03 Sep Don’t Let Him Sleep

“Can you believe this crap?” Doug asked his younger brother, David. The Sunday night football game featuring their vaunted Steelers had meandered to its soul-wrenching conclusion: a Steelers loss.

“You knew good and darned well that this was gonna be a rerun of last season,” David pointed out. “Whitley’s shoulder is never gonna be what it was. And besides, he’s never, ever gonna be the elite passer that Mahomes and Allen are. It’s time to look at the QB position this offseason.”

“Well, I’ve had enough, that’s for sure,” Doug groused, turning off the TV.

David waxed philosophical. “You know, instead of pouting and whining through the rest of the season, we should consider the bigger picture; supporting our struggling team builds character. It teaches you to endure heartbreak and disappointment. Just look at the Browns fans—they thrive on shame and embarrassment.”

“Fair enough,” Doug conceded. “Anyhooo, I’m tired and depressed. Gotta get up again at six and be at work by seven-thirty. C’mon, let’s get you taken care of.”

David reveled in the well-worn dip in the cushion on his side of the sofa. He loved how it coddled his posterior the way that loving mothers coddle their infants. David was a man with few expectations and simple needs, as his take on the Steelers had pointed out.

The thing he appreciated most was his older brother. The two were more like old friends than family. Even at 25, David harbored no yearning for independence from his protective sibling. David considered Doug a guardian, a trusted friend, and a loyal caregiver. As David’s champion, Doug carried his brother’s frailties with compassion and trustworthiness.

“Up and at ’em,” said Doug, pulling David out of his time-crafted crater of comfort.

The two ascended the short flight of stairs that led to  David’s bedroom. The house itself was a split-level they inherited from their parents, Bill and Katie Milhouse, who’d died within a couple of years of each other.

Upstairs, the two stopped off at the hall bathroom for David to brush his teeth and take his tranquilizers before going to bed.

“And here is your room, monsieur,” Doug said with his best impression of a French bellboy. “I’m gonna go and get set for bed. Call me when you’re ready.”

Once inside his room, David tugged his clothes off and slipped into his padded pajamas. Owing to its thickness, a 5,000 BTU window unit kept the room temperature at a chilly 65 degrees. Once in bed, David lay down on his back and relaxed. “You’re up!” he shouted to Doug.

“All set, champ?” Doug asked, stepping into the bedroom.

“Does our team suck? Heck, yay-yuh!” David cheered.

“You know the drill: muscles loose, breathe in,” Doug instructed before going through the steps to ready David.

The cushioned head strap came first, followed by the sturdy leather straps around David’s chest, stomach, and upper thighs. Doug secured David’s wrists and ankles with the additional straps on the sides and end of the metal bed frame. Testing the bed’s attachment to the 4×4 beams underneath the floor, he tried lifting it, and found it adequate.

“How’s about a wittle tickle?” Doug teased in an infantile voice.

“Do that, and I’ll rub my bare bottom on the remote control.” David replied.

“You are one seriously twisted individual, you know that?” Doug immediately regretted the

remark. “Oh man, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, not a word of truth in that,” David quipped, as his eyes swept comically over the room.

Sadness and pity washed over Doug, as it often did just before he wished the man who was his baby brother goodnight. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Doug left the room and finished the nightly task of securing the locks on the outside of the steel door. Then he went to the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth and popped a sleeping pill; he wanted to be unconscious before the transformation started.
After locking his bedroom door, and climbing into bed, Doug did something that often ladened him with guilt. To help him sleep, he put on noise-canceling headphones, then turned up some soothing instrumental music. In his relaxed slumber, he couldn’t hear the terrifying shrieks and rants of the murderous fiend in the other bedroom.

15 YEARS PRIOR

Katie, the boys’ mother, swayed in time to Alicia Keys’ crooning ballad, as it drifted through her earbuds like silky smoke. The warm, soapy water caressed her hands as she cleaned the dinner plates and glasses. She could’ve placed them in the dishwasher, pressed ON, and watched TV with her husband, Bill, and the kids. But this was her time, her quiet, soul-soothing moment of blessed solitude. She was almost finished when someone placed their arms around her waist, startling her. She yanked the earbuds from her ears and spun around. “Bill, darn it! You nearly gave me a heart attack. For goodness’ sake,‌ flip the light off and on a couple of times to get my attention.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Bill said, stepping back. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted only to hold my gorgeous girlfriend for a bit.”

Katie’s lips formed a forgiving smile. Though they’d been married for almost twelve years, she never tired of hearing Bill refer to her as his girlfriend. The term warmed her, making her feel young again and in love for the first time. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and tossed it aside. “Come here, lover,” she mewed.

Bill pulled Katie close, kissing her, caressing her. “I guess it’s time for me to put the boys to bed; that is, unless you’d rather do it while I listen to some love-makin’ music, and finish the dishes.”

“Not a chance, big fella. This is Momma’s time. Now go tend to your dadly duties. Oh, and don’t forget to turn on David’s nightlight. It sometimes helps him sleep more easily.”

“You know, I keep thinking he’ll grow out of those terrible nightmares, but it seems like they’re getting worse.”

Katie gnawed on a fingernail. “Yeah, I think so, too. I wish I knew how to help him.”

“I keep hoping that maybe tonight’s the night they’ll stop,” Bill said. “Don’t you think it’s odd how it’s always the same nightmare? I’ve told him a million times that the monster he conjures up isn’t real. If this doesn’t stop soon, we should look into a child psychologist. Those meds that Dr. Riser prescribed him don’t seem to do jack.”

Katie nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Bill returned to his lighthearted banter. “Are you sure I can’t listen to a little boom-wanka-wanka?”

Katie laughed at Bill’s crude suggestion. “No way, big fella.”

Bill faked a pout. “Aw, come on, Ma. I’ll be good.”

Like a frustrated parent, Katie slapped him on his rear. “Get moving, junior!”

