Henry Smith

Henry Smith had gone through the necessary preparations to get ready. Clean shaven, he kept his short chestnut hair parted on the side. He wore slender framed glasses, the lenses only glass, an affectation to provide false leads in the event some unplanned circumstance provided a witness. An even six feet tall, he was lean but not skinny in his inexpensive grey business suit. He wore a white shirt and non-descript tie, his left wrist adorned with a knock off watch that was much cheaper than it appeared. Only thirty, he could easily pass for a handful of years younger or older. He didn’t look the part of a serial killer as he examined his reflection in the mirror. Although technically a serial killer by definition, he didn’t think of himself in those terms. First and foremost he thought of himself as a visionary, with a particular talent to inflict suffering. He took umbrage to the term serial killer, he considered himself to be the next evolutionary step forward, survival of the fittest and he perceived himself as an apex predator. He wasn’t like these others misbegotten psychopaths who heard disembodied voices telling him to kill, or felt guided by the moon, or talking house plants. He was an artist and suffering was his medium. He believed every person has at least one talent, whether it’s something completely banal like being able to roll your tongue over in your mouth, or catch a football. Henry’s talent was misery, and he took great pride in his ability to extract every last ounce of anguish out of his victims. And that’s why he specifically targeted women because he knew there capacity to endure far outstripped men.

In a newspaper article outlining his second to last kill, there was a report by a profiler who suggested the crimes were committed by a misogynist who was likely to have an underdeveloped maternal bond which may have contributed to a dissociative state allowing him to objectify his victims.

He was insulted and scoffed at the notion. Sure, he bore the scars of an abusive childhood at the hands of his mentally unstable mother before she killed herself, but he was raised in a strict religious environment by his domineering grandmother. Dissociative state? Nonsense.

He tabulated twelve victims over the last eight years, three in the last year alone. Each successive kill seemed to embolden him, fueling his desire for another. Each victim he created, he felt he was cementing his immortality and fame. All notoriety aside and on a personal level, he absolutely thrived on the chase, the capture, the execution. The sheer life and death power made him feel positively alive, extracting every last ounce of wretched existence from his prey had become a form of personal satisfaction he relished. This project was to be number thirteen, his self-appointed lucky number. This one had to be something absolutely special.

The day was still hot, the air thick as the sun began to make a slow descent toward the west. Having checked himself into a motel in the afternoon, he decided to survey the local area. Feeling hungry, he pulled the silver Chevy minivan into the parking lot of the roadside bar and grill simply called Teffy’s Tavern. The single story building’s outside appeared rundown, weather beaten paint that may have once been yellow cracked and peeled in patches along the wall adjacent to the parking lot. A half dozen other vehicles were parked in the gravel lot.

The interior of the tavern was dark and poorly lit, all the windows were either painted or covered by dark curtains. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The atmosphere inside the tavern was close and without air conditioning. Booths lined two of the walls and a few tables populated the open floor space. A long bar dominated the far wall and a pool table was in the back. Even in the poor light, continual walking had worn a faded but visible tread into the dark carpet.

A couple of people looked up when he walked in, more out of irritation at the splash of light spilling in from the outside rather than to see who had entered. To his quick count, there were nine patrons in the bar, most looking like what he presumed to be locals, as well as a middle aged man tending bar, and one serving woman. Three men occupied a table and were watching some sports highlight show on a television anchor high up on a wall while nursing bottles of beer. A booth had two women and they appeared to be near to finishing some type of food, four others, all men, lined the bar.

The bartender nodded by way of welcome but hardly saw him, Henry nodded in return. He selected a corner booth that allowed him to see everyone in the bar, and anyone else who might wander in.

The serving woman walked over. Looking up, he smiled. It looked like she had done some hard living in her younger days. She wore too much make up in an effort to hide the ravages of time, and he guessed she was on the wrong side of forty.

She set down a laminated menu in front of him and asked, “Something to drink?” her voice flat and perfunctory.

“Whatever you have on tap will be fine,” he replied politely, rewarding her with a warm smile, inwardly his skin crawled.

When she had left, he looked at the fare on the menu, some of it sounding enticing, but he decided against ordering anything. The serving woman returned with a pint of amber liquid and set it on the table.

“You ready to order?” she asked, looking down at him.

“I think I’ll pass for now,” he answered, sliding the menu toward her across the table. If it wasn’t for the fact thirteen had to be special, he thought he might gut her just to end her suffering.

