She reached for a nearby wall and felt around until she touched a light switch. Flipping it on, she was greeted to a small foyer that opened up to the one of the largest and most stark white living rooms she had ever set her eyes on. Despite the lack of color, it was gorgeous with sparse contemporary furnishings. The floor was concrete and covered with colorless area rugs. What was Victor’s fascination with white?
She stood near the leather couch looking over everything, trying to figure out what it was about the place that seemed serene despite the drab surroundings when it struck her that everything was as white and pure as the freshly driven snow. Perhaps that’s what his home was to him - a place where all the ugliness of the world melted away into the background; a place of pure calmness. She could sympathize with wanting a place to hide away from everyone and everything. She often wished she had that kind of place to call her own.
Moving around the living room and kitchen, she found nothing out of the ordinary and nothing noteworthy or revealing of the real man behind the mask of Mr. Black.
When she entered his bedroom, she touched the bed and brought a pillow to her nose. Inhaling deeply, her knees weakened. Victor. She laid the pillow back down and felt a rush of blood heat her cheeks. She had reprimanded Victor for his creepy stalking habits and she was no better by breaking into his house and smelling his belongings like some kind of fatal attraction.
Feeling ashamed of herself, she turned to walk out when she noticed a photo of herself on his nightstand next to a radio. She picked up the Polaroid picture, unfamiliar with it. When had it been taken? She probably should’ve been freaked out by finding this, but she wasn’t. He was keeping her near to him while he slept and though she hated to admit it, she found it oddly romantic.
She turned on the radio but only silence could be heard. She pushed several buttons and the same dead air came crackling through the speakers. It was a curious thing, but not one she could figure out.
She laid the photo back down exactly as she had found it and walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to his office. She flicked on the light and knew immediately this was the place his secrets would be found. Unlike the rest of the house, it looked lived in. There were papers scattered on the desk with hand-written notes, half-open files, and the fragrance … it was there just like everywhere else, but more prevalent. This is where Victor Laurenzo, aka Mr. Black, spent his time.
She seated herself at his desk and leaned back into the large, leather chair, wondering what it felt like to be Master of His Domain and Ruler of His Universe. What she wouldn’t give to live in his skin for just one day… to know what went on in that dark mind of his… to feel the intoxication of dominating another human being completely…
She spun the chair around and around until her stomach did a flip-flop and her vision became blurry. She planted her feet and steadied herself, ready to delve into Mr. Black’s world. She opened the first drawer to her left and was taken aback when a handgun came into view. Hesitantly, she touched the smooth, cold, black metal but didn’t dare pick it up. She swiftly closed the drawer and moved on to the next. Four drawers later, she was faced with a large, typed manuscript tied off with twill.
The cover page read: A Case Study in Behavior Modification and Character Development by Laurenzo Black.
Elsa’s nerves prickled. This was it. His journal typed out. A loud ringing in her ears drowned everything out as she reached for the pages. This was the key to all Victor’s secrets. Did she really want to know the man she was falling for? Could she handle everything she was about to come face-to-face with? Probably not, but she couldn’t leave without knowing everything even though she knew the rules of the game would change forever once she did.
Whether they would change for better or worse, she wouldn’t know until everything had played out.
14: Details
Victor threw himself onto the hotel bed, mentally worn out. He had helped follow up on several dead-end leads that day and his nerves were raw. There were still several to dig into and he hated that he wouldn’t be able to spend time with Eight over the weekend. If he was lucky, he might be able to steal away for a visit on Sunday… maybe. He closed his eyes and drifted in and out of sleep with the sound of traffic drifting in through the open balcony door.
He could really use a cigarette. He sat upright and reached for his briefcase and retrieved a piece of nicotine gum. It was a lame replacement, but his smoking was strictly a weekend/stalking kind of thing.
He kicked his shoes off and decided to call Virginia State Penitentiary. He needed to speak with Anthony and he was tired of waiting. After several minutes of being put on hold, Ant’s raspy voice rang out on the other end of the line.
“Get your guy, yet?” he asked.
“We’re getting close,” Victor lied but got right to the point. “Do you have anything to add or any insight?”
“Sure do, but first I want to talk about Chapter Eight. How’s that piece ass panning out for you?”
Victor sighed irritably. Fucking Anthony Bruce. “It’s going fine. Answer my question.”
“You first. And I want the truth this time.”
He gritted his teeth. It took a liar to know one. “She’s a handful.”
“Nice. Does she like it rough?”
“Don’t they all?” Victor blurted, already tired of Ant’s games.
Anthony chuckled and Victor could hear the condescension in his tone. “Seven didn’t. Neither did Three and Four. Or have you forgotten, already? Hell, come to think of it, I think only two of them Chapters of yours liked to play hard.”
‘Come to think of it,’ his ass. Victor knew damned well that Ant had committed to memory every single fucking detail of each and every one of his Chapters.
“I want details, Agent Laurenzo and since I know you’re out of town and can’t drop off your notes, tell ‘em to me. Since I already know how Eight smells, tell me how she tastes,” he laughed a little too heartily.
Why the hell had he contacted Anthony? His disgusting laugh turned Victor’s stomach. Pissed at himself for having called the manipulative fuck, he blared into the phone. “Listen here, you self-righteous, asshole, people are dying over here. I’m sick of your bullshit games so get this through that sociopathic head of yours: I’m not telling you anything more about any of my Chapters until you give me what I want. End. Of. Story.”
Victor was seething and the silence on the other end only made matters worse. Fuck this shit. He reached for the hotel’s phone receiver to end the call when he heard Ant grumble.
“Fine. You win. This round,” he spat out contemptuously.
It was always something with this guy, but Victor didn’t care. He was happy to have won a round period. “Talk,” he ordered.
“I’ve been watching news and this guy is playing with you. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of those leads were planted by the killer himself. In hindsight, I should’ve done the same damned thing. Maybe I could’ve stayed out there a longer if I had. Anyway… his mistake was that he knew those girls. At least I had the common fuckin’ sense to pick my victims randomly. Go with your gut and not with what everyone is leading you to believe.”
Victor’s interest was piqued. As usual, Anthony knew more than he was letting on and the sick fucker had an uncanny way of reading him. He shook his head. God, he hated Anthony Bruce and everything about him, but he was right. Victor had sensed all along that the murders were somehow connected. The detectives involved had nixed the idea from the beginning, but Victor’s gut instinct was telling him otherwise.
“How do you know all that?” he asked Ant.
“Killer’s intuition,” he laughed perversely. “As for Eight… now it’s your turn to talk.”