Bill saluted Katie. “Yes, Sarge.”

The boys, David and Doug, were turning off the TV when Bill entered the den.

“See, Dad,” Doug said. “We timed it just right.”

“Yes, Doug,” Bill replied. “I’ve always appreciated your professionalism. Now get upstairs, you two. I’ll be up in a few minutes to get you tucked in.”

Doug’s shoulders slumped. “Dad, please. I don’t need to be tucked in. I’m almost a teenager.”

“Son, you’re only eleven. When you get hair on your armpits and your voice starts sounding like grinding gears, you’ll be a teenager. Until then . . .”

“All right, already. I’m going, I’m going.”

After Doug left, David ran to Bill and hugged him with the strength of a python. “Dad, I like when you tuck me in; it makes me feel safe. At least until the monster comes out.”

Bill’s heart hurt for the boy. “Let’s try this: tonight, imagine your favorite movie, and let it run through your head. Perhaps that’ll keep your mind off the monster.”

“I’ll try, Dad. But I don’t think anything will keep that awful thing away.”

Bill lifted David and looked into his innocent face. “You know that if you need me, all you have to do is call out and I’ll come running.”

“Um-hmmm,” David said, grinning.

Bill kissed David’s cheek, then, with great care, lowered him as if he were placing an expensive vase on an antique table. “Get on up to bed, and I’ll be there soon. Don’t forget to take the pill I left next to your toothbrush.”

“Yes, sir,” David said, before charging up the stairs.

“Monsters,” Bill muttered.

* * * * * *

Get . . . uuup, get . . . uuup . . . the voice in David’s mind whispered.

David twisted and turned under the heavy covers. The phantom voice was back, but this time, its tone was different. It was urgent. Relentless. Within moments, David’s eyes sprang open, distant and dead. As he lay within himself, smothered in nightmares, his other self climbed out of bed and wandered through the house as if getting the lay of the land.

When David finished exploring the downstairs, he traveled to Doug’s bedroom. He nudged the door open and entered. He crept toward Doug, stopping at his bedside. As his brother dozed, David stared at him, as though he were a stranger. For a brief moment, he considered yanking the pillow from beneath Doug’s head and pressing it to his face until he stopped thrashing.

Not this one, David’s inner voice said. Go to the grown-ups’ room at the end of the hall. Let’s do something . . . scary.

David left Doug to his dreams, closing the door behind him, careful not to wake him.

With the stealth of a predator, David tiptoed to Katie and Bill’s bedroom door and waited. Something amazing was about to happen. He shook with anticipation. No longer able to wait, he went in.

Sometime later, Katie awoke to find David standing at the foot of their bed, watching them sleep. “David, sweetie,” she asked, her voice thick with grogginess. “Do you need something?”

David stood silent and still, his jack-o’-lantern grin eerie and unsettling.

Katie sensed something was off. “Tell you what: I’ll take you back and get you settled. Then, I’ll give you one of my patented mommy kisses guaranteed to bring sweet dreams, or else I’ll buy you a puppy.”

David remained mute, his eyes cold, as the awful leer stretched further.

Katie got up, guided David back to his room, and put him to bed. Then, she bent and kissed him on his forehead. “Try to get some sleep, baby,” she whispered before leaving.

“I thought these pills are supposed to put him out like a light,” Bill said to Katie when she returned from David’s room.

“They are. This whole nightmare business is getting worse—not better. Now he’s sleepwalking.”

“That’s not good. Call Dr. Riser back. Ask him to run some neurological tests.”

“Count on it. We’ve gotta do something, Bill. I’m getting scared. You should’ve seen him a while ago.”

“I’m concerned about David, too.”

“No. I don’t mean I’m becoming scared for David; I’m becoming scared of David.”

* * * * * *

A short while after getting back to sleep, a need to go to the bathroom awakened Katie.

That’s what having two kids will do to your bladder, she thought. When she attempted to rise, her half-closed eyes widened at what she saw.

David loomed over Katie, his face so close to hers that she could smell his dinner. A look of amusement was etched into his face, as if he were watching a demented cartoon.

Katie couldn’t stop screaming, even after Bill sprang up and flipped on his bedside lamp.

Despite the activity, David continued to hover over his terrified mother.

Bill felt as if he were addressing an unknown intruder. “Son, what are you doing?”

The thing that looked like David swiveled its head in Bill’s direction, sending a cold current of fear through him. “I wonder what your guts taste like,” he said casually.

Bill eased from beneath his covers and inched toward the frightening child.

David bared his teeth at Bill like a hungry animal. His chest was heaving fast, as if his heart

were playing drum rolls against it.

“David,” Bill said, his voice delicate, “I’m going to take your hand and lead you back to bed.”

Without warning, the savage leaped onto Bill, gnawing on his cheek.

High-pitched screams filled the bedroom, not only from Bill, but from Katie as well.

Their shrieks jolted Doug from his sleep. He ran to his parents’ bedroom and flung the door open. His mouth hung in horror at the sight of his bleeding father rolling on the floor with David, as he struggled to restrain him.

Bill used his body weight to pin David to the blood-dotted carpet. “Doug, run to the garage. In the top drawer of my tool cabinet, there’s a roll of duct tape. Bring it as fast as you can!”

“Yes, sir,” Doug huffed before bolting for the garage.

Katie was beside the bed, her hair disheveled, and her pale body quaking. “Oh my God! Oh

my God!” she kept repeating.

David struggled to break free of Bill’s weight. His eyes became black with mindless rage as he snapped his teeth at Bill like an angry crocodile. “Get off me, you filthy son of a bitch! I’m gonna chew your throat out!”

Doug returned with the duct tape. “What do I do, Dad? How can I help?”

“I’m going to flip him onto his stomach. When I do, wrap lots of duct tape around his wrists and ankles. Think you can do that?”

David glared at Doug, his mad eyes piercing his mind, injecting it with terror. Doug’s frightened breathing was loud enough for Katie to hear him from her place by the bed, where she remained frozen. His father’s words bounced off him, dull tones he struggled to decipher.

