Uncovered Project: I'm Your Boogeyman Part Five

Chapter Six: Lana 

Lana’s life seemed to be nothing more than an extensive list of men. Six grandfathers. One unknown father. Five step-fathers. Seven dead husbands. One that got away. And a countless amount of boys, lovers, and one night-stands. One lonely looking judge plus twelve angry men in a box. And four with empty, hungry eyes with blood under their fingernails.

An ever growing list of men.

Lana never knew her father. Her mother said he was dead, died in a war. Lana’s grandmother called Lana’s mother, her own daughter, a whore. She called Lana a bastard child. 

They lived in Grandmamma’s house until Lana’s mother married. But Lana often stayed with her grandmother after the fact. Lana didn’t like her stepfather. He was a drunkard and a sex-hound. Grandmamma didn’t like him either and kept Lana so she couldn’t keep him away from her. 

“You don’t need to go turn into a whore like your mother.” Grandmamma would say sharply as she served Lana tea.

Lana’s mother divorced him after three years of marriage and quickly remarried another, seemingly better, man. They then took Lana and moved halfway across the country. Far, far away from the safety Grandmamma.

Lana’s new stepfather was an improvement over the first. Although, this one was a bit neglectful and he didn’t care at all about having Lana around. He didn’t mistreat her, he just acted as if she wasn’t around. After a while, he treated his bride the same way. And then one day he just never came home from work.

Lana insisted they go back to live with Grandmamma. But her mother didn’t listen to her pleas to go home and instead got a job in order to keep the house. But once again, it wasn’t long before Lana had another stepfather.

Now Lana was old enough to escape for herself. So this new husband she didn’t know very well. She did know, however, that he was by far the best her mother was ever going to do. The man was extremely handsome. Whatever he did with a face and body like he had, Lana didn’t know. But whenever she was around him, she couldn’t feel anything except for a jealousy she couldn’t place.

One day, while her mother went out of town shopping with a friend, Lana canceled all her plans to stay at home with daddy’ number four. She was surprised at how easy it was to seduce the man. Surely he had a little bit of loyalty to his wife? Or was he a Humbert Humbert, obsessed with the pretty fifteen-tea-old Lolita Lana had turned into.

The sex was good. Lana was basically a novice when it came to love making. She had lost her virginity when she was thirteen to an eager student-teacher who had mistaken Lana for a sixteen-year-old high school student. After the teacher was one of her classmates whom she had a crush on. Then there was another teacher, one who was older than her mother. He had been Lana’s lover up until he was transferred. Lana missed him. She mostly missed the gifts and presents he used to give her.

But now she had a new lover. A better lover. A lover who, years later, Lana would think about while trying to screw her husbands. 

They screwed around for years, dancing around Lana’s mother teasingly. They had gotten pro at making up separate excuses to leave then meet up across the street where they would fuck in their deaf neighbors tool shed. 

Then one day, the beautiful idiot up and told Lana’s mother! He had to go and ruin a good thing by falling in love with Lana. Well, Lana’s mother kicked him out and Lana vehemently denied everything he had confessed to. Lana got away scott-free, but she had lost her mother’s trust from there.

It was no surprise that not long after, Lana’s mother remarried. Now this one had enough money and influence that Lana’s mother was able to convince him that Lana needed to go to a good school. A boarding school. A Catholic, all girl, boarding school. Luckily it was next door to a boarding school for Jewish boys. 

For the first few years Lana played around, shortening her skirts. Getting shirts a size too small. And praying every night he B-cups became D-cups over night.  She knew how to work over older men, so all the preachers liked her. Though of her as an upright girl with good intentions. To the boys at Abraham’s Private School for Jewish Boys, Lana was a savior in knee high socks. 

During her senior year, Lana caught the eye of one Ronald Epstein. He had graduated five years prior and was coming to lecture on law at the school. His younger brother, George Epstein, had told him stories of the lovely Lana. Not until Ronald had seen Lana did he actually get to full impact. It was love/lust at first sight. Once Lana graduated the Catholic school girl and the rich Jewish lawyer married.

