Burning Time

56

The key turned in the lock, but Emma didn’t hear the door open or Troland come in. He was very tired. He was moving slower now. His plan was to go to sleep for a few hours and get started on her after breakfast. He was a methodical person, always did things the same way. He liked to have a shower and eat something. Then he liked to start his work. He could work as late as he wanted, but he always had to start in the morning when he was fresh.

He had already forgotten about the girl in the city. He was thinking about making it right. All the way back in the car he had been thinking about the brand. It was in his knapsack, very light aluminum. Airplane material. He’d had it made by one of the welders in the plant. He was very proud of it. He liked thinking about how he’d designed it, how he’d worked out the difficulties. He wanted something that would get very hot and was light. Not everybody could think of such a thing or get the wrinkles worked out.

And it hadn’t been so easy to get relocated in New York. He had important stuff that couldn’t be moved around just like that. He had had to think about the best way of moving the torch and the gun. He had to decide whether to put the compressor in the suitcase or buy a new one here. He left the gun and the torch behind. He took the compressor in the suitcase, heavy as it was. What was easy was getting another gun and small butane torch here. He had a plan. He knew what he was doing.

He had thought about the whole picture, and he thought about each little piece of it. For a while he considered getting some handcuffs. Handcuffs were the professional way to go. But he didn’t like them. After what happened to him when he was a kid, he didn’t want to touch them ever again. Decided against them. Anyway, even though they looked professional, you couldn’t kill somebody with handcuffs, couldn’t get them positioned right on a sofa, or a bed.

Willy agreed the nylon ropes were better. Troland told Willy how he liked knots. Liked wrapping the package. He talked to Willy about things like this, arguing the case for and against the different ways to carry out the plan. He was talking to Willy now, telling him he was all ready to go. He just needed a few hours of rest before starting.

He had decided he wasn’t going to tattoo the whole, whole torso, like he did the other girl. Because if he did that, he might get to the end and not want to spoil the tattoo part with the brand part. Better plan to leave a place for it right at the beginning. He decided to draw it in so he’d know exactly where it went.

He didn’t look for the girl. He wasn’t thinking about her. He was thinking about the transfer paper, about leaving a place for the brand, getting everything just right when he was setting up. It wasn’t until he almost tripped over her that he realized she wasn’t where he left her.

“Oh, shit.”

She was on the floor, lying there face-down like she was already dead.

“Fucking shit!”

He was horrified, couldn’t believe it. Had he fucked up and killed her before he left? He didn’t remember killing her. Why would he do that when he had a plan, wanted her awake for the whole thing? He wanted to talk to her and show her everything. That was the important part to getting it right. She had to know how good he was.

No way he would kill her first. Maybe somebody else killed her. He squatted down, furious with her for dying, himself for leaving her, and whoever might have killed her while he was gone. Who would do such a thing?

He leaned over and put his hand on the back of her neck. Her skin was warm. Now that he looked at her he could see that she was still breathing. He couldn’t believe this. What the—He looked back at the ropes. Four pieces, three lying on the floor and one on the sofa. What kind of shit was this? How did she get loose, and what was the matter with her now?

Jesus. The bitch was making trouble for him. “You stupid bitch,” he said. “What’d you think you’re doing?”

He turned her over and got even madder. Her mouth was slack, and she didn’t move at all. She wasn’t dead, but she might be dying. Jesus, he didn’t need this after all his trouble. Maybe she was faking.

“Get up, bitch,” he told her. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I got a plan. I’m doing you a favor here. I’m taking care of you. You’re not going to die on me. Just get that straight.”

All the time he was talking to her, he was looking her over for injuries, poking at her warm body. It was a little clammy now, not as fragrant as before. This irritated him. He didn’t want her dying and releasing all that body stuff for him to clean up. That was all he needed. For her to die and make a mess before he had the plastic laid out. Before he was ready.

He moved her around carefully. If he bumped her on the edges of things, she’d bruise and the tattoo wouldn’t look good. That was what he liked about her right from the first, the expanses of fresh, well-cared-for flesh. Now he had to clean it up before he even got started.

He examined her all over and got excited again handling her. He wanted to do some stuff to her, but wanted her awake. Shit. He didn’t see anything wrong with her. Except for the bump on the head and a little scratch on her forehead, there wasn’t anything.

He decided the sofa was no good. He had to move her. He picked her up and moved her to the bed in the other room. Laid her back against the pillow so she looked like she was just sleeping. Yeah, that was better. Now he could sleep with her. That was good. He hadn’t thought of that before. If he kept her with him all the time, he could keep her alive. He could touch her whenever he wanted. He started thinking about biting her and shoving it in her and making her scream. It made him desperate to wake her up.

He got some water and poured it down her throat. After a while she started choking.

“Hi, honey,” he said when she finally opened her eyes. “We got a busy day. Don’t do that again.”