“Doug!” Bill yelled. “Snap out of it and get ready to restrain him. You’ll have to be quick,

so when I yell go, start with the wrists, then move to the ankles. Got it?”

“Yeah, Dad. I’m ready when you are.” Doug rolled off two long strips of tape and waited for the signal.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Katie pleaded.

Bill wasn’t sure if the plan would work. He pushed away the visceral thought of what might happen if the devil snarling beneath him overpowered him. He braced himself. “Okay, Doug. Ready, set, now!”

Raising himself, Bill grabbed David’s shoulders. Moving in one quick motion, he flipped the savage, pinning him on his stomach.

Doug knelt beside the wriggling pair, the tape at the ready.

Bill grasped David’s wrists, pulling them together. “Go!” he shouted to Doug.

Doug quickly secured David’s wrists, then did the same with his ankles.

David fought back with greater strength and ferocity. “I’m gonna kill all of you! Just wait and see! I’ll be back! I’ll be baaaaack!”

The thing’s threat unnerved Bill further. He snatched the roll of tape from Doug’s shaking hands and put a strip over David’s mouth before adding additional tape to his wrists and ankles.

Doug felt trapped in a nightmare. How could this be happening? His little brother wasn’t a raging psychopath. Or was he? “Dad, what does he mean by ‘I’ll be back?’ Is this David?”

“I don’t know what this is,” Bill said. As his adrenaline ebbed, he felt the fiery sting of his torn cheek. He looked at his wet arm and saw that blood had soaked his pajama sleeve.

“Bill, you’re hurt,” Katie said. She broke free of the floor and stepped into the ensuite bathroom, returning with a towel. She was terrified to go near David, who was spitting and thrashing like a furious beast.

Bill wiped the blood from his hands and face, then pressed the towel to his cheek, as white dots

swarmed his vision like fireflies. Once he recovered, he instructed Doug on their next action. “When I turn him over, grab his legs and lift. I’ll take him by his shoulders and we’ll carry him to his bed. Katie, call 9-1-1, and tell them to hurry.”

“What am I supposed to tell them?” she wailed.

“Tell them your son appears to be having a seizure. Okay, Doug, let’s move him.”

When the two reached David’s room, they laid him on his bed, then Bill flipped him onto his stomach. “He’s easier to control this way,” he explained to Doug.

Soon, blue and red lights pulsed outside David’s window. Katie ran down the stairs to the front door, her steps thundering like horse hooves. As police and paramedics made their way upstairs, Doug and Bill exchanged worried looks.

Doug began crying and trembling. “Will they help him, Dad?” he gulped.

Bill wanted to comfort Doug; Lord knew the poor boy needed it. He struggled for reassuring words, even if he knew they’d be a lie. Instead, he looked into Doug’s trusting eyes, and spoke with bare honesty. “I don’t know, son. I really don’t.”

* * * * * *

Dr. Riser, David’s pediatrician, was waiting at the ER when the ambulance arrived. Given David’s aggressive state, he administered a strong sedative. Later, he made an appointment with a neurologist for later in the week.

To everyone’s astonishment and relief, David appeared to be fine the next morning. He had no memory or lingering effects from the previous evening’s attack. Satisfied that David was well enough to take home, Dr. Riser released him. To better manage David, he upped his meds to a

level where his parents feared that they might stop his heart. But even with the increased dosage, David’s nocturnal behavior worsened.

Later that night, Bill got up to check on David. He opened the bedroom door and found him waiting there, wielding a baseball bat. Before his mind registered what he was seeing, David began beating him.

By the time Katie jumped out of bed and switched on a lamp, David had fractured Bill’s forearm and bloodied his head. “David, stop! Please, stop! You’re killing your father!”

Horrified, Katie joined Bill, and the two of them dragged David back to his bed. Bill fought back tears of pain with each agonizing tug of his shattered forearm. Katie used a couple of David’s belts to bind his hands and feet while Bill held him down with his good arm.

Throughout the entire episode, David’s calm facial expression never changed, and he never said a word.

The next morning’s frantic call to Dr. Riser led to an immediate visit to the neurologist. The observation that David was his usual gentle self during his waking hours exacerbated the confusion surrounding his violent nighttime attacks. The absence of abnormalities in brain scans and exhaustive blood work led the neurologist to schedule an overnight sleep observation.

Before the monitoring began, the lab techs wired David with sensors. Then, they turned off the lights in the observation room, and administered a strong IV sedative. Within minutes, David dropped into a deep sleep.

The two young female technicians began chugging bad breakroom coffee and settling in for an uneventful night. They were in a ‌salacious conversation about their college sexcapades when David’s monitor began to flash and ding. Turning on the lights in the lightless sleep chamber, they saw David standing within a foot of the window that separated him from the viewing booth.

His eyes were insane, his grin unnerving.

“Batter up, bitches!” fired the diminutive creature as he began smashing the glass with a

metal stool.

One tech stood petrified, locked in a primal scream, while the other phoned Security for

immediate help.

The four security officers subdued the snarling devil and placed him in a padded cell, then notified David’s doctors and parents. The hairs on everyone’s arms and necks stood on end as the creature-boy’s deep voice roared to be fed their entrails.

Following the terrifying episode, David faced additional tests and consultations. After two weeks of poking and prodding, the consensus was that David likely suffered from a rare form of dissociative identity disorder. The theory was that he was an intelligent and socially engaging boy by day, but that a dangerous and sinister personality emerged as soon as the “normal David” slipped into the R.E.M. stage of sleep. After prescribing a regimen of sedatives and anti-psychotics, David’s doctors released him to his parents’ care.

The first night at home, David’s alternate personality, despite sedation and restraints, escaped. Katie vomited when she and Bill found him outside eating their neighbor’s cat.