Five years later, Ronald mysteriously died on the toilet.

If there had been one thing Lana had learned from her Grandmamma and mother it was that men were expendable. A woman’s needs were to be met at any cost. And the most important rule of all was that money, above all else, made one happy.

Grandmamma had taught Lana these over tea. She had also taught Lana how to dispatch of a husband she no longer needed. After all, Grandmamma had had six husbands before she got the fortune she wanted.

There were simple things like allergies and well placed accidents to become a widower. There were also poisons, but Grandmamma didn’t like using these unless it was an emergency. Poisons could be tracked way to easily. There were also health conditions like weak hearts that could be used to a woman’s advantage. The health conditions were tricky, but once you mastered it there would be no way at all for anyone to suspect murder.

After her first husband’s death caused by an accidental overdose of his medication, Lana moved her Grandmamma in with her. She sold the old house and almost all the antiques inside. Grandmamma wasn’t sick, or senile whatsoever. She was just a little weak in the joints and couldn’t climb stairs. The old cow wouldn’t die unless she took the whole world along with her.

So, when Grandmamma died in her sleep on faithful night he doctor was honestly surprised. A heart attack wasn’t rare, but Grandmamma had always had a pretty good ticker as far as ninety-year-old women went. 

But what the doctor didn’t know was that Grandmamma was deathly terrified of birds. And no matter how good a ninety-year-old heart is, it is still a ninety-year-old heart. And being faced with your deepest fear and put an awful strain of it. 

So, after the death of her beloved Grandmamma all Lana had to comfort her was her giant inheritance of everything her Grandmamma had, and her set of little singing Canaries.

She waited a two years after the death of her first husband before she remarried a wealthy stock broker named Joseph Grover. He died two years later after eating cilantro at a restaurant. It was real ugly. His tongue swelled, face turned blue, and he went into a vegetative state. His living will stated for the plug to be pulled after three months.

The next husband was Ashley Perkins, another lawyer who was thirty years Lana’s senior. He died during their honeymoon of heart failure. Insert tasteless sex jokes here.

Chase Jacobi was husband number four was young, beautiful, rich, and extremely stupid. He was the only heir of a family built upon oil. As such, Lana knew she had to take some extra special steps. First she got pregnant. Then she made sure her husband’s stupidity got him into trouble where, when his motorcycle didn’t brake around a sharp curve, it appeared as though an enemy did it. Left alone with child, her fourth husband’s family left Lana and the child all the money they would ever need.

Lana’s fifth husband was called Charles Hollifield. Charles was twenty years her senior and a professor of literature. Lana admitted to him she had always had a thing for teachers. Although, he started to grate on her nerves as he tried to force literature and books down hers and her toddler daughter’s throats. He was found dead in office, supposedly poisoned by an angry student. A student Lana tricked into her bidding. Once the kid was off in prison she was free again.

Husband six, Leonard Robertson, lasted a week before he got into a car accident when his tire exploded and sent him careening into river. In all honesty, it had been an experiment on Lana’s part. She had never expected her little attempt to actually work. 

Husband number seven Lana actually liked. Leslie Caulfield was Lana’s attempt at actually keeping a husband. But one day Leslie went tumbling down the stairs, having slipped on Savannah’s little roller skates. Lana was confused but accepted the death. How the skate had gotten there she couldn’t remember. She just figured she had placed it there after her and Leslie had a fight the previous night before. She was known for doing things like that then forgetting about them.

Then with husband eight she went back to her old ways. But Clancy Gates was an extremely lucky man. He got away and Lana got caught.

Chapter Seven: Cry Baby

Lana writhed uncomfortably underneath Cecy as Cecy plucked splinter after splinter from the top of Lana’s head.

“That hurts!” Lana cried.

“That log was rough on the edges. I’m surprised a splinter didn’t slice into your brain.” Cecy grunted, plopping another sliver of wood into the silver dish.

