Chapter 4: A Murderer Profile
Max walked home silently dragging his feet and looking at the ground as he always did. The city was becoming dark and the sun was only just visible in the west. It had been a long and boring day at the porn shop, once you've been there for a while even porn gets boring, and now he was on his way home to do what he always did; he would sit around watching the tube and marveling at the fact that he hadn't been caught yet. The starving hunger for blood and wealth coursing through his veins as he stumbled along the familiar path into the slums of the city, another day had passed him by as so many others had done.
The strange metallic taste of the woman's fingers lingered in his mouth as he passed the bank where the girl had worked. None of the other girls in the branch would serve his purpose but it was weighing on the business where he worked. The bank was the primary financial institution for the porn shop and, although they had cash, the bank had been closed for several days because of the girls' death and the investigation. They would be open again soon, he imagined, but their deposits had not been processed and they were running low on coin. He knew he would have to be visiting the bank again the next few days, it would be busy, packed with all the different people who had been inconvenienced by the closure, and the people that packed into the lines would be angry and unfeeling to the girls that would be forced back to work after the tragedy that they had known. Max didn't like the idea of being in the bank when it was crowded and busy, that was one of the main reasons he liked working at the porn shop; though they always made good profits, it was never busy in the shop. People were still too embarrassed to be seen in a place like that, and so the business boomed and was quiet all at the same time. If the bank stayed closed, however, he would have to move on to another bank or financial institution and that would be alright, he guessed, it may even open opportunities for him, but for now he hoped to keep his routine as intact as possible.
Max was never one to enjoy change in his situation. He was a quiet lonely man, who liked his privacy and didn't mind if people felt he was odd, because he was odd and he knew it. He was a scrawny man, tall, lanky, and though his youth had fallen away from him, he continued to be hassled by the physical reminders of adolescence. He looked younger than he was. His face was pock marked and often covered in blemishes. He always had dark bags under his eyes and his hair was always greasy. He was a turn off to most people, and Max like it that way, because there was only one kind of person that he could ever love, and even then it didn't last. His unquenchable hunger drew him toward those perfect ladies, his muses, and when he had the chance he showed them just how much they meant to him, and then they would be gone again. It was satisfying only for a moment and then the hunger would return and Max always wondered if he would find another girl just as perfect as the last.
Returning to the scenes of his crimes was not uncommon for Max. They were always places he went into often enough where a lot of people went to and he was inconspicuous for the most part. Women never really looked at him when he was in places like that; they though he was completely disgusting because of where he worked and that was just fine with him. He knew what he wanted and he could find it when he wanted but the truth was simple; most women just weren't the right kind for him and all the rest he saw as simple and disgusting themselves. The ones that were perfect he left them with a very precious gift but he could never obtain it himself.
He slouched and slumped on his way home to his small and insignificant apartment. Sadly for a man with a Midas touch, of sorts, it only worked one way and that way prevented him from ever obtaining any of the material riches of his impulse. He would not destroy the bodies of the women he loved, knowing what was within the cavities of the corpses, but he could not bring himself to disfigure them any more than he already had. The ladies in his mind were perfect and though he nibbled away the flesh of their fingers and took their hair from them, the bodies remained in the immaculate condition in which he found them, aside for the fact that they were now diseased. The only thing that resulted in any profitable gain for him was the fingers and the hair. He needed the blood and the metallic taste of the digits that handled the money and the elemental coins to satisfy his hunger and feed his abilities, and though the hair caused him additional annoyances it was the only thing that he could use to obtain any of the gold that he created. He could work the hair into capsules and swallow them easily enough. The small rounds of solid gold would be retrieved in his stool and because they were untraceable and the price of gold was doing fairly well he was rewarded for his trouble. Even though he didn't make a lot, the gold was enough to help him live comfortably and secretively enough. He really only held down the job at the porn shop for a cover, an alibi, and a supplemental income for the times between his hunger lust and his killings.
As he walked he though about the girls and the way he had killed them. He heard their screams and saw the fear in their eyes as they struggled against him but he was able to subdue his victims. They were always alive for his lustful advances, for the removal of their hair, the screams brought him back to himself and lust and hunger took over again. He killed them mid act, the pressure building between their bodies as he stole their breath and their organs became the prize that he coveted. He was compassionate enough to kill them before the organs failed them and they slipped into eternity without much struggle at all. He would then take the only thing that meant little and only gave him the taste of what he had done. He savored the digits that he devoured hungrily like the last meal he would ever eat, and yet it was the most imitate part of the act for this strange murderer. He savored every bite, felt the softness of the skin and the tenderness of the meat, and wondered what it would have been like had be been able to have a relationship rather than a moment in passion and felony. He had perfected his method; it was art, beauty, in his mind, as he looked down on the bodies that he left behind. They were no longer the girls that he had come to admire and who called out to ever ember or his passion, but they were still far more special than any living girl that he would pass by. He left them with a gift that even they could not appreciate, but they passed on into eternity by his acts and compassion, so he believe that he had done them good by killing them and sending them on to meet their maker. Max knew that he should pay more attention and be far more careful in his disposal of the bodies but things had gone so well for so long that he wasn't worried that he was even being looking into. He was sure that the sight of the gold that the police found was enough to silence them and put him on his path of safety for now, besides, there wasn't any usefulness left in the women when he was finished with them so why would anyone care?