A stricter routine became necessary for David as he matured. That’s when the steel cot with the custom-made leather restraints got bolted to the floor. To prevent chafing from his large physical restraints, David began wearing padded pajamas.

Doug suffered much of the strain in silence. A psychologist recommended Doug assist his parents in settling David down for the night. Eventually, the nightly ritual became as routine as brushing teeth or turning off lights.
Initially, things were fine with Doug, but eventually, he grew resentful toward David. He felt it unfair of Bill and Katie to lay so much of the burden at his young feet. However, instead of the two brothers falling away from one another, David’s needs strengthened their bond. Resentment turned to humility and burdens to blessings. In their waning years, Bill and Katie drew much comfort from knowing their boys were going to be okay once they were gone. And Doug, kind and good, wouldn’t have had it any other way.

CURRENT DAY

Buuuuuz! the alarm clock screeched, startling Doug. “Man. Gotta get an alarm that says, ‘Good morning, sunshine,’ and not ‘Get your sorry tail outta bed . . . now!’ Despite shaking some alertness back into his heavy head, sleep clung to him like a warm blanket, bringing forth a frown. The somnolent man was at least two stout energy drinks away from being civil to anyone about anything. He crawled out of bed and went to David’s room.

Knock! Knock!

“You alive in there, D? D?”

When David didn’t respond, Doug worried, as he often did, that one day he’d enter David’s room and find it empty; or worse, find him soaked in someone else’s blood.

BANG! BANG!

“Hey, David! Time to get up!”

“I’m here! I’m here!” the voice shouted from the other side of the thick metal door.

Though relieved, Doug needed to verify he was communicating with his brother. However, this didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun. “I need verification. What is your favorite color?” he asked, imitating the bridge keeper from the comedy, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

“Gray,” came the response.

“What is your last girlfriend’s name?” the faux bridge keeper queried.

“Soul-sucking bitch.”

“David, come on, man. I gotta get ready.”

“Lily. Lily Atwater.”

“Okay.” After a short cautionary pause, Doug began opening each of the door locks.

Even now, he felt apprehensive about leaving himself vulnerable. What if one night the dangerous David stayed awake until the next morning? What if he figured out the correct answers to enough security questions to fool him? Would there be enough of the normal David left to resist murdering him? There was only one way to know for sure.

“Ahoy there,” David said. “Could you hurry and get me out of these restraints? I have to pee like a racehorse.”

After a brief prayer for protection, Doug stepped inside the bedroom/cell and removed David’s restraints.

“Geez, you took long enough,” David moaned.

“Take care of business fast. I need to shower, too,” Doug said.

David sniffed Doug. “It smells like you need it more than I do, and I sleep in padded pj’s.”

“David, please go.”

“I’m going. In the meantime, you need to suck down one of your energy drinks. The world doesn’t deserve this much crankiness.”

While David showered, Doug grabbed a bagel and an energy drink, then headed to the living room. He settled on the couch and turned on the TV, going to the local news channel.

“Police are still investigating the disappearance of a local man, Paul Kamen, last seen at an area nightclub last Friday night,” the newscaster reported. “This is a recent picture.”

The victim’s resemblance to David took Doug aback. “Whoa, that’s disconcerting,” he

muttered. Doug increased the volume, as the newscaster continued detailing the macabre facts surrounding the disappearance.

“Because his last known whereabouts and physical description match those of seven other missing men, investigators suspect a connection to a serial killer. The victims are Caucasian, fit, in their early to mid-twenties, with brown hair and blue eyes. The authorities are asking anyone with information to contact them at 1-800-TIP-LINE. The weather forecast for . . .”

Doug heard the shower stop, so he turned off the TV, chugged the last of the drink, and headed to the bathroom.

“All yours,” David said to Doug, passing him in the hall.

“Thanks,” Doug said. “We’re both running late, so you should probably grab a coffee on your

way to work. It’ll take too long to brew it up here.”

“Oh, great. Thanks for turning on the coffeemaker for me.”

“You’re welcome. There’s still some bagels left on the counter, unless you want to snag something else.”

David rolled his eyes. “Like I have a choice.”

David’s misery inspired a smile in Doug. “It could be worse. Ask Paul Kamen.”

“Who’s that?”

“Forget about it. It doesn’t concern you.”

Doug was wrong about that. Profoundly wrong.

* * * * * *

Mollie Dowd, a mousy accountant now working under the pseudonym Eva Cashmere, walked dream-like through the colorful cascade of bright, concert-style laser lighting. She weaved her way between the undulating bodies moving in time with the staccato pulses of syncopated rhythms. A light fog illuminated by alternating rays of color bathed the faces of the youthful crowd. Despite the high energy of the dance club, everything felt as if it were moving in slow motion.

Eva was alone, as she always was on these special nights. She took care to make herself alluring but not too much; it allowed her to keep a lower profile. People, even drunk ones, will remember someone who attracts considerable attention. She wasn’t at the popular meeting place to be noticed; she was there to notice. Sometimes, it took a few hours, other times, a few minutes. Inevitably, a hungry young fish would take the bait. And they were all hungry.

“Hello there,” said the lean man with curly brown hair and  blue eyes. “Your glass looks as though you need a refill, and I’d like to be the guy who sees that it gets filled. My name’s Max Lester. Sorry about the god-awful pick-up line. It’s my lame attempt at being suave and sophisticated.”

“I wouldn’t be too embarrassed,” said the attractive woman with the blonde wig and green contact lenses. I would’ve never taken you for suave and sophisticated, anyway.”

“Ouch! That one kind of hurt.”

“Oh, don’t worry. That was my lame attempt at being coquettish. I’m Eva Cashmere,” she said, delicately extending her hand.

“I love a woman who knows how to throw a verbal punch.”

“Does she know her lover is hitting on a woman in a bar?”

“And she also has a smart sense of humor,” laughed Max. “I’m talking about you this time.”

“Yeah, I got that. Say, I thought you were going to fill this glass. Tell you what: dance with me for a few songs, and I’ll let you know if I still want that drink.”