“Are you almost done?” Lana whined and writhed.

Cecy poured more of a concoction of rubbing alcohol and water on the top of Lana’s head and caught the excess in a towel. “In a few. If you’d quit moving around I’d be done by now.”

Lana let out an annoying whimper and folded her arms across her chest. It was bad enough Cecy was there.

“Done.” Cecy said and poured the rest of the alcohol and water out. Cupping her hand so it stayed in the wound for a minuet before she moved and released it.

“You didn’t leave a bald spot did you?” Lana fretted, looking towards the mirror and patting her hair tenderly.

Cecy shrugged. “I’m surprised you still have hair, what with all the bleaching you must do.”

“My hair is all natural.”

“Ha!”

Lana sneered and turned back to the mirror.

“Seriously though,” Cecy said from the door, “do try and stay awake for the night. Juts incase you do have a concussion.”

“I’m fine.”

Cecy laughed. “Whatever you say, Scarlett.”

While Cecy had tended to Lana Adam had moved all of Lana’s things into William’s room at the very end of the hall. From one of Lana’s bags fell a framed picture. The frame cracked and the glass inside spilt down the middle.

Cecy picked it up and examined the girl in the frame. It was a young girl, about eleven or twelve. Maybe younger. She had long blonde hair and Lana’s face. But her eyes were a cool, dreamy blue.

“Give me that!” Lana snapped, taking the picture back.

“Whose the girl?” Cecy asked, genuinely interested.

Lana huffed and turned away. “My daughter. Savannah.”

“I didn’t know you had a kid.” Cecy murmured. “Is she the one who called the other night?”

“None of your business. But yes. It was her.”

Cecy nodded and watched as Lana sat the picture on her bedside table. “Do you love her?”

“What?”

“Do you love her?” Cecy repeated.

Lana tried to explain Cecy’s expression and question but she couldn’t. “Of course. Savannah means everything to me.”

Cecy smiled. “Good.”

That smile. It was actually real.

Lana took a deep breath. “You can go now.”

“I can?” Cecy remarked and stepped out of the door.

Lana sat down on the edge of the bed and clasped her hands on her knees. She thought about Leslie, Cecy’s most recent smile, and Savannah’s skate at the top of the stairs.

“The key.” She whispered and jumped to her feet. “Oh god! I forgot about the ice box.” She chewed her nails, wondering if Cecy and Adam had seen her go for the door and try to open it. She doubted it. Cecy would have said something. Or she would of at least hinted obviously at it. She sat back down took a deep breath and decided on a shower.

Cecy had gone back to her room and sat on the edge of her bed closest to the television screen.

“Can you talk?” Cecy asked. “If not, just listen to me.” She licked her lips and let her eyes roam around the room. “Its about the ice box in the basement.” She then held up the dirty key. “And this.” She cut her eyes up at the camcorder. 

“You didn’t mean for Lana to get to it did you?” She looked back at the key, almost disappointed. “Everything you are doing is so that I’ll get out.” She threw the key blindly in a random direction. “Do you not understand that I don’t want out!”

She waited. But nothing happened and no said anything.

“Please just leave me alone.” Cecy whispered and darted out of her room.

Adam caught her just before she swerved into him. “Whoa!”

Cecy pushed back. “Sorry. I tripped a little.” She tried to get out of his way but her blocked her. “Excuse me.” She huffed.

“Do you want to talk again?”

Cecy sighed exasperatedly. “No! I don’t want to talk to you. If I ever do want to talk again I’ll let you know. But right now I’m a little distracted.”

“Oh.” Adam muttered dejectedly. “Coffee.”

“Yes, dammit, coffee!” Cecy shoved him aside and stormed down the hallway towards the kitchen.

The hiss of the shower turned him towards the bathroom. Another failure. He needed a shower. He still had traces of Lana’s nose blood on him. Blood was the last thing he needed contact with. Blood always turned him on.

There was the second shower, but it only had cold water and the light in it never worked. Well, maybe now was a chance to fix it.

