touched her that he saw her like that instead of as simply a pretty face, nice set of tits, and a tight ass. Or as just an enormous bag of money. But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t kill this lumpy, toadlike man. It couldn’t have been.
He still hadn’t taken off any of his own clothes. Instead he sat on his bed fumbling awkwardly with his top shirt button while looking absolutely stricken. Almost like he might drop dead of a heart attack at any moment.
“Would it be okay if I turn off the lights?” he asked.
“Oh for God’s sake.”
She stepped forward and ripped his shirt open, popping off the buttons. He looked like he was on the verge of tears as she pulled the shirt off of him, and then yanked off the undershirt he wore underneath. Half naked he was even doughier and more repulsive than she had imagined.
“Can we talk first?” he pleaded.
“You have me naked and willing, and you want to talk? I’m betting you don’t do this very often.”
He looked away from her ashamed. “No, I don’t,” he said. His voice lowered to a whisper as he admitted, “This will be my first time.”
“How old are you?”
He tried smiling, but it didn’t stick. “Forty-four.”
She sat next to him on the bed. “You never used a prostitute?” she asked.
He shook his head, his cheeks reddening. “I didn’t think it would be right to do something like that.”
Sheila understood then why she didn’t kill this man in that alley. Even though he was the right age and, as long as she squinted, had enough superficial physical similarities, she still wouldn’t have been able to imagine this man as her dad, especially after seeing the picture he had drawn of her. She was going to have to find someone else for her next Mr. Proops do over, because, as she was learning, the release she got from these killings didn’t last very long. After only a few months she’d start feeling the compulsive urge to have her do overs again with suitable replacements for dad, mom, and sister. Maybe even later that night she’d search for another substitute for her dad, but it wasn’t going to be this man.
Her voice softened as she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why did you choose me?”
She looked at him confused, at first wondering if he could’ve been asking why she had picked him for killing, at least initially. Did he see her brandishing the hypodermic needle in that alley? Or when she was in his bathroom minutes ago, could he have looked through her pocketbook and found the hammer and chisel that she had wrapped up in a hand towel? Did he somehow figure out that she was the Skull Cracker Killer?
“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously, her muscles tensing as she wondered whether she might have to kill this man after all, even if it wasn’t safe.
“You’re beautiful,” he stammered out. “Beyond beautiful, really. Anyone would think that. I know I’m ugly. I’ve been told that my whole life. The little hog ogre. That’s what they called me throughout school. I don’t kid myself about it otherwise. I’ve accepted it.” He hesitated as he stared down at his hands before adding, “You could’ve gone home with any guy in Bushwick. Forget Bushwick, any guy in the city. So why me?”
Sheila relaxed as she put out of her mind the violence she’d been briefly considering. She also realized then why she’d gone home with him, and why she was willing to have sex with him. He may have been repulsively ugly, but she felt a certain affinity with him. A closeness that she’d never felt before. He might not have been repeatedly violated and tortured as a child (under the guise of punishments), but she was sure in his own way that he had suffered. She had a wicked thought then. The FBI profiler had been so damn smug the other day when he was talking on TV about how the Skull Cracker Killer had to be a loner who was incapable of intimacy or having a relationship. This dummy who thought he was so damn smart even got her sex wrong, claiming that SCK could only achieve sexual release through his killings. Well, maybe she’d prove him wrong on all fronts! Maybe she’d even hook up with this poor schnook for good. Even though this Henry character looked like a squashed toad, the idea of that appealed to her.
“Why not you?” Sheila asked. “Sometimes you just find yourself attracted to a nice guy who shows by a picture he drew of you that he sees you in a way nobody else ever has. How about we get those pants off?”