Mary, Mary

Chapter 27

BUT THAT WASN'T EXACTLY the way it happened, the Storyteller knew.

Of course, he wasn't going to tell the L.A. Times and the police everything, only what he needed them to know, only what was in the story he wanted them to help authenticate.

It was such a good story, a helluva story if he didn't say so himself. Mary Smith! Jesus. A classic horror tale if ever there was one.

Speaking of stories, he'd heard a good one the other day - the “psychopath's test.” It was supposed to tell you if you had the mind of a psycho. If you got it right, you did. The story went like this. At her mother's funeral, a woman met this guy and fell instantly in love. But she never got his name, number, or anything about him. A few days later, the woman killed her sister. Now . . . the test! Why did she kill the sister? If you answer correctly, then you think like a psychopath.

The Storyteller did, of course. He figured it out immediately This woman killed her sister . . . because she was hoping the guy she liked would appear at the funeral.

Anyway, after he killed Marti Lowenstein-Bell, he was high as a kite, but he knew he had to stay in control, more or less anyway He had to keep up appearances.

So he hustled on back to work.

He roamed the halls of the office building in Pasadena and talked to half a dozen coworkers about things that bored the living shit out of him, especially today He wanted to tell every one of them what had just happened - about his secret life, about how none of them got him at all, about how smart and clever he was, and about what an incredible planner, schemer, and killer he was.

Jesus, how they loved to toss that word around - so and so was a killer this one had a killer smile, a killer act, but it was all such incredible bullshit.

All of these people were wimps. They didn't know what real killing was all about. But he sure did.

And he knew something else - he liked it a lot, even more than he thought he would.

And he was good at it.

He had this sudden urge to pull his gun at the office and start shooting everything that moved, squeaked, or Squealed.

But hell, that was just a fantasy, a little harmless daydreaming. It would never measure up to the real story his Story, Mary's story, which was so much better.