Still he pressed his knee into the dead man's throat as if he had to put a stamp of success on this kill. This sort of battle and killing wasn't something he liked doing. Killing the old lady was one thing. That was nearly effortless on his part. This was a whole different scene, a victim who put up real resistance, so much in fact that he was surprised himself at how successful he had been. Producing death in the women he was with for sexual and feeding reasons came subtly at first and then with an ecstatic easiness that gave him pleasure. This sort of struggle with a man who could offer some opposition required a much bigger physical effort and was therefore far uglier to him. For one thing there was no sexual enjoyment, and for another it made him feel dirtier. The man's sweat was on his hands and the stench of his death, imagined or otherwise, was already rising up to his nostrils.
He stepped back and looked down at him.
Drool ran out of the sides of the man's mouth and down his chin. It was revolting. He hated him even more in death than he had in life.
"You know," he said, "when I first set eyes on you, I knew I was going to have to stamp you out. You're too ugly to live. And what kind of a life did you have anyway, huh?" he shouted at him, waiting as if he expected the corpse would smile and nod and agree he had no reason to be. He would be as grateful as the old lady had been. Or at least, he should be.
"This place...it's a world of death. You should have put yourself to sleep in one of the empty rooms.
"No, instead you were going to do me harm, weren't you? Me, who has ten times the reason to live than you do. You're... you're... an ant, a bug," he said and stepped on the man's swollen abdomen. The mushy feeling disgusted him. He gazed around the pathetic-looking apartment. The furniture looked as if it had all been rejected by a thrift shop. Not even a charity would accept it. The rug was worn so thin, he could see floorboard beneath it in spots, and the sofa dripped stuffing and showed broken springs beneath. The room actually stunk with staleness.
"This putrid life you led, it disgusts me," he muttered. He seized the man's right ankle and pulled the body along the carpet, his head bobbing and turning as though he was saying, "NO! Stop!"
He deposited the corpse in a corner so no one could look through the door and see it lying there. He even sat him up, leaning him against the wall so there would be less of his legs in sight. His head fell forward and he stared down at the owner's coal-black hair, bald spots now quite visible.
"So much for your stupid dye job," he muttered.
Then, he stepped back and tried to remember what he was going to do before all this had exploded in his face.
Oh yes, jog, he thought and started out. When he looked at the paper on the counter again, he stopped. His gaze went from the drawing to the door and then back to the drawing. He couldn't go out there now. Not with that picture plastered everywhere. Someone was sure to spot him.
He backed away as if someone was coming to the door. It was as quiet and deserted looking as it had been, but this situation was no good. Get in the car and drive away, he thought. Go where people won't see the picture and read the description.
"Maybe we should reconsider when you take your vacation, Terri," Hyman Templeman said. She and her mentor met first thing every morning to go over what they knew to be the day's expected events. "As soon as Curt can travel, take him and disappear for a while."
"You know that will be a while anyway, Hyman. Curt needs to be kept calm."
"Go sneak him away to my cabin in Willowemac then," he suggested. "He likes to fish, doesn't he? You'd be out of it and yet not so far you couldn't get back here in a short time if you needed to for any reason. You could go up there tomorrow."
She started to shake her head.
"You're not going to be much good to your patients like this, Terri. You think you can put it all out of your mind and for a while in your examination room here, you might, but every quiet moment, every pause in the action, you will be thinking about Curt, the attack on him, your fears, this madness.
"Are you going to be happy with a policeman parked in front of your home, in front of this office, following you everywhere you go? I know your mother," he added with a smile. "I'm surprised she's not camped out on our front lawn this morning."
"Give her a chance," Terri said and they both laughed. "I don't know, Hyman. Let me see how it goes, okay? And thanks."
He lifted his hands, palms up, and shrugged.
"Every time you think you've lived long enough to have seen everything, there's something new waiting around the corner."
"See," she said, "you have good reason to live forever." He laughed again and then they broke to begin to see the first patients of the day. Her lunch hour was cut short because Mrs. Mogolowitz kept coming up with new pains and aches extending her visit a good fifteen minutes. Hyman had wanted her to join him and Estelle at Willy's Luncheonette, the small village's one and only place for lunch, but she had decided to use her time to take a quick ride up to the hospital and visit with Curt. She still had a good two hours before she had to see her next patient. She wasn't all that hungry anyway, and she knew Hyman would just have Estelle join him in a ganging up on her to persuade her to take him up on his invitation.
Because her last morning examination had cut into her time, she wanted to drive faster. Having a police car on her tail was intimidating, however, and she stayed just a hair or so over the speed limit. When she arrived at the hospital, Curt's parents had just left. She considered that good fortune.
Her fiance looked tired and very upset when she entered his room.
"Dad showed me the newspaper," he said as soon as she kissed him and stepped back. "I don't like Will Dennis releasing your name and the event at your office like that. I think it puts you in even more danger. Dad agrees and your mother called me this morning. She's going to come after you with handcuffs," he added.
"If you lie here worrying about everything, you won't recuperate as quickly, Curt. You won't sleep well and you will be laid up longer," she threatened.
"Don't change the subject. What are you going to do tonight?"
"I have police protection, Curt, round-the-clock."
"It's not enough," he insisted.
She sighed deeply.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Stay with either my parents or your own," he replied. "Until I'm out of here."
"Okay," she said quickly. He raised his eyebrows suspiciously.
"I'll call," he threatened.
"I'll stay with my parents. I promise, swear," she said raising her right hand.
"You'll be able to tell. You'll see the aggravation in my forehead the next day." He finally smiled.
"I want to go home. They're not doing much for me here anyway," he complained, now appealing to her as a doctor.
"It will take a while for the bruising and swelling to go down."
"So? It. can go down outside as well as inside the hospital."
"We'll see," she said, noncommittal.
"Who is this guy? How is he doing these things, Terri?"
"I don't know. According to Will the FBI is here in what he calls significant numbers." She paused, wondering if she should add anything more substantial. Despite his condition, he sensed it.
"What?" he asked.
"They think he's definitely still in the area, something about a major change in his M.O., whatever that is. They don't tell me everything, of course. Maybe they know a lot more."
"I wish we were on our honeymoon," Curt said, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
"Maybe we will be," she told him, thinking of Hyman's offer. "Or, at least a test run."
He looked up sharply.