“Who are you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He clapped his hands. “Want to have a good look around before we get to work?”
The source of the smell had her turning back toward the tub. It was a vile putrid concoction of greasy, black water. Loose fatty deposits floated on the surface. Oh shit! Was it flesh clinging to bone?
She screamed and lurched back. “What is that?”
“It’s where the polishing process begins. Flesh must be stripped from the bones before I can polish them.” The lightness in his voice told her he was truly enjoying this moment. “Now, we better get moving. We’ve got work to do.”
“Work? Where is this place?”
“Far enough from anyone that can help you.”
Tremors started to move through her limbs. “Where am I?”
“It’s where I do my work. My art.”
“What kind of art? ”
“Look behind you.”
She turned and saw a workbench. Equipped with saws, screws and buffing pads. It reminded her of a jeweler’s workstation. Until she saw it—the polished white femur.
“That’s not art!”
“You seemed to like the cameo I gave you.”
Her hand rose to her throat where the broach had rested just days ago. “That was bone?”
He winked. “I love the way the light glistens on the bones, don’t you? Human bone carves like sandstone.”
“You are demented.”
Blue eyes sparked. “To each his own.”
“Please, don’t do this to me.”
“No going back now.”
“Of course there is. I won’t tell.”
And then as if she hadn’t spoken, he said, “If we get started now, we’ll be done by this time next week.” He hooked a steady, gloved hand under her elbow and pulled her to a standing position. “Let’s get you back on the table.”
Her legs wobbled and her insides ached with fire. When she glanced down, she saw that blood stained her skirt and legs. Crimson droplets covered the ground around her feet. “What have you done to me?”
He guided her toward the table. “I haven’t done anything. Now up you go.”
“My body hurts.” She’d been invaded, assaulted. Flickers of what had happened flashed: an attacker shoving into her with such force she’d screamed. He’d laughed. Pushed harder and then he leaned down and bitten her shoulder until her blood had spilled. He’d taken pictures. “You did this to me! You did this!”
“Not me. Him.”
Her head spun and her pain paralyzed her muscles. “There are two of you?”
He ignored the question. “You know you have the most perfect bone structure. Your cheekbones are symmetrically perfect. It’s as if an artist sculpted them.”
“Please,” she whispered.
“Mother Nature can be so haphazard and fickle but with you she really outdid herself.”
She lay back against the cold metal, her body collapsing with exhaustion. Whatever reserves she’d possessed had vanished. She was empty. “What are you going to do?”
Out from the shadows stepped another man. She knew this man. She’d run her fingers through his hair. She’d kissed his face. Gotten to know the feel of his broad shoulder blades under her hands. “You did this to me.”
Smiling, he snapped another picture. “I’m finished with her. She’s yours now.”
“No, please,” she said.
He didn’t answer, but simply turned and left her alone with The Other, who grinned as he selected a knife from a table.
“Don’t leave me here with him!” she screamed.
A door closed.
The Other picked up a knife. Light glinted from the steel. “I’m going to make the pain go away.”
As much as the pain scorched through her body and stole her breath, it was proof of life. Without the pain, she feared, she’d be lost. “I want to leave.”
Gently, he smoothed his fingertips over her forehead. “Shh. We can’t do that.”
The gentle touch detonated shivers. And then he dragged the razor-sharp blade over the tender flesh of her neck. The pain was sudden and searing. Warm blood drained so quickly from the wound.
She inhaled but her lungs didn’t respond. She tried to pull in a second breath. Nothing. Panic exploded as she directed her energy toward her lungs.
Breathe! Air!
A gurgling sound rose in her chest as the air already in her lungs seeped out through the wound. More blood pooled around her shoulders. She gripped the table, clinging to her final hold on life.
He kept smoothing gentle fingers over her head. “Don’t fight it. Fighting only makes it worse. It will just be a few more seconds, it will all be over and I can get you in that tub with the others. ”
Her vision blurred. Her lungs and flesh howled for air. Gentle fingers stroked her hair and her cheeks.
“So pretty. ”
Delight danced in his eyes. The more she struggled to breathe the greater his enjoyment. In these last moments of her life she realized bliss for him was watching her die.
The blackness returned to the edges of her vision and with each second her constricting pupils squeezed out more light.
She had no breath to scream.
And then, like the final curtain call in the theater, the blackness dropped.
He stared down at her, his gloved hand stroking her hair. It was a miracle that she’d gotten up off the table. After what the First One had done to her, it was a wonder she was alive. But he’d have been furious if she’d died. The killing was his treat. His well deserved reward.
He’d not expected she’d be such a fighter. She was a beautiful woman accustomed to using her looks to get what she wanted. She’d never tasted the harshness that life really could offer.
But she’d faced him with a hoity arrogance that he found a bit charming. It was always more fun to bring the bossy ones down a peg.
He clicked on an overhead light and studied her face. Her flesh had been torn and bruised. If anyone saw her now, they’d be appalled by the damage. He didn’t like it when skin was mauled and ruined.
But thankfully, the injuries were only skin-deep. Flesh had b
een torn but her bones were sure and strong.
She would make a fine addition to his collection.