He wanted to run. Feel the icy air pump through his lungs. Feel the endorphins send a high rocketing to his brain.
Everything was going according to plan. The wheels were in motion and the rats were confused, flustered by the maze he’d dropped them in. People were tearing around like rodents as he stood at the head of the table and hid the cheese. Excellent analogy. Grinning, he tucked his hands behind his head on the pillow and took a rare moment to rest his brain, organize his thoughts.
Things were just getting started.
What was next? He consulted a page in his mental notebook and crossed off Calvin Trenton, focusing on the name below it. All the years of planning, reviewing, and revising on paper had carved the plans into his brain. It was simple to visualize the page he needed.
The woman next to him shifted in the white sheets, and he repressed an urge to place his hands on her throat. It would be easy, a simple twist with his hands. No one would miss her. She was a simple hooker from the streets. He’d bought her for the entire night, tempting her with a posh hotel and expensive food.
The hotel was lavish and extravagant, and had cost more than he expected. But he deserved it; he’d planned and worked hard. The room and the whore were his rewards. After each successful stage of his plan, he rewarded himself. Positive reinforcement. He eyed the petite blonde beside him. Wouldn’t killing her be a nice bonus?
He shoved the thought from his mind. She wasn’t part of the plan, and he refused to deviate from it. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, fighting the impulse. Control. It was all about internal discipline. He wouldn’t give in to his body’s foolish whims.
He’d thought sex would take the edge off, relax him, but he still felt an exhilarating pounding in his veins. What a rush. Who needed drugs? Why pollute your body with chemicals when there were so many physical things you could do for that high?
He needed to clear his mind and focus on his goals. The whore was a momentary rest stop in his path, nothing else. He’d spent a good chunk of his life training and planning for this, he wasn’t going to fuck it up now with an unimportant impulse.
He mentally stretched and relaxed his clenched hands. Control. A wave of power swept through him, reminding him of the first time he’d understood what mental discipline could achieve.
He couldn’t have been more than nine or ten when he’d tied the dog to the tree, deep in the woods, far behind their home. And then he’d watched.
Watched as the dog had grown weak from lack of water and food. Watched as the dog had chewed on the rope until its mouth bled. Watched as its eyes had become sunken, dull and lifeless.
When it was over, he’d studied the body, debating doing some dissection, but was repulsed by the condition of the creature and the putrid smell. It was a mess, covered in dirt and blood, full of raw sores where the setter had chewed on its flesh. The dirt around the corpse had been full of holes where the dog had frantically dug, trying to escape. Stupid animal.
He’d been so proud that he’d mastered his impulses the entire time. No matter how badly he’d wanted to let the dog go, he stayed strong, quelling his instincts. Releasing the animal would have been an act of weakness, failure. The power of success was a rush.
It was his first kill.
His father never married his mother. He’d spent her money and had lived in her house, using her and her kids as personal servants. Get me a beer, get out of my sight.
One day his father had vanished. Leaving behind his clothes and old truck. He’d hated the man and couldn’t comprehend why the desertion had stung so deeply. Soon after his father left, he’d killed the dog.
“Are you all done, sweetheart?” The whore’s sleepy voice broke into his musings, plucking him from the past.
“No. I’m not nearly done yet.”
A half smile toyed at his lips, he had lots to do.