M Sellars - Love Is The Bond

“Doc says they were prob’ly made with a straight razor,” he replied, reaching over and pulling down the corner of the photo with his finger so he could see it. Then he indicated an area above the wounds. “Look here though.”

I followed his fingertip to the edge of the picture. I could just barely make out three thin lines intersecting the corner of the image.

“What’s that?”

“Scars,” he replied. “There’s actually a better picture here somewhere.”

“Here,” Felicity interjected, sliding one toward me without looking up, as she was already engrossed in a different image.

“Yeah,” Ben said with a nod. “That’s it.”

Even though they were still faint, the lighting on this particular photograph was more conducive to showing the marks. There were, in fact, far more than just three of the lines creasing Wentworth’s pallid skin. I stopped counting at seventeen. Some were starker in appearance than others, a telltale sign that they were more recent.

“Most of ‘em are on his back,” Ben explained. “But he’s got ‘em on his buttocks and thighs, and what ya’ saw on his chest too. Basically he’s been down this road before, which is why I’m sayin’ he was a sicko.”

“He got off on being cut,” I mused.

“Yeah, that’s how it looks. Doc Sanders called it zero-phobia, or somethin’ like that.” My friend pulled a small notebook from his hip pocket and began thumbing through the pages. “Got it here somewhere…”

“Xyrophilia,” Felicity said aloud, still studying the images.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he agreed.

“A love or obsession with razors and knives,” my wife continued. “Combined with some kind of self or reverse piquerism apparently.”

My friend looked over at me with a puzzled expression. “Peekawho? Sounds like that friggin’ cartoon character.”

I simply shrugged and nodded toward my wife as I tossed the photo onto the pile and pushed away from the table. “You’ll have to ask her. I’m going to get a cup of coffee, you want some?”

He nodded. “Yeah, why not.”

“Felicity?”

“With lots of sugar this time” was her response.

“Okay,” Ben started in on my wife as I retrieved a trio of mugs from the cabinet. “So what’s with the ‘ism’?”

After a short pause, Felicity set aside the photo she’d been inspecting then looked up at Ben. “Piquerism is a condition whereby you become aroused by stabbing or cutting another person. In his case, it appears that Judge Wentworth became aroused by being cut or stabbed. I don’t know if there is an actual word for that, other than masochist.”

“Ya’know, Firehair, it fuckin’ scares the shit outta me that you know that stuff.”

“Aye, I bet I know some other things that would scare you even more.”

“Yeah, well between the two of ya’ I’m not takin’ that bet. Let’s just not go there.”

“Well, if this was his kink,” I offered, sliding a steaming mug in front of Ben. “Then you’re right, Felicity. He was definitely a masochist.”

“Like I said. Sick fuckin’ puppy.” Ben gave a quick nod then nudged my arm with the back of his hand. “By the way, I meant ta’ ask ya’ earlier. What happened to your hands?”

I looked quickly at the welted scratches that raked across my flesh then started to offer an excuse. Felicity, however, was faster with the explanation, and what she gave him was the unadulterated truth.

“A sudden attack of piquerism on my part,” she interjected.

“Come again?”

“You don’t want to…” I started, but again I was too late, as my wife was already serving up the gory details.

“I sexually dominated and physically abused my husband for several hours this morning,” she announced with calm poise. Displaying her hands, she wriggled her fingers in an animated fashion while adding, “And I got just a bit overzealous with the fingernails.”

“Awwww, Jeez…” Ben mumbled in an embarrassed tone. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve fuckin’ asked. Just forget it.”

As if she hadn’t even heard him, my wife continued her unabashed disclosure of how we’d spent our morning. “Of course, since I was sitting on top of him, holding him down, and…”

“Jeez, Row, I said I didn’t wanna know this stuff,” Ben appealed to me, cutting her off.

“I tried to stop you,” I told him.

“Well, ya’ didn’t try to stop her.”

“Aye, like he could,” Felicity replied. “Now, can I finish the story?”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” my friend said.

“It’s just sex, Ben,” she stated.

He shook his head. “Apparently not, if you were… If it was…”

“Kinky?” she asked.

“Jeezus fuckin’ Christ, yeah… ‘Zactly… Besides, with you two… It’s like… Like… I dunno, like hearin’ your parents talk about doin’ it.”

“Come on. We aren’t that old, Ben,” she admonished. “At least, I’m not. You’re both older than me, then.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it… Shit. Can we just move on ta’ somethin’ else, please?”

“You’re embarrassed,” Felicity stated with a grin as she took her glasses off and cocked her head to the side. She was thoroughly enjoying the fact that she had him squirming. Maybe even a little too much.

“So what if I am?” he replied.

“It’s funny.”

“No it ain’t.”

She nodded vigorously. “Aye, but it is.”

“Listen, does this even have anything at all to do with what I came here ta’ show you?”

“Actually, I think it does.”

“How?”

“Well, when I think about it, it all makes perfect sense.”

He looked over at me as if seeking help. I just shook my head as I set a full coffee mug and the sugar bowl in front of my wife then said, “Leave me out of it.”

I was pretty sure I knew where she was headed, and she was correct, it did make perfect sense. Still, I wasn’t about to get in the middle the conversation. Not yet, anyway.

“Jeezzzz… I know I’m gonna regret this…” he began as he looked back at her. “Damn… Okay, what makes sense?”

“Why I connected so easily with the sexual energy in that room,” she replied.

“Well yeah, it’s ‘cause you’re a Twilight Zone freakazoid just like Rowan,” he told her.

“Not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke,” he said. “Besides, it’s just about as funny as me bein’ embarrassed. Anyway, what’s the big deal? I thought Row felt it too.”

“I did,” I offered. “But, that’s just it. I felt it. Felicity, on the other hand, really connected. Up to and including channeling it.”

“You felt it yourself,” Felicity told him flatly.

“I dunno about that,” he replied. “Like I said, it’s pretty obvious what goes on in a place like that.”

“That’s beside the point,” she returned. “You felt it whether you realized it or not.”

“Okay, I give. How do ya’ know that?”

“You were flirting with me when we arrived,” she returned.

“I’ve flirted with ya’ before,” he huffed. “It’s just, ya’know, friendly… Well, you know what I mean.”

“Aye, but you were flirting with me at a crime scene, Ben. Heavily.”

“Jeez,” he mumbled. She had him more flustered than I’d ever seen. “Listen, I’m not doin’ the hocus-pocus, that’s you two, so give it a rest. Now let’s get back ta’ what you were originally sayin’… If I’m understandin’ the deal here, you mean because you’re female and the killer is prob’ly a whor… hook… Fuckit… a prostitute, you tapped into this shit?” His words were half-statement, half-question.

“That aspect of her profession has nothing to do with it,” she replied. “But yes, I think the killer was a woman.”