CHAPTER 6

If It Had Been a Snake, It Would Have Bitten Me

I was rooted to the spot, unable to breathe as the room spun around me. Time literally stood still while I tried to wrap my mind around what I was seeing. It was too horrendous. It couldn't possibly be real. That rancid smell that I could never identify, I knew what it was from now. Right in front of me were eight dead women in varying stages of decomposition displayed in glass cases, as if they were dolls in a collection.

He was pacing in front of them with a proud gleam in his eyes, smiling lovingly as he paused in front of each case, reaching out to gently caress the glass as he passed by. I didn't know what to do… what to say. I frantically looked around for someone to help me, but there was only him.

After he finished giving each woman his attention, he turned back to me, cocked his head in curiosity, waiting for me to say or do something. Bitter saliva flooded my mouth and I knew I was going to be sick. "I'd like to introduce you to my wives," he said, his voice laced with pride as he made a sweeping motion with his hand to the encased women, "and your new sisters." I quickly brought my hand up, clamping it over my lips to keep from vomiting, but I wasn't fast enough. It erupted from my mouth, running down my chin, landing on my stomach and feet. I had to get away. I stepped back once… twice… three times until my collar wouldn't let me go any further and I fell to my knees. I closed my eyes against the vile image, hoping the scene would change, but when I reopened them, the rotting dead women were still there.

I heard his footsteps quickly approaching and lifted my head off the concrete floor, vomit still clinging to my chin and chest. His upper lip was curled in disgust. "This is how you present yourself to my wives?" He jerked his arm toward the women. "You embarrass me with your ill manners and bring dishonor on yourself and me! How do you think that makes them feel?"

"I'm sorry… my stomach… I'm not feeling well." I sounded horse as the words spilled from my mouth.

"I thought you were made of stronger stock." He looked down his nose at me and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You're here now and you'll have to learn to make the best of things. Now, let us begin." He held both his arms out, commanding me to get up. I frantically shook my head back and forth as tears began to flow. He was going to kill me. He was going to murder me and put me in one of those cases just like the others. He growled low in his throat and I knew I was only prolonging the inevitable, making him more angry.

I didn't have a choice. He'd pull me up by my hair if I didn't get up on my own. I slowly stood and tried to take a step, but my feet seemed glued to the floor. His nostril's flared and I heard him inhale deeply, letting me know his patience was coming to an end… much like me.

I didn't know it at the time, but I must have been crying because I could feel wetness dropping onto my chest and my nose was stuffed up. I tried to lift my foot again, managing to take one hesitant step at a time, but before I got within his reach, I stopped and shook my head, hands held out in front of me to ward him off as I pleaded with him. "Please. You don't have to do this. I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt me."

He was so quick I didn't even see him move. One second he was eyeing me with irritation and the next he was gripping my wrist, yanking me flush with his body. My neck snapped backward from being pulled further than my collar would allow, and I could feel the blood rushing to my face as my airway was cut off. I tried to scream but I couldn't get any noise past the constriction. I hit and clawed at his forearm trying to relieve the pressure. Instead of letting me go, he watched me struggle with this creepy smile on his face. And just when I thought I was going to pass out, he let me go.

Without his support, I fell back to the ground on my knees, head bent over, inhaling and exhaling great gulps of air. He waited patiently until my breathing slowed to a regular rhythm and then grabbed the chain attached to my neck, pulling me up. I quickly got my feet under me, helpless for what he was going to do next.

"Pay attention because I don't like repeating myself. Each day you will respectfully greet my wives and share the stories of how we fell in love. After today, any mistakes will have consequences. Are we clear?"

My eyes widened. Consequences? What kind of consequences? I was so far from understanding it was laughable. If he'd been an alien from another planet, I'd have had a better time understanding. I let out a whimper and nodded, grimacing as my throat burned. He stepped closer, forcing me to crane my neck up to see his face. "Speak when I ask you a question!" My whole body jumped at his harsh tone.

"Yes!" I managed to choke the word through my swollen throat and then I started to cry harder. I knew it was the correct answer—the only acceptable answer—but I didn't know what I was agreeing to, and that scared the hell out of me. Satisfied, his anger receded and he unlocked the chain connected to my collar, leaving it dangling near the ground. I gently massaged my sore neck, rotating it to see how badly damaged it was. Now that my neck was free, I thought about making a run for it. I turned my eyes to the door, irrationally thinking it might be standing open.

It wasn't. But even if it had been, I was still shackled at the wrists and ankles. I wouldn't have gotten far.

He ran his palm over his belt buckle. "I will be generous today, but starting tomorrow, when you recite our love stories, you will receive a lash for every mistake you make." A thin sheen of sweat coated my body as I looked at the brown leather belt. I'd never been whipped in my life and wasn't looking forward to it now.