“Is there a toolbox  that you know of anywhere?” He asked William as he ducked into the pantry.

“Toolbox?” William laughed. “What do you need that for?”

“The second shower.” Adam explained. “I feel like fixing it.”

“Sometimes a man needs a cold shower.”

Adam shrugged. “Maybe so.”

He looked underneath the cabinet in the pantry and smiled triumphantly. “I found one.” He pulled it out and opened it up. He froze.

“Oh good god!” He wretched.

William was in the doorway. “What? What is it?”

Adam heaved standing on the opposite end of the room with his hand planted firmly over his mouth. 

William walked at first towards him then went to the toppled over toolbox. It was a fairly large toolbox, about shin high standing. Now it was on its side and a jar had rolled out alongside various common work tools. 

William lifted up the jar and his jaw went slack. “Shit…”

Inside the jar, floating in a greenish-yellow liquid was  what looked the contents of a human’s torso. Lungs. Liver. One kidney out of two. And a heart.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” William asked the jar.

Adam took a raspy, shaking breath. “I know.” He said from behind his fingers. He swallowed away the taste in his mouth and closed his eyes tight. 

“I’d know that jar…,” he hesitated and shivered. “Its mine.”

“Yours?” William snapped. “Did you do this?”

“No!” Adam screamed. “No.” He repeated calmly. “It…the organs came from my mother. She…she was an organ donor and…” He shook again. 

“So you stole her organs?” William grunted.

“They were mine.” Adam hissed. “They had no right to take them without my say so…”

William sat the jar on the shelf. “Mama’s boy.”

“Shut up!” Adam roared.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Cecy barked from the doorway. “Haven’t we had enough drama for one day?”

“Its nothing.” William said, blocking Cecy from getting into the room. “Adam’s just pissed he can’t get a hot shower. Lets go fix some coffee and allow him to cool down.”

Adam turned around, facing the jar now at eye level. “Hey Mom.” He whispered and slid down onto his backside. 

William poured Cecy’s coffee then poured his own.

“I suppose its about time someone tried to fix that old shower.” Cecy yawned into her cup. “Its older than the house is it looks like.”

“Plumbing isn’t your thing.” William laughed. “Just anatomy.”

Cecy rubbed her eyes, blocking sleep. “I don’t think I have ever been this sleepy before. I normally don’t like sleep.”

“Night person?”

“An awake person.” Cecy slurped her coffee quietly. She drained half the mug in one swing.

William nodded. “I know.”

“Should we go help Adam fix the shower?” Cecy asked. “I mean, it is only fair. We all have to live together.”

“Why care?”

Cecy shrugged. “I just figured we might as well attempt to try and get along. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“How can you be so sure?” William asked.

Cecy pursed her lips and shrugged again. “Just me,” she sighed. “Doesn’t mean we all feel the same way.”

William nodded. “I don’t mind if I die here.”

Cecy laughed. “Another bad pun?”

“Why yes, it is!”

Cecy folded her arms across the top of the table. “I know I want to. I don’t want to go back out there.”

William put this thick hand atop Cecy’s head and gently squeezed.

y

It had been advised shortly after her mother’s conviction and sentence that Savannah go into either therapy our counseling. It had been a year now and Clancy was beginning to wonder if it was actually doing anything, or, if the therapy was actually the thing causing Savannah harm.

He had known Savannah since she was ten years old. Now as a slowly budding thirteen-year-old he was noticing things about her he had never seen in normal thirteen-year-old girls. Sure he noticed Savannah trying to put on the act of a cute, bubbly teeny bopper. But Clancy saw through it. He saw how Savannah preferred horror movies to sappy chick flicks. She had no interest in boys despite the fact that that was all her friends talked about nonstop. And unlike most teenage girls, Savannah barely talked. Savannah liked dressing up, but that was just a trait her mother had installed in her.

The therapist once compared Savannah to a robot. She acted as she was programmed to. She acted out the norm, going throughout her days as a human puppet going on what she was suppose to know and do. But on the inside she was a mess of jumbled circuits crisscrossing and sending mixed signals and calculations.

