“What do you think?” he said, doing his best Vanna White impersonation and waving his hand in front of the books.
“Looks like you’re going to be spending the night. That’s a lot of material,” she said, scanning the books.
She picked up the top couple of books, looked them over, flipping to the inner front cover and reading the synopsis. She did the same with one of the magazines, noting that it was from the 60’s. Looking through the items Seymour had collected it dawned on her that she’d seen several of these already tonight.
“Seymour, is there a chance that the guy you ran into outside tonight is in your class at school, the deviant behavior class?”
“No, why? I know all the students by face if not by name and he’s definitely not in that course. Is something wrong?” he asked, with a hushed tone.
“No, I’m sure not, but it’s just kind of a strange coincidence that the books he had pulled and was researching are almost exactly the same ones you’ve got sitting before us,” she said, trying to wrap her head around a possible explanation.
“He probably saw the same thing in the paper and wanted to have a look just like your teacher suggested for you to do. No big deal, I just find it rather odd, especially considering his behavior.”
“Yeah, well, nothing we can really do about it, right?” Seymour indicated, pulling a chair up before the reading material and as close as he dared to Blanche.
They both jumped in looking for common behaviors and threads making their own lists to compare later on to see if they had any similarities. Blanche was intrigued by some of the names and crimes she was reading about and she found herself periodically looking up from the information, half expecting to see a madman run through the entryway with a chainsaw buzzing overhead. Feeling increasingly uneasy, the librarian inched a bit closer to Seymour as they did the research, finding comfort in the touch of his arm and thigh.
Seymour had heard about many of the figures he was finding in the readings but knew just bits and pieces about them. He had no idea there were so many crazed killers and nut jobs running around the streets of America, but here was proof before him that truth was absolutely more bizarre than fiction. As they both moved from one bit of information to the next their lists increased, looking for things that were common among serial rapists, killers and the like. What was it about their upbringing, their early crimes, the escalation in their patterns that were similar and their overall psyche?
The criminology student had noted as well that Blanche was much closer than when they started and he was not sure if it was flirtation or fear, as he was also feeling a bit on edge after reading some of the more detailed killing sprees. In either case, he was enjoying the moment and the wonderful smell that was permeating the space between and the light touch of her leg against his was almost more than he could take. He hoped she hadn’t noticed the goose bumps on his arms and the hair standing straight up, as she was certainly having an affect on him like no other woman had before.
Just before closing and after they searched the library for any couples making out in the bathroom or any old timers sleeping the night away, they compared notes and found some commonalities which Seymour highlighted and condensed to the following list:
Bed-wetting
Animal Cruelty (Sadistic behavior in general)
Arson
(Triad above forms a triad of events that may be experienced as a child)
Sadistic daydreaming as a child with a violent twist.
“I’m just a little freaked out after looking at all that stuff tonight, how ‘bout you?” Blanche asked.
“Nah, but I’ll bet I have strange dreams, that’s if I can sleep. Hope I don’t wake up with some nut standing over me taking pictures of himself in my mom’s bra and panties. Eee Gad, just the thought of that makes me nauseous. Come on, I’ll walk you to the bus and ride with you to your stop and make sure you get home okay.”
“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said.
“Listen Blanche, after the day you’ve had I’d be a jerk not to make sure you get home safe and sound.”
The pair left the library, walked toward the stop and talked of anything but serial killers and deviants. A short distance away and parked obscurely at the end of a service lane a grey van sat, engine idling, and the driver taking pictures of the strolling couple with an expensive high powered telephoto lens. The photographer was already imagining what the librarian’s pictures would look like added to his growing collection.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The trip to the library had proven more helpful than he had anticipated and he was anxious to try his latest ideas on the unsuspecting public. Sitting at his desk he ran the upcoming events through his mind, every detail, every possible outcome played as a macabre movie trailer, hitting all the highlights and entertaining the one-man audience. He felt satisfied that his plan would be successful and placate his ‘employers’, so he turned his attention to something meant to fulfill his own selfish pursuits.
A cable connected the computer to a camera that sat on the desk, his hand danced with the mouse, manipulating the images on the screen. A young man walking with a shapely woman wearing a tight sweater filled the screen. He clicked an icon at the top of the application and the image momentarily vanished only to return with just the face of the young woman visible. Her hair appeared darker than it had under the lighting in the library, but there was no mistaking the ample curves and the smile he’d captured, even from the distance he’d been forced to accept. It excited him almost as much now as it had when he’d so carefully taken the shots from the safety of the van. The mouse moved and again the image changed, this time the monitor filled his eyes with dozens of pictures taken in sequence, cataloging the walk from the library to the point he could no longer see the couple.
“Little prick,” he cussed out loud, “better not get in my way.”
He leaned back in the chair taking in the series of pictures, his fingers interlaced and placed behind his head. He let his mind wander; imagining what he could do with the tantalizing librarian that would feed his new found hunger. For so many years he’d found excitement in the preparation for a job and the adrenalin rush that would come with the actual crime, but unbeknown to his employers they had opened a whole new world to him. He couldn’t put his finger on it but there was something euphoric about stalking a target and the ultimate sense of power that came with viewing the pictures and fantasizing about what he could and would do.
“I need something special for you,” he once again said aloud returning his hand to the mouse and clicking on a close-up shot of Blanche from the waist up. “Yup, you nosey little bimbo, I’ll find something extra special for you, and I won’t even charge them for it.”
Clicking the printer icon caused the green light on the photo style printer to blink and the sound of the printer coming to life filled the room. A moment later the paper wound its way through the printer and a full sheet dropped in the tray within his reach. Picking it up he turned it over to see the face of Ms. Blanche Delaney staring back at him, hair tossed gently in the breeze, her face framed perfectly over her right shoulder, and just enough of her curves visible to excite him as he viewed his favorite picture.
It had been genius when he decided to honk the horn at the appropriate moment and the gamble had paid off with this prized possession. With the picture in hand he left the desk and moved to the opening in the bookshelf and stood before the map on the wall. He pinned Blanche’s picture carefully to the side of the map and took a small ribbon of very fine thread, wound it around the head of the pin holding the picture and attached it to another pin stuck in the map precisely at the address of Ms. Carmichael’s Bed and Breakfast. He smiled and enjoyed thinking about how clever he was.