Max grinned. “Fair enough. Let’s go hit it.”

The plan fell together as it typically did: the flirtation, the interaction, the dancing to work up an intense thirst. But the most integral part was the drinks she would buy for them as he found them a table. Her drink would be sparkling water. She’d lace his drink of choice with a time-released sedative. Soon, the chosen man would begin to feel the effects, then she’d lead him outside. Eva never worried about being seen leaving a nightclub with a man soon to be reported missing. She covered her tracks by alternating wigs, shoe heights, and colored contact lenses.

Within ten minutes, Max’s eyes were glassy, his gaze confused and unfocused.

Eva had another ten minutes to talk him into leaving the bar, getting into her car and driving back to her quiet, little house nestled in a wooded lot where the nearest neighbors lived at least 300 yards away.

“I feel a . . . a little funny,” Max said.

“And here I thought I’d found a man who could hold his liquor,” Eva replied.

Max’s smile hung crooked. “Don’t worry about . . . my . . . manhood. I can g-go all . . . night.”

“That sounds like a challenge. How about if we go back to my place, and we’ll see if you can back that up.”

Max attempted to stand, then stumbled. “Geez, they m-mix the dinks hard ahound hyuh.”

Eva braced Max and led him out of the club and to her car. She leaned him against the side of the hood like a mopstick and opened the passenger side door. “Come on, lover. Oh, the things I’m going to do to you.”

Grabbing Max’s shirt collar, she half dragged him to the open car door and helped him inside. Without buckling him in, she pulled the small lever on the side of his seat and reclined him back as far as possible. She shut his door, walked around to her side, and started the car to begin the hour-long trek to her lair.

Max slipped in and out of consciousness. “Are with there et?”

“Patience, lover. Patience.” Once Max was unconscious, Eva felt safe enough to think about other things. Important things. As she looked at her prey, an old ache returned to her heart bringing with it a remembrance of the cruel people who’d ruined her quiet, fragile life.

The first, Donny, she’d met during junior high school. Mollie was an awkward loner, a friendless outcast who the other students called “the weird chick.”

Like an unexpected knight in shining armor, Donny came along. The happy-go-lucky teen with brown hair, blue eyes, and pop star cuteness sat across from Mollie in eighth grade Social Studies. The classroom layout wasn’t traditional. Instead of the desks being arranged in even rows, half faced east, the others west. This allowed Mollie to look up and into the handsome face that sometimes smiled back at her.

One day, Mollie gathered the nerve to approach Donny after class. She followed him into the hall, where she initiated a brief and innocuous conversation about nothing in particular. His positive response to her clumsy advances surprised her.

For the next few days, Mollie followed her crush around like a lovesick puppy. Emboldened, she slipped a passionate poem she’d written him through a slit in his locker.

In English class the next day, the teacher, Mrs. Frankel, had each student read aloud a poem by one of the famous poets they had studied. One by one, Mollie’s classmates stood and recited the works of Dickinson, Frost, Proust, Yeats, and others. A student, Melanie Greer, stood and said that she’d stumbled across a little-known poet. To Mollie’s horror, and to the amusement of others, she read Mollie’s private poem to Donny.

It turned out that Donny had shared her secret thoughts with everyone he knew. Mollie cringed with shame every time a student yelled her words at her whenever she passed by. Donny’s unkindness caused Mollie to retreat deeper into herself, returning her to her inner prison.

Terry came along during Mollie’s junior year of high school after catching her attention in the cafeteria. She took notice of the long, curly, brown hair and placid blue eyes that reminded her of her first love, Donny. As if by providence, Terry noticed her, too. His unexpected kindness soothed Mollie, luring her from the hardened shell that Donny’s cruelty had created around her. Soon, the two started spending time together. The hanging out led to hand-holding, then to kissing, which led to going by his house after school, for some dry humping on the family room sofa.

When late autumn arrived, Mollie flew to the heavens when Terry asked her to a formal dance at their high school. However, she dropped back down to terra firma when Terry left a phone message the morning of the event to tell her he’d decided to take someone else instead.

Mollie spent the evening at home crying her eyes out. She learned a short time later that Terry had been seeing another girl for a few weeks. The vixen had promised him that if he proved he loved her more than Mollie, she would be a girl who would deny him nothing. And if the rumors held up under scrutiny and sordid observations, she hadn’t.

Again, loneliness and self-loathing overwhelmed Mollie. No other suitors were ready to whisk her away to a fairy-tale ending on a majestic white stallion. The rest of her high school years plodded along at a glacial pace, each more melancholy than the previous one, leaving her bereft of any hope of ever being loved.

Mollie’s love life didn’t improve in college. Awful memories of betrayal and humiliation

haunted her. Yet, she held onto the fleeting moments of happiness, picturing a different outcome, a better life. Donny and Terry lurked in every thought and fantasy. Over time, she established an obsession with a specific type of man: fit, attractive, with blue eyes and brown hair.

The first two attempts at romance had robbed her of her dignity. The next one robbed her of her virginity via a roofie that the hot, blue-eyed, brown-haired frat boy, Lucas, had dropped in her drink. Still, Mollie sought any man with the features that she desired to satisfy her degrading obsession.

Time passed, cold and dreary, a winter river flowing toward an icy sea of despair. Mollie had sparred with life for many years, and she had the emotional scars and bruises to show for it. In time, her empty heart filled with hatred for the soul-crushing indignities she’d suffered from the abusers who’d used her as little more than a party doll.

Mollie realized the only way to break free of her insecurities was to flip the script. Under the guidance of a personal trainer, Mollie devoted herself to a strict diet and workout regimen. The efforts produced a confident and attractive 24-year-old that men noticed. It was now time her turn to harm and control. Gone was the meaningless girl who cowered in the shadows. A new person had emerged, full of vibrancy and cunning. Selfish, heartless people had dealt Mollie Dowd unspeakable pain. Eva Cashmere was going to return it.