He focused on the women as he prepared to tell me their stories and I had no choice but to do the same. My stomach heaved as I got my first good look at them. What skin they had left, was rotten and clinging to their bones, leaving them looking like shrunken carcasses of their former selves and they were each wearing frilly, vintage style dresses in different colors, much like the red one he'd made me wear yesterday. For the first time, I could see how he made them appear as if they were standing on their own. Thin wires were secured under their armpits and at their wrists running to the tops of their cases, holding them in an upright position as if they were marionette dolls. Every one of them also had brown curly hair that had once been meticulously arranged but was now coming loose from the pins, causing the curls to droop and in some places big chunks were completely missing from their skull. Even though their eyes had long ago degraded, leaving them with large, gaping holes, I could only assume they'd all been blue, like mine.

He grabbed my arm, dragging me closer to the woman in the far-left corner. Whoever she was, I could tell she'd been here the longest because she appeared to be in worse shape than the rest. There were only a few scraps of her skin left clinging to her graying bones and the once vibrant yellow dress she was wearing was faded and wilted. I couldn't bear to look at her anymore. I turned my head to the side and tried not to be sick when I saw him gazing into what was left of the dead woman's eyes and smiling lovingly.

As if he felt my stare, he turned to me, his eyes boring into mine, imparting the dangerous significance of his next words. "As you can probably guess, this is my first wife. Her name is Jenny Pucket. She's also the youngest—only sixteen when we met, and I was twenty-one. It was hot that day, June 8, 2005, to be exact. I was traveling back from a funeral, if you can believe that. My dad's only brother had a heart attack and since he was my last living relative, I wanted to pay my respects. I hadn't intended on stopping at the Dairy Queen, but Emmie wanted a Cotton Candy Blizzard and I can never say no to her." He gave me a crooked smile and turned back to the woman. "As Jenny took my order, she couldn't help flirting with me, telling me the Cotton Candy Blizzard was also her favorite treat." He nodded his head matter of fact. "That's how Emmie knew she was 'The One.'"

I'd never known anyone that could turn their emotions on and off so quickly. He went from extreme rage to barely controlled tolerance to reminiscing about what sounded like a sick fairy tale love story. He was watching me carefully, and I tried not to give away my true feelings.

"I waited in the parking lot until she got off work and followed her as she walked down a country dirt lane. When I rolled down the window and asked if she needed a ride home, she didn't even hesitate; she got right in my car." He shook his head at her naiveté. "A few sips from my fountain drink and she was out like a light."

He glanced back at Jenny, giving her a lop-sided smile of regret. "We were blissfully in love for sixteen long months. She helped me make this place a home and I thought she was going to be my one and only, but it didn't quite work out that way." He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, you win some you lose some. "When I finally saw her true feelings, I had no choice but to stop feeding her." His eyes brightened. "Now, she can stay with me forever."

His delusions knew no end. He actually thought he was in love with these women and that they loved him back. I turned back to Jenny, seeing her in a new light. She was just a young girl with the whole world at her feet—and then one day it was gone. I was sixteen once and had the world at my feet, too. I dreamt of being a professional dancer, but like Jenny, a dangerous man came into my life and changed everything. I knew all too well the horrors that lurked around corners, hiding in places you didn't expect and in people you didn't expect. What happened to me wasn't the same as the heinous acts done to poor Jenny, but they were perpetrated by a similar black hearted creature—a man with no regard for anything except what he wanted. I only lost a part of myself that long-ago day, but Jenny lost her life.

Interrupting my commiseration with Jenny, he stepped to his right, in front of a woman wearing a deep purple dress and began telling me of his next wife—or victim. "Not long after Jenny took her rest, I met my second wife, Sharon Richardson." He looked Sharon's body up and down, giving her a flirty smile as if he was unaware she was rotting away. His hold on reality was slipping dramatically. I wondered what would happen to me when he completely lost it.

"Sharon is eighteen and I was twenty-three when we met. That was May 16, 2007. I was passing through Winston-Salem, North Carolina when I stopped at a local park to eat my drive thru burgers. She was sitting at a picnic table, eating lunch before heading back across the street to the dry cleaners where she worked. I listened to her complain about how tough her job was and her jerk of a boss. Many times, she told me how happy she was that I took her away from all that." He nodded his head, fully convinced he'd done her a favor. "We lived happily for twenty months before she took her rest."

My head flooded with dizziness. Twenty months? That's almost two years. I can't live here for two years before he… before he puts me in a case like he did them.

