With Cruel Intent (16 page)

you.”

“As long as you’ve got everything

in order I don’t see any reason why you

can’t have some time. What are you

working on?”

Seymour took a breath to organize

his thoughts so he didn’t sound like a

moron and said, “You’re familiar with

that weird thing in the paper a week or so

ago? The guy in that woman’s house that

took the picture of himself?”

She nodded in the affirmative.

“Well, I’m taking a course at the

college about criminal deviant behavior

and Mrs. Wild, the instructor, wants us to

do some research about this type of

aberrant behavior and how it can escalate

into more troublesome crimes.”

“That

sounds

really

quite

interesting. Myself, I’ve never given it

much thought, not really my cup of tea but

there seems to be quite a bit published and

those are some of the books that are

checked out most often both here and

where I’ve worked in the past.”

Seymour summoned his courage

and almost shyly asked, “If you have a few

minutes tonight would you mind helping

me out? I’m not that great at researching

and finding material and I suspect you’re a

pro.”

“I don’t know if I’m a pro at

anything Seymour, but I’d be happy to

help. Why don’t you get started and see

what you can come up with and bring what

you find here to the front desk and we’ll

work on it. Is there anyone else in the

library right now?” she asked.

“There’s just some geezer in a

lounge chair reading old Life magazines,

but that’s it.”

“Good, I’ll be here getting some

stuff taken care of while you’re collecting

your sources,” she cheerily added.

Seymour thought to himself, “that

was much easier than I expected, wish I

could come up with something more

exciting than looking at old books with

me.” Then under his breath as he headed

up the stairs he whispered, “at least it’s a

start.”

The librarian thought she heard

Seymour say something as he trudged up

the stairs but couldn’t make it out. He

really was cute and she found herself

more attracted to him each time they

worked together but she just couldn’t get

past the age difference, even though it sure

didn’t seem to matter to him. It was pretty

obvious, to the more seasoned of the two,

that he was flirty with her and she

undoubtedly was flattered by it, but she

just wasn’t sure if it was a big sister kind

of caring or something deeper than that.

For now, at least in her mind, she decided

not to fight it and just take it as it comes,

“can’t have too many friends” she thought.

Over the next thirty minutes Miss

Delaney watched as Seymour scurried

from one shelving unit to another and from

one floor to the next, leaving magazines

and books at the front desk, as he hurried

by without disturbing Blanche with her

responsibilities.

Several

customers

entered while he was chasing about but

they didn’t seem to care, the place was

still very quiet and a little commotion

helped to keep some of the patrons from

falling asleep in the comfy chairs.

Satisfied that he had enough to start with

he returned to the main lobby and the pile

he had created.

“What do you think?” he said,

doing his best Vanna White impersonation

and waving his hand in front of the books.

“Looks like you’re going to be

spending the night. That’s a lot of

material,” she said, scanning the books.

She picked up the top couple of

books, looked them over, flipping to the

inner front cover and reading the synopsis.

She did the same with one of the

magazines, noting that it was from the

60’s. Looking through the items Seymour

had collected it dawned on her that she’d

seen several of these already tonight.

“Seymour, is there a chance that

the guy you ran into outside tonight is in

your class at school, the deviant behavior

class?”

“No, why? I know all the students

by face if not by name and he’s definitely

not in that course. Is something wrong?”

he asked, with a hushed tone.

“No, I’m sure not, but it’s just kind

of a strange coincidence that the books he

had pulled and was researching are almost

exactly the same ones you’ve got sitting

before us,” she said, trying to wrap her

head around a possible explanation.

“He probably saw the same thing

in the paper and wanted to have a look

just like your teacher suggested for you to

do. No big deal, I just find it rather odd,

especially considering his behavior.”

“Yeah, well, nothing we can really

do about it, right?” Seymour indicated,

pulling a chair up before the reading

material and as close as he dared to

Blanche.

They both jumped in looking for

common behaviors and threads making

their own lists to compare later on to see

if they had any similarities. Blanche was

intrigued by some of the names and crimes

she was reading about and she found

herself periodically looking up from the

information, half expecting to see a

madman run through the entryway with a

chainsaw buzzing overhead. Feeling

increasingly uneasy, the librarian inched a

bit closer to Seymour as they did the

research, finding comfort in the touch of

his arm and thigh.

Seymour had heard about many of

the figures he was finding in the readings

but knew just bits and pieces about them.