* * * * * *

Keeping to as many backstreets as possible, Eva arrived at the house within an hour. At this point, she had around thirty minutes before the effects of the sedative wore off, or as she called it, Magic Time.

Eva pulled around to the left side of her house and into the windowless one-car garage. She

had enough room to move an adjustable gurney to the passenger side of the car, remove Max,

and pull him onto it.

From there, she wheeled her guest into the adjoining basement. The room was large, with harsh fluorescent lighting that made the dingy dungeon resemble a morgue. Plastic curtains hung from the ceiling, with additional plastic spread out over the floor. Lowering the gurney, she pulled a thick chain that ran through a pulley on the ceiling to Max’s feet. Next, she secured padded manacles attached to the end of the chain around his ankles.

“Whut . . . whut are y-you . . . oooing?” Max groaned, regaining a semblance of consciousness.

“What am I doing? Is that what you’re asking? We are about to get down and dirty here. Do you want to get wild, Max?”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Max.

“Okay, here comes the fun part for you. I hope you aren’t bashful.” Within moments, she’d stripped Max naked. “Now then, I’m gonna hang you upside down like the hot hunk of meat you are and devour you in one big bite.”

After cuffing Max’s wrists, Eva went to the other end of the chain, which was attached to a large motor ten feet from the foot of the gurney. “Here we go, Peter Pan. Get ready to fly!” she shouted before bringing the motor to life. When Max’s head was about three feet above the floor, she turned off the motor, leaving him dangling like a dead elk, then scooted the gurney away.

“I’m flyiiing,” Max squealed in a girlish, gleeful falsetto.

“Hey, Max! Can you see me?”

“I upthide down.”

“You sure are. I’m digging that hot body, that brown hair and those beautiful blue eyes.

Let’s see what you think of my body, yes?”

“Uh-huh.”

Eva removed her wig and tossed it aside. Then she started humming the old stripper tune that had permeated so many racy movies and TV shows in the late ’50s and early ’60s. With each accent, she removed a piece of clothing from her slender body until she revealed her naked form. “Now that I’ve taken care of the fun part for you, it’s time to begin the fun part for me. Are you ready, Max?”

Stunned by the mysterious woman’s raw, bare beauty, Max found himself speechless.

“Max? Oh, Maaax?” Eva called.

“Ya-huh, I ready,” Max slurred.

“Oooh good,” Eva said, as she gave a silent golf clap before walking to a dark corner of the room.

Max heard Eva fumbling with something that sounded light and flimsy. When she reappeared, she was carrying a small plastic wading pool. The aquamarine shell measured one foot deep and four feet wide. One side featured a short, angled slide into the pool.

“Excuse me,” Eva said while centering the pool under Max. “Nearly done. How we doin’ there, Max?”

Max didn’t respond. He tilted his head, furrowed his brow and gazed at the pool with a look of befuddlement.

“Okay, here goes nothin’,” Eva said with a touch of excitement.

Eva went to a six-drawer metal tool cabinet. After opening one of the middle drawers, she removed a phony top shelf lined with screwdrivers in a variety of shapes, sizes, and functions. Hidden underneath was a thinner drawer with far more sinister tools. Eva thought it smart to hide the deadly instruments, in case the police ever got wise to her and checked her house for murder weapons. She placed the faux top shelf on top of the unit, then selected a shiny steel sickle with a dark wooden handle. Its curved blade glittered under the brightness of the fluorescent lighting. Eva grimaced at their harshness. “Time to set the mood,” she muttered.

Eva walked across the room and exchanged the fluorescents for some dim overhead lighting that colored the plain space with a soft glow. Stepping into the wading pool, she lowered her body to a relaxed position and leaned back against the slide, allowing her lower legs to stick out over the side. She watched Max leering at her for a moment, enjoying his helplessness. Then, using the sickle, she leaned up and opened a thin gash across his throat before resuming her reclined position.

The gushing slice resembled a mouth covered in red lipstick, vomiting up a thick, sanguine syrup. As the crimson torrent obscured Max’s face, he gurgled and struggled for air, the blood flooding his eyes, nose, and open mouth.

Eva waited as his limp body twitched a few times before stilling altogether. Resting within the silence of her private world, she breathed in the coppery air, allowing it to fill her lungs, and soothe her spirit. The warm, rising pond of thick, sticky pleasure gradually rose to meet her undulating hips. The laughing faces of the soul-murdering men, who had seduced the plain, gullible girl, swam through her haunted imagination. “Boys, boys. Do you sense me? Do you feel me wherever you are? I’m bathing in you, drinking you in. Do you think I’ll ever be filled?”

Eva soaked until the blood cooled. She stepped out of her bath, then traipsed across the slippery, crinkling plastic to a corner mop basin. Crouching down under the faucet, she washed her body well enough to go upstairs and take a proper shower.

Afterward, she lined the gurney with a clean sheet of plastic, lowered the exsanguinated body onto it, swaddled it, and disposed of it in a clearing in the woods.

Since she made this an occasional Friday night ritual, she’d have the weekend to clean and bleach the basement. A few days would pass before the drama started. News reports regarding the latest disappearance would cause her momentary concern as she wondered if this time she’d be caught.

Eva/Mollie would lie low for a while. Then, she’d start fantasizing and obsessing over—oh, who was it? Donny? Terry? Maybe Lucas? The memories and faces sometimes got mixed up.”

Eva accepted that a frightened public might see her as a psychopath, a murderer, a sexual deviant, or all of the above. She admitted to herself that she had become those things, or worse. The one thing she never considered becoming was a victim of another monster.

* * * * * *

“Heading out!” David shouted.

“Where to?” asked Doug.

“Ca-lubbin’! Wanna come?”

Doug scowled at the paperwork he’d brought home from the office. “Naw. Got some work to do to prepare for Monday.”