His face scrunched up in disgust as he begrudgingly stepped in front of the third glass case. The woman trapped inside was wearing a tangerine colored dress and her face looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to it. One of her eye sockets was smashed and her lower jawbone was completely broken in two and hanging a little crooked. She was also missing several teeth in the front of her mouth. An icy shiver went down my spine and I vowed to do whatever it took—to say whatever I had to—in order to make it out of here alive.

While he was breathing heavily and sneering at the poor woman, most likely reliving the horrible moment he ended her life, I took an inconspicuous step away from him. That small movement must have brought him back into the present, but he didn't turn away from her, he continued looking at her with contempt, and said, "This is Ashley Allen. She's nineteen and I was twenty-five when we met on the Butler University campus in Indianapolis. That was October 11, 2009. I was there to meet a research assistant from the Chemistry department to buy Nitrogen gas for these." He pointed to the glass cases. "I told the man I work as a museum curator, preserving antique costumes from some of the most important films of our time. I told the same thing to the man who makes these hermitically sealed glass cases. It wasn't until after Sharon took her rest that I figured out I could better preserve the beauty of my wives by replacing the oxygen inside the cases with nitrogen. But Ashley didn't deserve to be the first one to receive the new technique."

He turned to make sure I was listening. When he found me staring open mouthed at him, he continued. "I have to admit, I fell under Ashley's spell after watching her interact with her fellow nursing classmates as they ate lunch in the cafeteria. Her laugh was infectious. Emmie and I were both convinced she was 'the one', but we were so blinded by her outer beauty that we couldn't see the whore she is."

Whore? That seemed a bit harsh. What had she done to make him think that and how could I avoid giving him the same impression of me?

"In the beginning, Ashley and I were happy together, but after she'd been with me for three months, I noticed her stomach getting larger." He snarled and rubbed his hand over his chest as if he could still feel his pain. "Her betrayal broke my heart. Knowing that she let another man touch her—impregnate her—was too much to accept. I admit, I lost my temper… but she had to learn." He moved his jaw from side to side, staring at me, daring me to contradict him. "After I hit her the first time… I couldn't stop."

My heart raced as I tried to drag in air. She'd been pregnant when he abducted her? I was fuming with hatred for this monster that not only had the gall to kill innocent women, but a helpless little baby.

"Her betrayal almost destroyed me," he beat his fist against his chest and shouted as if he was the offended party. It took him a few minutes to calm down, and when he did, he stepped in front of his fourth victim, completely wiping Ashely from his mind as he plastered a smile of longing on his face. "I thought Ashley had ruined me, but a couple weeks later, on February 2, 2010, I met my beloved, Andrea King, at the Wal-Mart in Detroit. She's twenty-one and I was twenty-six when we fell in love."

Andrea's dress was navy blue and she was in a little better condition than the other three women he'd introduced. She still had most of her skin, but it had turned dark brown, like brittle leather, and looked shrink wrapped over her bones. The truly odd thing about Andrea was that she appeared to be smiling in her glass coffin. It was off putting.

"I'd given up on love," he started speaking again, "but there she was offering to ring up my purchases—so friendly and happy." He smiled wistfully, and touched the glass covering her face. "Andrea and I lived together as man and wife the longest—two-and-a-half years. We were truly happy together." His smile was proud at first and then turned pensive, as if he was saddened by a particular memory. "In honor of her love and faithfulness, she was finally granted her rest."

He tilted his head to the side as if listening to the poor woman speak. A moment later, he swung his head to me, and barked out a laugh. My eyes widened and I thought I was going to throw up again. He gave my body a thorough perusal, and smiled before he said, "Andrea says you're pretty."

My mouth was bone dry. Mute. All I could do was blink and stare. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows rose expectantly. "You're being rude," he warned.

I knew I had to speak, but what was I going to say? I was having difficulty thinking. Up was down. In was out. Everything was twisted. Wrong.

"Andrea's feelings are sensitive," he warned, his voice going an octave deeper. "You better not make her cry."

I cleared my throat and focused my eyes on her leathery face. "Th… thank you, Andrea."

He stepped closer to me… and I took a step back. He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "She graciously gives you a compliment and you don't even inquire about her health?" His head swung back toward Andrea as if she'd said something to catch his attention. "I'm sure she likes you," he said to her and waited… listening. "Whining isn't attractive," he warned her and then his eyebrows rose in irritation. "I'm not going to listen to you put yourself down. You are just as beautiful as the others." He sighed but paused to listen again. "Stephanie isn't ready to join you." He was silent again while he listened. "There'll be plenty of time for that, later." His smile split his face as he listened one final time. "I know. I love you too." He blew her a kiss and stepped to the right, in front of his fifth wife, as if he hadn't just been carrying on a conversation with a dead woman.