“She’s never slipped up once around me. But I know she’s wearing a mask.” The therapist said. “I’m thinking, maybe, we should go in a different direction.”

“What sort of direction?” Clancy asked, his insides chilling.

“Maybe hypnosis.”

Clark laughed when Clancy confessed this as his reason for being late to a meeting. “Hypnosis? You aren’t actually gonna give into that mumbo-jumbo, are ya?” He snorted.

“I don’t know.” Clancy muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“It might help her.” Emma replied coolly. “It can’t hurt to try.”

“Yeah!” Dough whooped loudly. “’Cause it ain’t real.”

Eleanor scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What would you know, you hick?” She snorted. “I say go with it Clancy,” she took a sip of water. “Hypnotherapy helped me quit smoking.”

“Bull!” Dough coughed.

Eleanor shot him a dirty look then turned back to Clancy. “Before I had Adam brought to the house I had it preformed on him.”

“What?” Emma whispered.

Eleanor smiled smugly and nodded. “Yes. That’s how I found out about his mother.”

“His mother is still alive.” Doug argued. “Ain’t she the one who been goin’ on all them talk shows and crap about it?”

Eleanor shook her head. “That’s his step-mother. I’m talking about his real mother.” She motioned to the screen which showed Adam huddled down in the corner staring up at the jar. “His mother died in a car accident. And when he learned they were going to take her perfectly good organs for donations he flipped and stole them.”

“How’d he do that?” Clancy gasped.

“When did you do the hypnotherapy?” Emma snapped angrily. “How come you never told us about this?”

Eleanor smiled grimly down at Emma. “And what about your little secret?” She pointed. “What about you switching the orders to go to the house. All the pink?” She sneered.

“Shut up all of you.” Edgar snarled viciously from his end of the table. “Why don’t all of you go ahead and kill one another so I get on with my life.”

“Why don’t you just up and die, old man.” Doug huffed.

Edgar grinned and cackled. “I wish I could!”

“Enough,” Emma shouted slamming her fists down on the table. “We’re here to talk about how we can push this thing along. Not about how we can push each other over.” Everyone seemed to take a breath and ease back into their chairs.

“Right,” Clancy muttered and tapped his fingers against the table. “What can we do to urge them along?” He asked aloud. “Any suggestions?”

“Turn the heat way up.” Eleanor replied. “People do a lot of crazy things when its hot outside.”

“That’s a good one.” Edgar giggled, writing it down.

“Maybe turn off the water.” Doug suggested.

“No.” Emma huffed. “That would just end up in them dehydrating and dying on their own.”

“Well at least they’re dying.” Doug scoffed.

Emma cut a look at him that would of sliced the man in two had her eyes been made of steel. “I say we keep the lights on at all times.” She said, smoothing her fingers out across the tabletop. “I know that if any single light is on in my house I can’t sleep a wink.”

“Sleep deprivation.” Edgar snickered under his breath.

“Maybe even lock the doors all at once.” Clancy murmured. “Trap some in their rooms and trap others with one another.”

“That‘s good. That‘s good” Edgar cackled gleefully as he scribbled notes down on his ledger.

Doug grunted as he leaned towards Edgar. “Do you have any ideas, old man?”

“Was that a fat grunt?” Edgar laughed. “Anyways,” he continued giggling. “I say we try all three ideas. Not all at once mind you. But first I say we create an accident.”

“An accident?” Eleanor sniffed.

“Another Stuart, understand?” Edgar stood up and walked before the wall of television screens grinning. He pointed to Cecy and then to Lana. “One of these ladies. Something needs to happen to one of them.”

Emma frowned. “Uncle Edgar-”

“Hush you.” Edgar spat, waving his hand dismiss fully at her. “See, if something were to happen to Cecy that would set off William and Zeke. See?”

“And your Lana?” Clancy sneered.

