“Oh…my…god!”
Her head was a daze of confusion. Nausea and dizziness as her eyes slowly opened, closed, then opened again. The bright light painful to her orbs. Her retinas struggled to make the adjustment. No idea of what was going on. No current memory of what had happened or how she got where she was. Wherever she was.
“Where the hell am I!” she yelled.
After several minutes, her eyes came into focus. She glanced down away from the searing light, to gauge the surroundings. A wooden table off in the distance against a concrete wall, a portion covered with a bulletin board. A few tools sat on the tabletop, though she couldn’t decipher what they were. Nearby was a cheap office chair on castors. Her bare feet, bound together with a Velcro strap, rested on the bottom of a round kiddy pool. Their stamped cartoon characters eerie to witness. She tried to move, but her arms were tied above her, attached to something not allowing her to move. She was naked, her skin cold and clammy. The reality of her situation hit her hard as she started to scream in terror.
“What the hell is going on!” She twisted and struggled to get free. “Somebody help me!” Tears ran down her face. Her body trembled. “Please, oh please, help me!”
“It’s all right.” A calming, muffled voice called out from behind her. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to cherish you, Christina.”
Christina Bowles tried once again to break free of her bonds. Her effort only weakened her more, as the drugs in her system, which had put her down, were still coursing through her veins, affecting her stamina.
“You haven’t the strength to break loose,” the muffled voice said. “Ketamine takes a great deal of time to completely wear off.”
Christina tried to recall what had happened. “You drugged me…you son-of-a-bitch.” The hard words had no bite to them.
“Of course. I doubt you would have joined me for my party…willingly.” There was a lilt of joy in the voice.
Nausea rolled through her core, causing her to vomit. She tried not to get it on herself but failed.
“No worries, Christina. Let it all out. I’ll be sure to wash you off before I begin.”
She continued to empty her stomach. Gasps of air required to get control. The horror of what awaited her coming into view.
“Looks like you’re done. Don’t go anywhere—I’ll be back.”
Christina’s head hung limply. She was exhausted, with no resolve to struggle. A horrible taste in her mouth she couldn’t find the strength to spit out. Her eyes closed until a stream of cold water flowed against her skin, making her shiver. The shock was enough to awaken her. The person before her held a garden hose sprayer in hand.
“Feel better?” Cold, brown eyes shown through his mask. His head covered with a surgeon’s cap, not a hair in sight. “Open your mouth and take a drink. You must be thirsty.” He dropped the sprayer and held a bottle of water to her lips. “We can’t let you get dehydrated. It will affect the color of your blood. I want it to be bright red.”
A couple of tasteless sips were taken. Christina wanted to spit the water on his covered face but couldn’t find the will or the strength. She swallowed it down. Would this be the last drink of her life?
Once she was done, the figure walked out of the room and returned with a towel. “Let me dry you off, for you are shivering. I’ll then turn up the heat so you don’t catch a death of cold.” As he rubbed her down with the towel, the man chuckled at his humor.
“Who are you?”
“Oh, Christina, I thought you would know me by now.” He tossed the towel to the floor. “You gave me many tasks to complete through the years.”
“Simon?” Christina blinked several times, trying to focus on what she could see of his face. “It couldn’t be you. You’re dead.”
“No. That would be your brother. Though you don’t acknowledge his name anymore since you dropped Lions.”
“You can’t be Junior. He’s in jail.”
“Exactly. Junior is awaiting trial. A trial where you would testify against him.”
Christina closed her eyes and shook her head, though with little conviction.
“Ohhh…come now. You can’t lie to me. We know all about the deal you made to save your pitiful life. We couldn’t let you get away with murder without suffering the consequences.”
The man moved to the table. His body was draped in a blue hospital gown, his hands covered with medical gloves, his feet wrapped in hospital booties. He picked an instamatic camera, focused on his subject, and pressed the button. The picture slowly ejected and he dropped the white framed square onto the table. He waited for several minutes to make sure the photo lived up to his standards. He smiled when the naked, frightened, and helpless body developed in color before his eyes. He was overjoyed with the results. Stage one, with others to be taken at various times through the process of his artistic endeavor.
“You are a beauty to behold.” His prideful declaration echoed eerily off the walls. “Each still picture will capture my work for a certain man to view. It will make a stirring introduction to my rebirth.”
With the camera back on the table, he reached for a different object and lifted it up. He found another rectangular item and snapped it to the base. A cordless reciprocating saw with a twelve-inch blade. He pressed the button to make sure it functioned properly. The blade moved rapidly back and forth, the noise from the motor loud.
Christina raised her head. “What the hell is that?”
The man held it up in the air. “Nice isn’t it. Heavier than a scalpel, but not too bad. And so much faster at slicing off skin. Wouldn’t you say?”
Christina’s body jolted at the realization of what the tool would be used for. “Please…please…don’t do this! I beg you!”
“Come on Christina. This will only hurt for a minute or so. I’m thinking I’ll start on the leg first and then move on up. The pool will catch all the skin and make it easy for me to gather it up to send to your husband. Clever how I’ve refined and sped up the process.”
The man pressed the button and moved forward. Christina tried to kick her feet but couldn’t muster enough strength to protect herself.
“Moving will only make it worse. The blade is brand new, the teeth quite sharp. I’ll end up cutting into bone, which I don’t want to do. I want to leave the skeleton intact for others to view and study.”
He fired up the button again and, with a downward stroke, made his first pass. The scream of pain one he cherished. Each slice of skin provided him with a joy he’d long desired. An effervescent expression which widened with each carving.
“Christina, what do you think of the name, The Front Range Carver? Instead of FRB people can shorten it to FRC. Or maybe they can call me Carver. I want to stand out beyond the Simon’s and have my own moniker.” A sinister chuckle filtered through the mask. When most would gag, he found humor in his words.
There was no response from Christina. Only screams and sobs, with more to come. Carver continued his work as if he were an artist sculpting a prideful masterpiece. Leering at each cut, gauging where the next one would make the most sense.
Once again, a serial killer had returned to torture the population of the Colorado Front Range. With more victim’s names on a waiting list pinned to the wall. Names of all those who had wronged the man he idolized and wanted to emulate. A name at the bottom of the list highlighted in bold print.
Jarvis Mann!!
R.Weir 