“All work and no play—”

“Keeps the bills paid on time,” Doug finished. “Hey, listen, though. I’ve been thinking you might want to cool it with the bars for a while. This serial killer stuff doesn’t seem to be coming to an end anytime soon. The guy who went missing a couple of weeks ago still hasn’t been found. You might want to keep up to date on all of this.”

“What makes you think this person would target me over someone else? I mean, I’m flattered

and all, but come on.”

“Dude, describe yourself to me. Seriously, describe yourself.”

“Let’s see: I’m five-ten, 25 years-old, brown hair, blue eyes, and in decent shape.”

“Decent shape? Bro, you’re a frickin’ gym rat. Now describe to me the last seven victims.”

A look of realization dawned on David’s face. “Oh . . . crap.”

“Thank you,” Doug said.
“Listen, I’m crazy, but I’m not irresponsible. I don’t get falling-down drunk, for obvious reasons. I also don’t let my little head make decisions for my big head for greater reasons. Sleepovers are a no-no for sure.”

“Are you saying that you think the killer is a woman?”

“’Course she is. These guys were looking for love in all the wrong places.”

“Don’t you think they could’ve fought off a woman who’s probably half their size?”

“Not if she drugged them with something slow and potent. And we’re both long-time authorities on various types of sedation.”

“That makes sense. Anyway, make sure that you stay with your friends the entire time. And for heaven’s sake, don’t wander out of the club with anyone you don’t know.”

Doug’s show of concern touched David. What would Doug do, he thought, if one night I didn’t come home? He pondered how devastated Doug would be if he wrongly believed that he’d not done enough to protect his little brother? And what would this do to the memory of his selfless parents—parents who’d given up so much for their sick child?

David swallowed his emotions and approached Doug from behind as he slumped over his work. He stooped, put his arms around Doug’s shoulders, and kissed him on the top of his head. “I love you, Doug.”

“Oh, Lord. What d’ya want?”

David let go and stood. “I’m serious; I love you. Find a stopping point between now and

whenever you plan on completing this crap, and go do something stupid and ill-advised.”

Doug grinned. “You make sure you don’t do something stupid and ill-advised.”

“Not a chance,” David promised. But he did, anyway.

* * * * * *

David felt her looking at him. Every time he turned in her direction, she met his gaze for only a second before flashing him a provocative smile before turning her attention elsewhere. Given the disappearances, he understood the foolhardiness of approaching a stranger. Still, something about the mysterious woman intrigued him—a strange connection. While watching, he saw her dismiss a couple of hopeful admirers who’d approached her. Each time, she returned her attention to David, playing her coy game of “I’m-looking-at-you-but-don’t-catch-me-at-it.” He pondered a visit to her, but then remembered his agreement with Doug. “I know, brother, but there’s a fine line between being cautious and paranoid,” he muttered to himself. Before joining the woman, he searched for his two buddies and spotted them standing near the bar chatting up a couple of attractive women. He didn’t want to rain on their parade for his sake, so he gave them their freedom, along with his blessing. “Good luck, gentlemen,” he said. Throwing caution to the wind, he wound his way through the thick crowd of partiers and toward the brunette with a sensual smile and  bewitching blue eyes.

* * * * * *

David was standing in an alleyway kissing a curvaceous brunette. After a moment, she stepped back and lowered the straps of her designer dress, revealing her slender shoulders and the beginnings of her curved breasts. David panted like a marathon runner as the woman ran her fingers through her long, flowing mane of hair. Then, without warning, she dug her painted fingernails into her cheeks and began ripping away chunks of flesh, tossing them to the ground in wet plops. Soon, her mesmerizing face became a pale, leering skull. Instead of panicking and running for his life, David took the creature in his arms and began kissing her exposed teeth with feverish passion. When he pulled away, his lips were stuck to the skeletal mouth. He twisted in a frantic effort to free himself and end his horror. His lips stretched like rubber bands before tearing free, leaving him disfigured. David’s ravaged mouth yawned, sending forth a blood-curdling wail.

Doug shot up from his nightmare with a start, a bolt of fear overtaking him. Once his breathing slowed, and his heartbeat normalized, he began thinking more clearly. He rose from his spot on the couch and explored the house, but didn’t see any telltale signs of David.

“David?” he called. No reply. Doug looked at his watch and felt a fresh surge of panic as he saw it was after 2 a.m. David was usually at home by now, so Doug could secure him for the night.

“Chill out . . . just chill out,” Doug kept repeating, hoping to decelerate his racing mind. Once he was calmer, he removed his cell phone and called David’s number. After six rings, the call went to voicemail.

Doug paced around the living room as he tried to reach David twice more. On the third attempt, he left a frantic message pleading with David to call him.

“Dammit” Doug yelled as he threw the phone against the sofa. He turned on the TV as a distraction but kept the volume low; he needed to concentrate. Doug searched his memory for some of the nightclubs David frequented. As he did so, he glanced at the TV and saw a picture of Max Lester on its screen. He focused on the unflattering photograph, noticing the resemblance to the previous men who’d gone missing, as well as to David.  His eyes grew moist and fear

wracked his body. He said aloud what he was thinking. Dreading. “I don’t know who you are, but if you hurt my baby brother, I’ll . . .”

Doug grew solemn and measured as he finished his original thought. “Whatever you think you’re going to do to him, for your sake, don’t let him sleep.”

* * * * * *

“Well, that was a first,” Eva Cashmere said to herself. It was the first time that she’d had to use two drugged drinks to incapacitate anyone. She had even increased the dosage for the second attempt. Still, David remained semiconscious for the entire drive. Eva couldn’t suppress her admiration. “My God, you’re an absolute stallion.”
Soon, she was pulling into the garage. With her typical workman-like approach, Eva dragged David onto the gurney, then wheeled him into her shop of horrors, parking him under the pulley rig.
David struggled to raise his head. “Y-you don’t wanna do thish,” he slurred. “You’re tutting your own . . . throat.”