“Well, I was thinking she’d be the right one to do it.” Edgar grinned, grasping his pencil in both hands. “She just needs to,” he broke his pencil in two, “snap.”

Clancy gritted his teeth. “And how do you make her do that?”

Edgar rubbed his chin. “When that little girl of yours’ goes into hypnotherapy,” he breathed, “make sure you record it.”

“What?” Clancy hissed.

“Then we can play it for Lana to hear. I’m sure hearing what her child is really like will push her over the edge. I mean, after that incident in the basement,” he licked his lips with his dry old tongue. “And since Lana is the closest one to her…” he trailed off and grinned again. “What a wonderful little set up.” He whispered.

m

Cecy lifted her head from the pillow and the thin white hand fell from her hair. She sat up and touched her temple as she looked down at Zeke asleep on his back beside her. It had happened last night while she had been changing his bandages. Suddenly the door slammed shut and locked on its own trapping Cecy inside for the night.

Cecy looked across the room at the wall and the Last Supper. “Hell…” She muttered, rubbing her head. “How many prints of that can there be in the world?” She slung her legs over the side of the bed and went to the door. It was still locked.

“Fuck!” Cecy cursed loudly and kicked the door.

Zeke jolted suddenly. “What?” He gasped.

“The mother fucking door is still fucking lock! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” With every curse word Cecy lashed out violently at the door. 

“Well…” Zeke croaked as he braced himself up on his elbows. “What are you going to do?”

Cecy kicked the door again. “What can I do?” She whispered and smacked her forehead against the door. “Why’d I throw away that key…” She whispered. Her eyes then shot open. “The key!”

“What?” Zeke watched her as she dropped to her knees and started digging through the plush carpet.

“It must’ve come over here.” Cecy muttered loudly to herself. “I’m sure I threw it this way! I’m sure! I’m sure!”

Zeke sat up and watched her for a moment. “Cecy?” He reached out and touched her.

She shot up suddenly and stared at him with wide, empty eyes. “Why’d you touch me?” She whispered.

Zeke shrunk back. “What are you doing?”

Cecy ducked back down onto the floor and the top half of her disappeared under the bed. “A key.”

“A key?” Zeke mouthed.

“Yeah,” Cecy gasped. “You don’t happen to remember hearing anything come in here. Maybe something smacking against the wall or something.”

“Or something.” Zeke murmured. “Um, but, uh no.” 

“Figures.” Cecy scoffed and laid flat under the bed. “Fuck!” Her legs kicked wildly.

“Why don’t you just get William to bust it down?” Zeke asked as Cecy rose from the floor.

Cecy turned to look out the window, which was obstructed by the broadside of what she guessed was an oak tree. “No.” She murmured and looked over at The Last Supper. She smirked, “this is different.” She turned away from the print frowning.

Zeke licked his lips and held his arm across his stomach where the biggest wire hanger wound was. “Was that why you were yelling the other day?”

“What?”

“I heard you yelling.” Zeke lurched and coughed weakly. “Who…who at.” He wheezed, trying to regain his breath.

Cecy stared hard at the wall. “Nobody. A girl can’t yell?”

“Was it…Those…Who…Watch…?”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Cecy spat and eased Zeke back down onto the bed.

“Who?” Cecy cut her eyes at him and put her hand over his mouth. 

It was then there was a kicking, clicking sound and the woosh of suddenly circulating air. Cecy turned and looked up at the vent just above Zeke’s bed. In the filtered light she could see dust floating around and whipping in invisible currents.

“The air.” She whispered. “Someone has turned on the central air.”

The sudden rush of fresh air had become apparent to everyone at this point in the game as well. William, who had become trapped in the bathroom at the end of the hallway felt the air surge up from the vent at his feet. Adam was locked in the pantry with the jar when he heard the central air kick on at the start and whir quietly just beyond the wall. Lana had been in the kitchen, free as a bird.