“You want to run a tab?” she asked, collecting the menu off the table.

“No, I’ll just pay,” he answered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some bills, handing her a five. “Keep it.”

She rewarded him with a practiced smile of feigned gratitude and left. Leaning back in the booth, he surveyed the talent inside the stuffy room more thoroughly. Of the three women in the beaten down establishment, none caught his eye, nothing was worthy of the honor of being his thirteenth conquest. He took a sip off the beer and frowned at the barely cool liquid.

Not that he had been expecting to find ‘her’ on his first stop, but he always hoped something would catch his attention, make him feel the twitch in his balls as he prepared for the hunt.

The door opened and another man walked in. A bear like bellow and some raucous laughter, he joined the three men at the table.

The lack of anything promising demoralized him. Then she walked in, bringing in her wake a gust of the afternoon summer wind and another flash of bright daylight.

Standing at best guess 5’9”, she was spectacular bathed in the backlight surrounding her from the door. Beautiful luxuriant long red hair bound back fell halfway to her bum. He was glad it was a rich red, he didn’t like the orangey red hair some redheads had it reminded him of clown hair. Her unblemished skin was slightly tanned. To him it didn’t look like she possessed the typical sea of freckles common to redheads. She was wearing a sleeveless white top and some green shorts with white athletic shoes. Her purse was fairly small and made of black leather. Her physique appeared athletic. Long, lean, and toned, like a swimsuit model. Her breasts were wonderfully round and firm pressing against the fabric of her top. She looked to be in her early twenties at most. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Smiling to himself, he knew it was her, it had to be her. He knew her type, beautiful, a life of means, no worries or concerns as life provided for her every want. She was perfect. She would be his crowning achievement. He could already feel the stir of excitement and anticipation in his genitals.

Still outlined by outside light, she turned in the door, big smile on her face as another woman appeared behind her, a blonde, a couple of inches shorter, but equally as lovely. Her hair was back and there was a pair of dark wide sunglasses on top of her head. Like her companion, she was dressed in a similar top and shorts, save hers were two different shades of pink.

The moment he beheld them together, a spark of inspiration erupted in his mind, an epiphany of sorts, something he had never before considered. What if he could take them both? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate crowning achievement? He leaned back in his booth and imagined the possibilities.

Henry’s weren’t the only set of eyes to fall on the two gorgeous women as they looked for a place to sit. The redhead pointed to a table a couple away from where the four men sat. Walking over and sitting down at the vacant table, the redhead shared a moment of eye contact with Henry before looking for the serving woman.

One of the men at the nearby table said something and Henry wanted to stab the man in the face, but suppressed a smile when the blonde gave the man a once over and a fuck off look.

He could barely contain his enthusiasm at the thought of taking two at one time, the ultimate threesome. He took a drink and a few carefully measured breaths, needing to calm himself, the thoughts racing through his mind almost tipping him over the edge and causing him to ejaculate. It was a sign. He chuckled softly, some way somehow, he would have them both.

But how? He could go out to the parking lot and fuck with their car, get it to break down outside of town, and he could ‘randomly’ show up to offer assistance. Or, he could wait for them to leave and follow them to see where they might be staying for the night. He absently nibbled at his right thumb nail as he tried to conceive of a way to get his hands on them.

One of the men from the table of four, not the one who had said something, got up and walked over to the women. Henry frowned. The man was a good couple of inches taller than Henry, younger, easy smile on his handsome face.

“Hi, I’m Cleeve,” he said, nodding his head.

“Emilie,” said the blonde, smiling.

“Vanessa,” said the redhead with a polite nod.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked, slipping into an empty chair before either woman said anything.

“Actually,” said Vanessa, “We’re waiting on someone.”

“Why don’t I wait with you?” he offered, signaling the server.

Vanessa laughed, and shook her head. “There he is there,” she said, pointing right at Henry. The blonde turned her head to him then back to the redhead.

The man looked at Henry, a scowl on his stubble laden face.

“Why don’t you leave me your number and I’ll get back to you?” Emilie said, a lovely smile on her face, as she took out her cell phone and looked up at him.

He nodded, giving her the digits.

She entered them into her contact list, “Cleeve, right?” she asked with a smile.

He nodded, eyes still on Henry a moment before the smile reappeared and he was looking back at Emilie.

“Got it,” she said, rewarding him with a grin and a wink.

Opportunity Knocks

Vanessa got up and walked toward Henry, favoring him with a brilliant smile, the kind of smile that seemed to suck the breath from his lungs. She carried in her presence some subtle yet tantalizing scent.