He had no idea there were so many crazed

killers and nut jobs running around the

streets of America, but here was proof

before him that truth was absolutely more

bizarre than fiction. As they both moved

from one bit of information to the next

their lists increased, looking for things that

were common among serial rapists, killers

and the like. What was it about their

upbringing, their early crimes, the

escalation in their patterns that were

similar and their overall psyche?

The criminology student had noted

as well that Blanche was much closer than

when they started and he was not sure if it

was flirtation or fear, as he was also

feeling a bit on edge after reading some of

the more detailed killing sprees. In either

case, he was enjoying the moment and the

wonderful smell that was permeating the

space between and the light touch of her

leg against his was almost more than he

could take. He hoped she hadn’t noticed

the goose bumps on his arms and the hair

standing straight up, as she was certainly

having an affect on him like no other

woman had before.

Just before closing and after they

searched the library for any couples

making out in the bathroom or any old

timers sleeping the night away, they

compared

notes

and

found

some

commonalities which Seymour highlighted

and condensed to the following list:

Bed-wetting

Animal Cruelty (Sadistic behavior

in general)

Arson

(Triad above forms a triad of

events that may be experienced as a child)

Sadistic daydreaming as a child

with a violent twist.

“I’m just a little freaked out after

looking at all that stuff tonight, how ‘bout

you?” Blanche asked.

“Nah, but I’ll bet I have strange

dreams, that’s if I can sleep. Hope I don’t

wake up with some nut standing over me

taking pictures of himself in my mom’s bra

and panties. Eee Gad, just the thought of

that makes me nauseous. Come on, I’ll

walk you to the bus and ride with you to

your stop and make sure you get home

okay.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m

sure I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Listen Blanche, after the day

you’ve had I’d be a jerk not to make sure

you get home safe and sound.”

The pair left the library, walked

toward the stop and talked of anything but

serial killers and deviants. A short

distance away and parked obscurely at the

end of a service lane a grey van sat,

engine idling, and the driver taking

pictures of the strolling couple with an

expensive high powered telephoto lens.

The photographer was already imagining

what the librarian’s pictures would look

like added to his growing collection.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The trip to the library had proven

more helpful than he had anticipated and

he was anxious to try his latest ideas on

the unsuspecting public. Sitting at his desk

he ran the upcoming events through his

mind, every detail, every possible

outcome played as a macabre movie

trailer, hitting all the highlights and

entertaining the one-man audience. He felt

satisfied that his plan would be successful

and placate his ‘employers’, so he turned

his attention to something meant to fulfill

his own selfish pursuits.

A cable connected the computer to

a camera that sat on the desk, his hand

danced with the mouse, manipulating the

images on the screen. A young man

walking with a shapely woman wearing a

tight sweater filled the screen. He clicked

an icon at the top of the application and

the image momentarily vanished only to

return with just the face of the young

woman visible. Her hair appeared darker

than it had under the lighting in the library,

but there was no mistaking the ample

curves and the smile he’d captured, even

from the distance he’d been forced to

accept. It excited him almost as much now

as it had when he’d so carefully taken the

shots from the safety of the van. The

mouse moved and again the image

changed, this time the monitor filled his

eyes with dozens of pictures taken in

sequence, cataloging the walk from the

library to the point he could no longer see

the couple.

“Little prick,” he cussed out loud,

“better not get in my way.”

He leaned back in the chair taking

in the series of pictures, his fingers

interlaced and placed behind his head. He

let his mind wander; imagining what he

could do with the tantalizing librarian that

would feed his new found hunger. For so

many years he’d found excitement in the

preparation for a job and the adrenalin

rush that would come with the actual

crime, but unbeknown to his employers

they had opened a whole new world to

him. He couldn’t put his finger on it but

there was something euphoric about

stalking a target and the ultimate sense of

power that came with viewing the pictures

and fantasizing about what he could and

would do.

“I need something special for

you,” he once again said aloud returning

his hand to the mouse and clicking on a

close-up shot of Blanche from the waist

up. “Yup, you nosey little bimbo, I’ll find

something extra special for you, and I

won’t even charge them for it.”

Clicking the printer icon caused

the green light on the photo style printer to

blink and the sound of the printer coming

to life filled the room. A moment later the

paper wound its way through the printer

and a full sheet dropped in the tray within

his reach. Picking it up he turned it over to

see the face of Ms. Blanche Delaney

staring back at him, hair tossed gently in

the breeze, her face framed perfectly over

her right shoulder, and just enough of her

curves visible to excite him as he viewed

his favorite picture.

It had been genius when he

decided to honk the horn at the

appropriate moment and the gamble had

paid off with this prized possession. With

the picture in hand he left the desk and

moved to the opening in the bookshelf and