His living room was mostly dark, illuminated only by the thin shafts of morning sun that managed to creep through the blinds. He sat in an old ragged armchair and looked to the old roll-top desk against the far corner of the room. The cover was rolled up, revealing the items he had kept from each sacrifice.
There was a pocketbook with a wallet inside. Within the wallet, there was a driver's license belonging to Hailey Lizbrook. There was also a skirt that had belonged to the woman he had hung up in the field; a chunk of strawberry blonde hair with black dye at the tips from the woman he had placed behind the abandoned house.
There was still room for reminders he would bring back from the rest of his sacrifices-reminders of each woman he took for the sake of the work the Lord had delegated for him. While he was pleased with how things had gone so far, he knew that there was still work to be done.
He sat in the armchair, staring at his reminders-his trophies-and waited for the sun to finish rising. Only when the morning was fully engaged was he to start working again.
Looking at the items on the roll-top desk, he wondered (not for the first time) if he was a bad man. He didn't think so. Someone had to do this work. The hardest jobs were always left to those who did not fear to do them.
But sometimes when he heard the women scream and beg for their lives, he wondered if there was something wrong with him.
When the shafts of lights on the floor went from a translucent yellow to an almost too-bright white, he knew the time had come.
He rose from his chair and walked into the kitchen. From the kitchen, he exited the house through a screen door that led into his backyard.
The yard was small and enclosed by an old chain-link fence that looked both out of place and somehow camouflaged by the neglect of the neighborhood. The grass was tall and overrun with weeds. Bees buzzed and other nameless insects scurried as he approached, making his way through the tall grass.
At the back of the yard, taking up the entire back left corner, was an old shed. It was an eyesore on the already ugly property. He went to it and pulled the door open on its old rusty hinges. It creaked open, revealing the dank darkness inside. Before stepping in, he looked around to the neighboring houses. No one was home. He knew their schedules well.
Now, in the safe light of 9 AM, he stepped into his shed and slid the door closed behind him. The barn was thick with the smell of wood and dust. As he entered, a large rat scurried along the back wall and made its exit through a slot in the boards. He paid the rodent no mind, heading directly to the three long wooden poles that were stacked to the right side of the shed. They were stacked in a miniature pyramid shape, one on top of the other two. Ten days ago, there had been three others there. But those had been put to good use to further his work.
And now, another must be prepared.
He walked to the poles and ran his hand lovingly along the well-worn cedar surface of the one stacked on top. He went to the back of the shed where a small work table was set up. There was an old handsaw, its teeth jagged and rusty, a hammer, and a chisel. He took up the hammer and the chisel and returned to the poles.
He thought of his father as he hefted the hammer. His father had been a carpenter. On many occasions, his father would tell him that the Good Lord Jesus had also been a carpenter. Thinking of his father made him think of his mother. It made him remember why she'd left them when he'd only been seven years old.
He thought of the man that lived up the street and how he would come over when his father was not home. He recalled the squeaking bedsprings and the filthy words that came from the bedroom among his mother's cries-cries that had sounded both happy and hurt all at the same time.
"Out secret," his mother had said. "He's just a friend and your daddy doesn't need to know anything about it, right?"
He'd agreed. Besides, his mother had seemed happy. Which was why he'd been so confused when she left them.
He set his hands on the top pole and closed his eyes. A fly on the wall might have thought that he was praying over the pole or even communicating with it somehow.
When he was done, he opened his eyes and put the hammer and chisel to use.
In the scant light that came in through the cracks in the boards, he started to chisel.
First came N511, then J202.
Next would come a sacrifice.
And he would claim that tonight.