He smiled back. He could barely contain his excitement, up close she was even more remarkable. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Henry.” He wanted her to know his name, wanted her to remember it, use it when she begged him.

“Vanessa,” she replied, smile still on her face.

“May I join you?” she asked, pointing to the other side of the booth.

“Sure,” he said, “some company might be nice.”

She looked around the bar then back at him, “You don’t appear to be one of the locals,” she said in a whispered tone before biting her lower lip between perfect white teeth.

He looked down at his grey business suit and then at the more casual blue jean attire of the locals. “Is it that obvious?” he asked.

She nodded. “You do kind of stick out,” she said, her voice dulcet and sweet. There was an accent, very subtle he couldn’t place.

Emilie walked over, tucking her cell phone back into her purse. She beamed a smile on Henry and scooted into the booth beside Vanessa. Henry felt as though his heart might explode in his chest.

“Emilie, Henry,” Vanessa introduced.

The serving woman walked over. “What’ll you be having?” she asked.

“Cranberry juice, splash of vodka?” Vanessa asked. The serving woman nodded, then looked to Emilie.

“Same,” Emilie said.

“I’ll take another,” Henry said, holding his glass up. The serving woman nodded and vanished back toward the bar.

“I hope it’s in a clean glass,” Emilie whispered in a low voice and flicking a quick glance after the waitress.

Vanessa giggled.

“I think that might be extra,” Henry said. Emilie reached across the table and patted his arm.

“You’re funny,” she said.

“Thanks for letting us borrow you,” Vanessa said, casting a surreptitious look back over to the rowdy table of locals.

“No problem,” he replied, “Glad to help. You ladies passing through?” he asked.

“Just out from the coast, going east to visit some girlfriends,” Vanessa answered. “You?”

“I’m actually based on the coast, but work takes me all over this area,” he answered.

“What do you do?” Emilie asked.

The serving woman returned with the drinks. Vanessa reached for her purse, but Henry said, “I’ve got it.” Pulling out his wallet, he took out a twenty and handed it to the woman. When she started to get change from the glass dish on her serving tray, he held up his hand and said, “No.” She gave him a slight nod and turned away.

“Thank you,” said Vanessa, lifting her glass, ice cubes clinking, before capturing the straw between her full lips. Emilie lifted her glass and nodded, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile. This was going well, he could already imagine how they would plead, how they would feel under his blade. He was impossibly hard already.

“I need a moment to freshen up, miles between pit stops, do you mind?” she asked, looking for Emilie to shuffle out of the booth so she could get out.

“I’ll come with,” Emilie said, pausing a moment to look at Henry, “You’re not going to spike our drinks while we’re gone are you?” she asked with a wink.

Also rising, but only half way, “Of course not,” he replied hastily, lowering himself back into after the pair departed.

They appeared to be talking to one another as they disappeared down the dark corridor to the ladies’ room. He smiled. Reaching into his pocket, he thumbed the vial there, toying with the idea of actually spiking their drinks now. But it was too soon, he wanted to learn all he could about each of them, it would heighten his experience and give him a broader foundation with which to experience their suffering, and after all, this kill had to be special.

Returning from the ladies’ room, they sat back down in the booth. “I needed that,” Vanessa said, taking her glass and having another sip.

“I know we’ve just met and I apologize if this comes off as cheesy or forward, but you are both amazingly beautiful,” he complimented truthfully.

“Oh yes very cheesy, no woman ever wants to hear how beautiful she is,” Emilie teased, playfully patting the back of his hand again.

“Are you like models or something?” he asked.

“No, nothing so glamourous,” Vanessa replied. “I don’t know if that kind of work would appeal to me.”

“What do you do then?” he inquired.

“It’s all very boring,” she dismissed with a half chuckle.

“C’mon,” he prodded.

“Okay, but you were warned. I’m a special project administrator for Heller International. Coordinating blah, blah, blah. See, told you, boring,” she chided.

“Sounds prestigious,” he replied.

“You didn’t answer my earlier question, what do you do Henry?” Emilie asked.

“Regional sales rep for a tech firm. Evolution of technology is so rapid, seems like I’m here every other month with the latest and greatest,” he answered, sipping at the pint. “What about you Emilie, what do you do for work?” he asked.

“Well,” she started, leaning forward, “It’s all very hush-hush, I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” she finished, tone conspiratorial.