“Actually,” Eva said with sarcasm, “I’ll be cutting yours. Although . . .” She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the brown glass vial of sedative. “You’ve been a tough one to wrangle, so I’m thinking you need another snort of the good stuff before we get started. Can’t have you fighting back.”

David turned his head from side to side to avoid drinking any more of the translucent and tasteless elixir.

Eva used one hand to hold David’s wobbly head and the other to pour a healthy dose past his puckered lips, causing him to gag. “This is where it gets fun for me,” she taunted.

David coughed and wheezed before finally going limp.

Eva sighed, disappointed. “Aw, I wanted you to enjoy the show. No big whoop. You’ll serve your purpose.”

Eva walked past the foot of the gurney, grabbed the chain, and began pulling it toward herself. Once she had the proper amount of slack, she turned to secure David’s ankles. She gave a loud, startled yelp when she looked into the unholy, toothy smile of the presumably unconscious man who had silently sat up on the gurney. A nauseous knot of terror ravaged her stomach, worsening with each look at the fiend’s contorted smile.

“That was the fun part for you,” David’s other self snarled. “Now comes the fun part for me.”

Eva experienced paralysis similar to that of her victims. Their condition, however, was drug-induced—hers derived from an animalistic urge to escape. With wild, frightened eyes, she watched the transformed victim slide off the gurney and approach her. Her numb body shook as David took his time attaching the padded manacles to her ankles.

Unlike Eva, David didn’t bother to make the upside-down ascent to the ceiling gentle and comfortable. He traced the path of the chain past the pulley and to the lift motor, respecting the ingenuity of the sturdy and straightforward setup. “Well, now. Aren’t you a clever kitten?” Whistling a merry melody, he flipped the switch on the side of the motor housing. He watched dispassionately as Eva’s feet flew out from under her, causing her head to smack against the unforgiving concrete floor.

Eva lost consciousness for a few seconds before realizing she was suspended in the air. She wished that her brief blackout had lasted, as there would be no mercy in the kill room tonight.

David wandered around the room, exploring its uncommon layout. His curiosity soon led him to the freestanding metal toolbox. After some searching, he discovered, to his morbid delight, the hidden drawer that housed the killing tools. His fingers danced appreciatively over the macabre collection as if he were stroking velvet. The sickle drew his attention. Like a jeweler assessing a diamond, he rotated it under the lights, smiling under its brilliance. “So, what else have you got that’s fun?” he asked.

After a quick search, David discovered the plastic wading pool. “Well now, this is interesting. What cha been bathing in, nasty girl?”

David dragged the pool over to Eva with a grim, deliberate purposefulness. Shoving the gurney out of the way, he laid it flat, then used his foot to slide it under Eva. Grabbing her by the hair, he snarled, “My, what a slender throat you—” To his surprise, he was gripping a wig. “What’s this? “Who are you really? You don’t strike me as an Eva anymore.”

The hopelessness of her situation changed Eva’s terror into a calming wave of relief. Perhaps now was the time for things to end—the heartache, the feeling of being less than, and the many other awful things that had sucked her down an endless black hole of insanity and despair. She’d been born as Mollie Dowd, and decided that she should die as such.

“My name’s Mollie Dowd,” she muttered. “I’m just a nobody. I’ve been playing dress-up for a while now. I wanted the world to finally see me, to want me. I’m not special. I’m pathetic. Ordinary. Are you disappointed?”

“Not really. I’m not always myself either. I sympathize with your plight, but I’m still going to kill you. Any desperate, poetic words you’d like to leave us with tonight, sweet, ordinary Mollie? Psycho killer, Eva?”

“Tell me you love me,” Mollie said.

For the briefest moment, and for the first and only time, the other David felt compassion. He surprised himself by kissing Mollie’s trembling lips. “I love you,” he muttered. Then the fun part

began—one piece at a time

TWO WEEKS LATER

The game was at halftime, and the Steelers were down by 24 points. “Honestly! The G.M. needs to clean house once he grows a pair.” David bellowed.

“You know,” Doug said with calm resignation, “I’m kind of at the acceptance stage of grief. The anger, the depression, it’s all over now. I think I’m finally ready to move on. Wanna jump ship and root for the Chiefs in the playoffs?”

“Damn you, Pittsburgh! I just cain’t quit cha,” David whined in a slow southern drawl

“Want a fresh one?” Doug asked, shaking his empty beer bottle.

“Sure, why not? It’s not as if I have anything left to care about anymore. I have no pride; no dignity; no salsa. Speaking of which, will you bring me some more salsa?”

“Yup, comin’ up.”

While Doug went about whipping up some fresh brews and salsa from the kitchen, David watched a teaser for the local evening news. A woman’s face, one he felt he recognized, materialized on the screen. The voiceover stated that when she hadn’t shown up for work in a week, her co-workers became concerned and had the police perform a welfare check. That’s when they found her dismembered body spread over the floor of her basement. There’d be more news at eleven.

Doug returned to the couch with fresh supplies. He placed them on the coffee table, then plopped next to David. Seeing the last of the news commercial, he said, “Man, I’m glad you made it back that one Friday night. There’s some wicked mess goin’ on out there. I don’t mind telling you, as relieved as I was about your special guest not killing me, I was more relieved to find you asleep in your bed. Dragging in that late was irresponsible. You should have gotten me up. Things could’ve gone bad, David. Promise me you’ll never ever do that again. We stick to the drill. No excuses.”

“I’m sorry,” David said, his voice conveying genuine remorse. “That was stupid of me to endanger you like that. It’s just that I knew you were exhausted from working so hard, and I didn’t want to wake you. I promise you that will never happen again.”

Doug rustled David’s hair, an annoying act he’d begun in their childhood. “Glad to hear it, dummy.”

When the game resumed to start the second half, the men, who were more like friends than brothers, clinked their bottles together in a wordless toast.

“Oh, yeah,” David beamed. “This is the fun part.”