She tried each door cautiously to make sure. The only doors that opened were Stuart’s and the basement. At first she was elated. She was safe a free! But at the same time, she knew she was just as trapped as the others. She rushed back to the kitchen to quickly check the faucet. The water still poured. She opened up the refrigerator. It was still cold.

Nothing was ever this easy, she thought.

She went to trying each door again and when she jiggled the knob on Zeke’s door it caught.

“Whose out there?” Cecy barked from inside.

Lana caught her breath.

“C’mon!” Cecy urged. “I can see your feet under the door.”

“I uh…” Lana stopped herself. Cecy didn’t have to know who it was. She was trapped like a rat. No threat at all.

“Lana?” Cecy sang tauntingly.

Lana started, “how did you…?” She cut herself off as Cecy started laughing from behind the door.

“Painted toenails.” Was all Cecy said as they all waited in silence. 

Inside Lana heard Zeke mutter something but it was too faint for her to hear. Cecy’s reply, even though she was standing right at the door, was just as quiet. 

“The key.” Cecy finally said. “I’m pretty sure its out there in the hall.”

“The key?” Lana sputtered. “What key?”

“The key you used to open that old box in the basement with before you cracked your skull. Did you forget that or did you really bruise your brain?”

Lana swallowed. “So you’re the one who took it from me?”

“Shut the hell up and look for it.”

“Why should I?” Lana snapped. “Why the hell should I help you? Any of you?” She grinned to herself. “I’m safe out here! In there you’re all just like caged monkeys in a zoo.”

“It won’t stay like this forever. And when we do get out who will be the first one we lash out at huh?” Cecy sneered. “Certainly not the other monkeys. But the one taunting us with a banana.”

Lana stepped away from the door.

“Find the key Lana.” Cecy whispered. “And I promise you, we little monkeys won’t throw any crap at you.”

“How do you know these doors will open back up?” Lana panted.

As if to mock her, her door at the end of the hall slammed open. Lana jumped and screamed.

“They’re controlling all of us, Lana. Testing us. Trust me. None of us is safe.”

“How do you know?” Lana repeated, clutching her chest. “What the fuck are you? Satan or something?”

Cecy chuckled. “If I were, would I be in here?”

Lana glanced down at the ground and saw Cecy’s shadow underneath the door. “I um…” She stepped away, fearing the shadow to reach out and eat her. “I’ll look for the key. But you gotta promise-”

“I don’t have to promise anything.” Cecy sneered. “You just gotta trust that I’m honest. Which I am.”

“Honest.” Lana sneered as she looked down at the floor again. She then turned and walked out of the hallway. She was reminded of the open icebox downstairs and she desperately wanted to see what was inside without anyone bothering her.

“Lana!” Cecy barked from the hallway. “Lana!” Her voice now muffled by space and locked doors.

William, locked away in the bathroom had decided to take advantage of the situation and run himself a hot bath. Rather than panic or fuck-around uselessly he decided to get himself calm and think rationally. He always liked taking hot baths, before and after kills. He normally also had a cigarette to go along with it, but he didn’t have the luxury here.

As the water ran he started searching the cabinets above and under the sink. There was soaps and shampoos. A few cartons of band-aids. And enough women’s essentials to soak up Noah’s flood. But that struck him as odd. He didn’t have a clue if Lana still received her period or not. But he did know that Cecy hadn’t had a period since she had entered foster care. Why so much for one possible person?

William reached inside and pulled out a carton of tampons from the very back of the cupboard. It was oddly heavy for a box of cotton. He commenced to rip it open and when he peeked inside he was surprised to find a framed photo. In fact, it was an obituary clipping from a newspaper. 

Joseph M. Gables.

“Gables…” William whispered. 

The photo of the man was fairly old. He had a crew cut and was wearing a military uniform. His face was rather stoic and stone-like. His eyes were unmistakably the origin of Cecy’s very own gaze.

As he read the small clipping he learned the man died at the age of sixty-five. The cause wasn’t listed. He had left behind a widow and his two orphaned granddaughters that they were caring for. 

“Sister?” William gawked. 