He chuckled. If only they knew. In time, he reminded himself, he might even throw that one back in her face. “No, really?”

She rolled her hazel eyes, “Just like Nessa, don’t say you weren’t warned. I’m in acquisitions for a brokerage firm that works with her company. I know,” she said, holding her hands up, “It’s all it’s cracked up to be.”

Vanessa laughed. Henry smiled.

The banter carried on for almost an hour. Henry sprang for another round. He was still no closer to devising a scheme to ‘acquire’ the women, until Vanessa spoke.

Test Drive

“Would you mind walking out with us, you know,” she said, looking toward the table with the four men using her eyes without moving her head.

“Oh for sure,” he replied with a grin. The women climbed out of the booth, purse straps over shoulders. Vanessa slid her arm through Henry’s and they walked out of the bar.

“I really appreciate that, sometimes, people can’t just let a girl be,” Vanessa said with a smile.

“I don’t know, I thought Cleeve was kind of cute, I may have to come back for that one,” Emilie said, giving the young man one more lingering look on the way out.

“That’s us,” Vanessa said, pointing to the pristine bright orange 1969 Camaro ZL1 in the parking lot.

“Whoa, that’s a beauty,” he said looking at the immaculate automobile,

“Nothing like some old fashioned muscle to get you from here to there,” Vanessa said.

“It’s in amazing shape,” he said, crouching down and inspecting the lines.

“Want to take it for a spin?” Vanessa asked.

“You’re kidding me?” he replied. “Fuck yeah,” he said.

She pulled the key out her purse and handed it to him.

Opening the driver’s door, he need to adjust the seat back before fastening the safety belt. Vanessa climbed in the passenger side.

“What about Emilie?” Henry asked, looking at the blonde as he put one hand on the wear and the other on the gearshift.

“She can wait here,” Vanessa said. “Now be careful, she’s got some pep,” she warned, placing her hand over his atop the gear shifter. He fired it up, a throaty roar as the V8 jumped to life.

Looking over at Vanessa, Henry nodded and smiled.

Leaning in close and whispering in his ear, “Can you feel how powerful she is? Like any minute she might cut loose and you’ll lose yourself to her?” Vanessa said, squeezing his hand slightly.

Henry nodded again, the car did feel powerful, rumbling menacingly. Putting the car in reverse, he slowly rolled back out of the parking spot. Shifting forward he turned the wheel and eased his foot down on the accelerator, moving the car toward the highway.

“Where to?” he asked.

“You’re driving,” Vanessa said, spreading her hands wide.

Punching the gas pedal, he peeled out of the lot, spraying loose gravel back at the other vehicles parked. The engine responded perfectly as he climbed through the gear. In what seemed like less than a heartbeat, the scenery was flashing by. A thought occurred to him. If he overpowered Vanessa out here, he could take her back to the motel and then fetch Emilie, he couldn’t believe his good fortune. Gearing down, he pulled over to a side road on the right and followed it down far enough to be out of sight from other vehicles that might be passing on the highway.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, turning in her seat to face him.

He nodded. “I like it,” he said. “What did it cost you to get her done up like this?”

She laughed, “I bought it new off the lot in La Harpe, Illinois for just over 7200.00 dollars,” she said.

“Wow,” he said, “What a steal, this thing is awesome.” Focused as he was on what he was about to do, he missed her clue, new off the lot, 1969 Camaro. He unfastened the seatbelt.

“Pricy at the time, but who knew this thing would be worth so much now, only sixty nine of them ever rolled off the production line. She’s got a tweaked all-aluminum 427 engine, listed as 435 horsepower this girl easily gets over 500,” she informed.

He wasn’t a car guy, what she was saying didn’t matter much, he just nodded, the tingle in his balls started going crazy.

“Worth almost half a million as is,” she said.

“What?”

“This car,” she answered.

A Camaro worth that much, Vanessa was cracked, again, didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool wave coming over him, washing over his head and down into his shoulders, it was the same one he always felt when he knew it was time to strike. Into his hands, like power coursing through him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, so close he could feel her breath in his ear, her right hand on his chest.

He smirked, snapping open his eyes, he pivoted in the seat quickly and seized her by her right arm with his left hand, pulling her closer to him before grabbing her throat in his right hand.

She brought up both of her hands and grabbed his right arm. Laughing, she said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

He growled, trying to choke her. “You will be my crowning jewel, you and your little friend!” he snarled, malicious grin on his face.

She grinned back, Henry’s world went black.