I was shaking so badly I could barely stand.

He finally tore his eyes off Andrea and stepped in front of the fifth woman. She was wearing a lavender dress that had once been worthy of a ballroom. "This is Karen Jenkins," he said. "She's twenty-four and I was twenty-nine when we fell in love. That was May 6, 2013. We were together twenty months before she took her rest." He turned his scrutiny on me once again. "I hope you're listening to everything I say, including dates because there will be a test," he said flippantly, then laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world to be talking about the gratuitous deaths of eight innocent women—and a baby.

It took every bit of will power not to spit on him. These women didn't deserve to have him gaping at them for eternity.

Finally, he stopped laughing and continued telling me how he abducted Karen. "I met her when I ordered a milkshake at the traveling carnival she worked for." He paused with a smile on his face while he reminisced. "I waited around all week and then when they were getting packed up to head to a new venue, I made my move. Much like you, no one reported her missing either." He smirked. "I guess she wasn't a big loss for them." He leaned toward me, cupping his hand around his mouth and whispering loud enough for me to hear. "Don't tell her I said this, but she's not very bright." He turned back to Karen, smiling at how clever he was being. "But her smile more than makes up for it, don't you think?"

The poor woman wasn't smiling. Her jaw was hanging open, frozen in death.

He didn't bother waiting for an answer as he moved in front of the sixth woman. She was wearing a powder blue dress and stood a little taller than the others. "This is Donna Morgan," he said. "She's twenty-four and I was thirty-one when we fell in love, June 14, 2015, in Lynchburg, Virginia. She was making her living selling ice cream from a truck down by the public boat dock—not very safe if you ask me." He tilted his head to the side in remembrance. "I was camping nearby and when she took off on a hike around the lake, I made my move. She was with me for fifteen months before she took her rest."

The seventh woman was wearing a bubble gum pink dress. He moved in front of her and said, "This is Kelly Butler. She's twenty-five and I was thirty-three when we fell in love. That was February 11, 2017, in Dayton, Ohio. She taught second grade to a bunch of snot nosed brats that had no respect for her, but I took her away from that life and tried to give her a better one with me." He looked me in the eye to make sure I grasped his warning. "Kelly didn't appreciate all the sacrifices I made for her and had to take her rest after only seven months together."

I held his eyes as long as I could before I had to glance away. I got his message loud and clear—cooperate or there would be consequences.

His final victim wasn't as deteriorated as the others were. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say she'd only been dead for a few months. Most of her hair was still intact and the teal dress she wore was still vibrant with color. "This is Melissa Barnes," he said. "She's twenty-eight and I was thirty-four when we fell in love, January 15, 2018, in Hartford, Connecticut. Melissa was a 'Dessert Creation Associate.'" He used air quotes when he said her job title and then bent over laughing, hitting his knee with his palm. After he wore himself out, he straightened, letting his lip curl in distaste. "As our courtship progressed, I found out she'd been divorced. If Emmie and I had known she'd given herself to another man, we wouldn't have mistaken her for 'The One'. That's why she had to take her rest after only eight months."

I was reeling from his comment on divorce. If he found out I'd been married before, I was dead.

"Why?" My eyes widened in shock. I hadn't meant for the word to slip out.

"Why what?" He tilted his head to the side, genuinely curious.

Now that I'd asked, I had to finish. "Why did you kill all these women?"

He pulled his lips tightly together, his face slowly turning red as if he was holding in laughter and was going to combust any moment. I moved my foot back, instinctually preparing to run. Where? I don't know. Instead of lashing out at me, he belted out a laugh so loud it bounced off the block walls, hitting me with the force of his madness. I gulped and watched him anxiously. He was a wildcard. Unpredictable. Heartstoppingly insane. And I was directly in his path.

When he finally regained control of himself, he looked at me as if I was a simpleton, and said, "Dead? They're not dead."

I stood in the center of the room, in a stupor. When I snapped out of it, he was gone, and the chain was reattached to my collar. I didn't know what to do. The women were staring at me… watching my every move. Why couldn't he have at least closed the curtain?

I looked over at the bed. It seemed so far away. Sitting on it was a paper bag and a bottle of water. I wanted a drink so bad, but I was frozen in fear. It was irrational. The women were dead. They couldn't hurt me and yet I was terrified to move an inch. I looked down at my hand, hanging by my side and imagined Ranger standing beside me, holding it and saying, "You can do this. I'm proud of you, Babe."

It was just what I needed to hear. Slowly, I slid my feet across the concrete, inches at a time until I was able to climb on my bed with my back against the wall and my knees drawn to my chest. I closed my eyes and convinced myself this was all a nightmare and that I was going to wake up any minute.