Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
So many times, the police had overlooked an important clue or ignored a reasonable stoolpigeon because perhaps they were a lady of the night or an alcoholic. Maybe they were a guy in prison who wanted to tell what his lunatic cellmate confessed to on a Monday morning for the crown of bragging rights, in exchange for a lighter sentence.
He crushed his cigarette in an ashtray and shook his head. I had to take matters into my own hands. Communicate for the reticent, the way Mrs. Florence spoke for me…
He’d had another visit from his old teacher in his dreams that morning. Around 2:13 a.m., to be exact. His bedroom had gotten cold and she was there, glaring at him. He sat there now, recalling every detail, then tucked it away for later evaluation. Caspian ignored the way Mrs. Florence played with the lights many days, causing electrical issues and making the radio in his rental car do strange things, such as skipping songs and playing Madonna tunes ad infinitum. She was persistent, hair-raising, and unwavering.
“Ohhh, Mrs. Florence… I guess you know I’ve been a busy boy.” He cackled, pivoting back and forth in his chair. A flush of heat overtook him and he was itching for a fight. “In fact, I now have the address of your husband. Clifford. That’s a good, solid name. He’s in a nursin’ home.” He cracked his knuckles. “I understand that your old house is bein’ lived in by your niece. I’ll be goin’ to see her eventually, too. Today though? It’s me and ol’ Clifford Florence. All I have to do is throw on this nice boy charming act I have down pat, smile, and offer a gift and a kind word. I’ll open him like a can of fuckin’ beans. After I read him, of course.
“You recall I’m good at sizin’ folks up, knowin’ what I need to do or say to get my way with them. See, you didn’t wanna talk to me about your demons but we all have some, Mrs. Florence. Even you. Or maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I just didn’t ask the right questions back then. You only gave us the information about you that you wanted to give and yet, you knew every damned thing ’bout me, Axel, and Legend.
“That seems a bit one sided don’t cha think? Mighty unfair. You were acutely aware of what made us happy… our deepest desires… what made us tick. You knew our horrible secrets, too. You made us tell you about those confidences with that strange power you had—an almost sixth sense, if you will. I admire it, don’t get me wrong. See, sizin’ folks up and a sixth sense ain’t the same. I use intellect to do it. A sixth sense comes from the heart. I ain’t got no heart. ’Spose you could say I’m at a disadvantage.”
He laughed. “I told ya that I know what you’ve been up to. Sending women that are like you in some way—ladies who possess the specific traits I and my brothers find irresistible—pieces of you. We all were in love with you in a pure, innocent sort of way.
“First you got Axel, who was indifferent to settlin’ down at the time. Now he’s hitched with a couple of crumb snatchers and couldn’t be happier. You even got an infamous playboy like Legend to walk down the aisle. A man who said marriage was for simps and he wasn’t ever havin’ no kids. Now his wife is ’bout to deliver his son and he’s over the moon wit’ joy. I must admit, you got me now, too.”
He shook his finger in the air and smiled with pride at the photos of people he’d killed over the years, archived on that computer.
“You’re not takin’ any prisoners I see. I’m extremely picky. I’m not opposed to findin’ the right one, but I never believed I would. I take marriage seriously. I am not quick to rush into some shit, so I just have my fuck buddies, pardon my French. Yet, you’ve got me obsessin’ about this fuckin’ woman now! IT’S FUCKIN’ UP MY CONCENTRATION FOR WORK! IT’S INTERFERING WIT’ THE SHIT I NEED TO DO FOR AUNT ANGEL! AND YOU KNEW IT WOULD! You knew it would be an awful distraction, but I wouldn’t be able to help myself!”
He picked up the ashtray and tossed it across the room.
“Azure is somethin’, isn’t she?” He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “Such an amazin’ connection we had. On top of that, it was the best damn sex I’ve ever had and that’s sayin’ a lot, figurin’ I’ve got quite the body count. Not exactly proud of that,” he shrugged, “but not upset about it, either. That’s life. You knew I had a weakness for the artsy type. Beautiful women with talent. Uniqueness. Feminine women with a backbone… a walking and talking aesthetic… art bound in skin. She has to be attractive. She has to be able to hold a fuckin’ conversation. Traditional values with a few new age ideas, all rolled into one. No fanatics. No druggies. And she better be able to keep me on my fuckin’ toes. That’s a tall order. I’ve called this fuckin’ woman twice now since we went out, and she’s not called me back. I don’t have to do the chasin’—women blow up my phone, not the other way around. Damn you, Mrs. Florence!”