The central air kicked and he turned, using his toe to lock the vent shut. He sat the framed article on the sink and then eased himself into the tub. He shut off the water and leaned back, staring into the dead man’s living, yet at the same time, dead gaze.

The water fogged up the full length mirror that sat in the direct middle of the door and the tub. Given the heat from the AC William was a little surprised. Instead, William closed his eyes and let his roving thoughts wander. It was no surprise that he fell asleep. Let alone notice the figure come out of the mirror.

Adam sat in the middle of the floor of the pantry staring at the jar full of organs and realized he couldn’t take it. He stood up and tried the door, it was still locked. The heat was staring to become unbearable so he removed his shirt. 

He had always been particular about how he looked. The prey just seemed to flock to an attractive predator. Since he got locked in the house he hadn’t worked out much and he worried he was loosing his physique. He then tossed his shirt over the jar and wiped his hand over her face. He slapped at the light switch but nothing happened. He turned to it and switched it on and off. On and off. On and off. But it was always just on and still on. On and still on. On and still on.

Adam scoffed in frustration and stared up at the skylight. He could either throw a can of baked beans at it and deal with broken glass in the dark. Or he could allow the light to shine and add extra heat to the Dutch oven he was in.

The pantry had a sofa in it covered by boxes of canned goods and boxes of dehydrated foods. He moved the boxes and sat himself down on the couch. It was old and springs dug into his back side. The old frame groaned under his weight but Adam closed his eyes.

Adam was used to a couch like this. He couldn’t remember who exactly it belonged to but there was an old antique couch like the very one he was laying in his old house. Old memories of a little blonde boy sitting on it listening to old records on the stereophonic sound system watching guests of his parents dance. Then there was Aunt Pat who was so gargantuan Adam had been terrified she would eat him.

Adam opened his eyes remembering that. Look whose eating who now, Aunt Pat. Isn’t that funny, he thought. 

He remembered Aunt Pat’s thick, sticky red lipstick and how she’d kiss him with those fat heavily painted lips of her’s anytime she saw him. He hated that lipstick. I fact Adam hated any and all lipstick. Makeup in general was a severe buzz kill. That’s why he always went for the heavily painted women. The women who dolled themselves up in the was of Pagliacci. They tried to look like the happy beautiful clowns but Adam knew what was under all that greasepaint and the forced red grin.

Look at that wonderfully sad, lonely woman, Adam thought spitefully. Look at her forcing all that charm and beauty. So desperate for attention and love. I can love her. I can give her the satisfaction she needs. Better yet I can give her the attention she wants! Oh yes, if there is one thing I can do for her is give her the attention. Only she won’t get to bask in it. She’ll never know. She’ll be long gone before she gets what she wants.

Adam rolled over so he faced the back of the couch. Of course he hadn’t discriminated. He didn’t just go for the painted women. He had, after all, done in a few drag queens. Adam actually preferred the drags to the actual women. But for Adam there was no sexuality. Only the sex. He needed that one climatic rush and then… Well then there came his favorite and most hated act of love making. Why couldn’t he make love like a normal human being and not kill his lover after the happy ending?

Well for starters Adam realized he had never actually made love. He had only had sex. Dirty, filthy, emotionless, murdering sex. He had never slept with a girl he had feelings for. And yes, Adam had genuine feelings for a few women in his life. There was elegant Gwen Patricks who was now a famous psychologist and had actually donated her services when Adam turned himself in. Then there was plain-Jane August Finnerty who was leader for the debate team in high school. Then there was Missy Glick who rarely bathed and was a bratty punk rocker. Now there was Cecy Gables a mysterious tiny pixie of horror, elegance, and overwhelming intelligence. Just thinking of Cecy and her overpowering gaze made Adam even more overheated than he already was.

Was it possible to be so afraid of someone and fall in love with that fear? For Adam it was a wonderful sensation the fear of a woman. She was like a panther and he a house cat. One in the same but still so unequal. 

Adam reached down and unzipped his pants.