Page 77 of Insidious Heart
Sack-linski is still breathing, which doesn’t faze me, but that means he’ll feel everything I do to him, even if it’s on some baser level. Which is why I decide to make this somewhat fun for me since shooting me and kicking me in the mask killed some of my high.
I lean down, and with the precision and skill all of mypracticehas given me, I start cutting along Anthony’s hairline, down over the sides of his face to his jawline until I can peel back his flesh.
With a chuckle, I start singing The Weekend’sCan’t Feel My Faceas I hold up Salinski’s face, shaking it to the beat before dropping it into the tub at his feet. Then I slit his throat with awooeven MJ or The Weekend himself would be proud of.
Anthony’s bathroom has pretty solid acoustics.
Which is why, once his blood stops sputtering from his throat, I grab my bone saw and start taking him apart piece by piece, starting with his hands—like always.
Normally I drain a body completely before I start dismembering because it’s far less messy but the fuckwit really got to me and I don’t give a shit right now, henceface removal.
Which isn’t really part of my MO.
I’m almost positive I haven’t done that before but again, rage makes people do crazy things, and breaking my routine by shooting me definitely gets me a littlerageybecause I don’t like it when my routine is fucked with.
Consistency is key, after all.
But I’m sure the news outlets will love the new twist in The Harvester of Bones’s process.
I scowl as I pop Anthony’s left hand off at the joint.
They already do.
Chalking those amateur kills up to me, giving me credit for those women who were hacked to pieces, shows they’re hungry for entertainment, for anything out of the norm, even when it comes to serial killers.
Stupid.
It’s so stupid, to be honest, because the media morons, as well as the general public, should know I’d never leave a scene like that, nor would I go after innocent women. I’d never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, and whether those women were nice or even good people is irrelevant because they’ve never hurt anyone else. A couple of them didn’t have so much as a speeding ticket on their records. So why everyone was so quick to blame me for their deaths is perplexing.
Well, kind of. Using the same scene I had already killed at was pretty smart on The Ripper’s part, whether I believe it was intentional or not.
Because I don’t. I don’t think I was a blip on his radar until that night, and now that he’s clearly escalating and seeminglytryingto keep everyone’s attention on me by staying busy, the importance in finding and stopping this asshole has increased for sure.
I might even have to take a break for a while.
My frown deepening, I lean my elbows on the edge of the tub and look down at Anthony.
That sucks.
I’ve never taken a break from working—murderingpeople.Not in any real sense except for when I helped Little John after his surgery. There’s been a constant stream of dirt sacks to kill ever since that big old bear found me, and before that I did fine finding what I needed when I needed it.
Granted that’s where my civilian kills come from, and they were messier and more sporadic, but still. There’s never been a lack of targets, or a reason to take a break, and the fact that this rookie piece of shit has me considering it is borderline infuriating. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like something I can avoid because if the cops, with a little help from yours truly, don’t catch The Ripper anytime soon, I’ll have to take a step back until they do so I don’t keep getting blamed for such sloppy work.
With a sigh, I drop the saw and pick up one of Salinski’s hands in each of mine, looking over his obvious manicure and regularly moisturized skin.
Oh well.It is what it is, I suppose. I have a reputation to protect and I don’t need that asswipe sullying it. And if I make Beauregard my last target for a while, maybe I’ll find other ways to fill my time.
Filling my time withfillingStevieallthe time.
Andthatmakes me smile.
I would happily take a leave of absence after I kill Beau if it meant spending my temporary retirement with my sweet little dove. Especially if she’s naked more often than not. That would easily make up for my forced break, and the uninterrupted hours we could share have my smile growing.
Ignoring the questions my persistently weird line of thinking has been creating, I give Anthony’s hands a clap. “Enough of this sentimental bullshit.” Then I point his right hand at his no face. “You have made my night taxing enough, don’t need to go getting lost in my head over all the unusual shit rolling around up there too, right? Right.”
I give him a solute with his severed appendage then put the acoustics to use again by singing a little Fitz and the Tantrums, clapping Salinski’s hands a few more times before dropping them at his feet.
“Now then…” I look his lifeless body up and down before picking up the bone saw again. “The tiny man feet bones are connected to the short shin bones.”A few minutes of sawing and I pull those off too, singing my own made up lyrics toDem Boneswhile I work. “The short shin bones are connected to the ball crusher bone”—pop, pop—“the ball crusher bone’s connected to my favorite bone…”Once both of those are cleanly removed from his pelvis, I set down the saw in favor of my knife, flaying the skin and muscle of Anthony’s left thigh to carefully remove his femur. I set that in the trash bag with the other items that will be returning home with me, then keep going until I get to the jackass’s head. “This should be easy enough since it’s empty.”
