Dave Zeltserman - Bad Thoughts

Shannon couldn’t stand still. There was a frantic energy buzzing through him and neither pacing the apartment nor kicking the walls helped calm it down any. A drink would take some of the edge off but there was nothing in the apartment and all the bars were already closed for the night. He checked the kitchen for cigarettes, didn’t find any, grabbed his coat and headed outside. There was an all-night gas station off Memorial Drive where he could buy a pack.

As he drove he played back his dream. He had no doubt about it being real. The killer had talked to him. Somehow the killer had invaded his dream, had somehow forced himself into Shannon’s subconscious. It was more than just that. The killer’s presence had been real. That smell… the damage he did to Shannon’s fingers.. . as crazy as it sounded, Shannon knew it was true. Absentmindedly he found himself imagining what Elaine would say if he told her about it.

He was with her…

Shannon pulled the car over. His knuckles bone white as he squeezed the steering wheel. A dull ache pulsated from his injured fingers. His therapist. Elaine Horwitz.

He was with her. He was going to make mincemeat out of her.

Shannon knew it was true. But he had made a mistake about who the killer was referring to. Now he knew.

The road was empty except for a gray Chrysler sedan that had pulled up behind him. Shannon got out and told the two FBI agents in it where he was going.

Elaine Horwitz sat propped up on her office sofa, her hands tied behind her back, her feet tied tightly together. She was naked. Her panties had been stuffed into her mouth. Charlie Winters sat in an easy chair next to her. His complexion had an unhealthy pasty look, making it seem as if his skin had been dipped in wax. Droplets of moisture beaded up along his upper lip. As if he were coming out of a trance his eyes opened.

“Time to make the doughnuts,” Winters said with a twisted grin.

He stood up and grabbed the therapist by her hair, pulling her head up until her eyes were directed towards his.

“I’m going to free your mouth,” he breathed softly. “You know what will happen if you make any noise?”

Horwitz didn’t respond.

“Even as much as a whimper,” Winters added. “Especially a whimper.”

He pulled the panties out of her mouth, letting his fingers linger along the inside of her lips. Even through his gloves, he could feel the coldness of her flesh. It excited him. He let the panties drop to the floor.

“You know who I am?” Winters asked in his soft, singsong voice.

“Yes.”

“You want to guess how many women I’ve killed?”

Horwitz shook her head. She tried to keep the terror out of her eyes. She knew that was what he needed. She knew that was all he needed.

“To tell you the truth I couldn’t tell you,” Winters answered anyway. “There’s been so many. Not that they’ve all been women. I’ve had my share of men and boys and little girls. Even babies. I’ve never been too picky. But for some reason I always seem to gravitate towards women. I sometimes wonder if that’s healthy. In a way it seems to be, but you’re the trained psychologist and I’m only a layman. Tell me what you think.”

“You pick women because you’re trying to deny strong homosexual feelings.”

Winters made a soft tsking noise as he shook his head. “Oh, please. I was hoping this could be good for both of us, but not if you’re going to give me these fucking textbook answers. There’s far more to it than that. Far more to it, Doctor. What next, that I was an excessive bed wetter? I tortured animals as a child?”

“You didn’t torture animals?”

Winters’s eyes dulled. “I wouldn’t call it torturing,” he said. “I’d call it more experimentation. Developing my craft.”

His eyes closed momentarily. Then, striking with an open palm he caught Horwitz hard along the jaw. The blow knocked her off the sofa.

“It’s good you didn’t scream just then,” Winters said, his small mouth squeezed tight. “At least you’re perceptive. But you’ve got to take this seriously. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. How many chances do you get to deal with someone like me? Especially with so much riding on it. Or as far as I’m concerned, so little.”

“You don’t want to be cured.”

“Don’t we all want to be cured?”

“No. You enjoy killing too much.”

Winters squatted until he was right over Horwitz’s body. He grabbed her along the area of the jaw where he had struck her. “Are those tears, Doctor?”

Horwitz bit hard on her tongue to keep from sobbing. Winters dug his fingers deeper into her jaw.

“I do believe those are tears.” He ran his thumb under her eye and felt the wetness. “Yes, I do believe you’re crying.”

“It’s nothing more than a physical reaction to pain.”

“I think it’s more.”

“No,” Horwitz said, her eyes expressionless as she met Winters’s gaze. “It’s nothing more than a physical response.”

Winters shrugged. He moved over to an easy chair and sat down, crossing his legs. “Fine. We’ll wait. Meanwhile, I want to hear your theories on why I turned out the way I did. Why was it, Doctor? Because of an overbearing mother who deep down resented having a boy? Or maybe because of an abusive father who belittled me every chance he had? Or was it the other way around?”

“I doubt it was because of any environmental causes. Your physical deformities probably played a role in how you turned out, but I’d bet it was as simple as you being born broken.”

Winters’s small, pale eyes turned cold. “What do you mean physical deformities?”

“Look in a mirror.”

“Kind of glib considering your situation, Doctor.”

“Does it make any difference?”

“Probably not,” Winters said. “But-” he moved off his chair and got very close to Horwitz, his breath hot, his mouth brushing against her ear. “Billy Boy has probably figured it out. He could be on his way right now to save you. If you were a little better at what you did, maybe you could’ve distracted me. Maybe you’d even be alive when he got here.”

“Who’s Billy Boy?”

“Come on, Doctor. The man you dream about every night.”

“I-I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying to me, Doc.”

“How-how do you know he’s coming here?”

“Because I told him,” Winters smirked. His tongue flicked in and out of Horwitz’s ear as he talked. “Billy and I go back a long way. Let me show you what I borrowed from his apartment.”

Winters grabbed a paper bag and took an eight-inch carving knife out of it. He held it out in front of Horwitz.

“A beauty, isn’t it?” Winters asked as he ran his thumb along its blade. “You know, usually I leave the women fully clothed, but with you I wanted to let Billy Boy see what he’s going to be missing. I hope you won’t be too bashful.”

Winters got down on a knee and ran a finger along Horwitz’s throat. “If you want to scream go right ahead,” he said. “Just keep that beautiful, big mouth of yours wide open.”

“Wait-” Horwitz said, keeping her voice low, “you actually can be cured. Would you like to know how?”

“Not particularly. After all, I was born broken.”

“You can still be cured,” Horwitz insisted.

“To tell you the truth,” Winters said, “I think you were right before. About my not really wanting it. Anyway, it’s too late now. They could be here any minute.”

“But-”

“Ssh,” Winters said. He placed a hand on top of Horwitz’s throat and started to apply pressure. “By the way,” he whispered softly, “this is the way we did it to Billy Boy’s mom.”