He was always a light sleeper.

“I like this hotel better than the last, the curtains compliment the carpet. Very few of the rooms we’ve been in have been able to accomplish that.”

Lust attempted to make conversation since she had already woken him up, but he seemed already distracted by the fact that she was completely naked. Engulfed in only the patterns of smoke flowing upward from her cigarette, she poured some rum into a glass.

He grabbed his sketch pad and murmured, “You’d make a great corpse” as he scratched the surface of the paper with his worn out HB pencil.

“You’d make a great man whore. Oh wait, you already are.” she replied as she laid in front of him smirking.

He put down his sketch pad.

“I want a massage, I had to lift a cadaver earlier and I strained my back. Be a doll and get to it.”

She laughed at him and began to put her clothes on.

He grabbed her arm, and held her down firmly.

Her pupils dilated and the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention.

She nearly wanted him once more.

“You’re the only broad I’ve ever met who needs to be told twice. Does it entertain you when I put you in your place? I believe it does, because you constantly provoke my authority.”

She downed the glass of rum and told him what he needed to hear.

“You creatures, males as they call you, are creatures of habit. You hunt, catch, and devour. Well, I’m the antelope who makes you run your little lion heart twice over. My speed, different from the rest, attracts you. Although you could catch another, much easier to subdue kind of prey, you want the one you can’t have. You are right. I provoke you. I challenge you. And I damn right make you put me in my place because by doing that I remind you that you are the roaring lion, and I am the graceful antelope. Yet sweet confusion, does the question then not arise? Am I the one keeping you in your place or are you putting me in mine? Is the man the head and does the woman turn the neck every which way she pleases, or does the head move the neck only when needed? You can answer that Thursday. We’ll meet back here, I like their curtains.”

She grabbed her holster and slammed the door on her way out.

He looked toward his lab coat and sighed, there were three more days until Thursday.

Lust contemplated her answer as she listened to the sound of the food crushing in her mouth.

“I think its a contemporary lack of self control. We refuse to deny our true beings. We realize that we are animals, and that the predator will always seek its prey. Murder is a feeling, and so is rage and happiness. You and I do not separate the three among them. You see just as much beauty in a painting as you see in a dry corpse. I see just as much beauty in the first breath of a child, as I see in the last breath of a victim. It’s in all of us, we are just the ones who choose to unleash it.”

Vinnie took a deep breath. He had to control himself from ravishing her right then and there.

“You’re somethin’ else you know.”, he spoke in a muffled tone so she would not hear the desire in his voice.

She smirked as he turned his back and remembered that one night where his self control was not as ingrained as it was today.

The sound of the gloves snapping on his hands awoke her from the entrancing day dream. She watched as he dug his hands into the bubble of fat that laid on the examination table and thought,
“Those same hands have been all over me.”

He threw the over-sized liver into the weighing bin and began humming an old french song as if he was in a welcoming cafe, not a cold and sinister morgue.

This is what Lust enjoyed about him.
He too saw the beauty and the macabre elegance of being elbow deep in things most people fainted only thinking of.

They were both the anomalies.

The rejected elite.

She continued to elaborate her theory. Knowing full well that she would reel him in with her every word.

“You see my dear, it is like a beast. Most choose to contain this beast, deep into the cages of the soul. We choose to let it breathe. We choose to let it roam free. A calm creature that feeds only ever so often. The others harness it, and just as any encased beast does, it tears at the walls of its confinement. The struggle translates into curiosity and soon the people find it harder and harder to deny the fervor. That is when you hear the bimbos on TV say:

“A middle aged man was arrested today and is being investigated in the murders of three women. Friends of the suspect say that the event was completely out of character and that they would have never expected a good man like him to commit such horrendous crimes.”

And so you see my sweet pea, they burn the candle at both ends until the cage no longer holds and the beast no longer folds.
We are the lucky ones. We are made of flesh and the omnipresent talent to allow ourselves to be the creatures we truly are. The predator will always seek its prey.”

He unbuckled his belt and she knew her words had reached their goal.

The predator will always seek its prey.

Staring at the white wall in front of her, Lust sees herself much like the wall, perhaps their lives are even similar.

The wall listens, but does not speak, is present, but goes for the most part, unnoticed.

Blank, empty, and ready to be covered in blood, this wall is more of a mirror than a simple slab of bricks.

A blink signals her return to the real world, a return to the treat that awaited, this was her reward, a sick reward to most, but to Lust it was sheer excitement to be on the job and process according to her own desire.

She crumbles the yogurt box, throws it in the trash and turns on the water.

The water pouring from the sink, starts up a slight twitch in the victim.

Washing your hands before any contact under skin is always indicated. Always. Even if the victim lay above the sink.

Lust enjoyed maintaing a certain cleanliness, although she knew that this future corpse did not need sterile sculpting of any kind.

Gritting her teeth, she begins to dig into the superficial abdomen with the K-24 Fanno hand saw, however this tool appears to be much more rough than Lust had anticipated.

Glistening knives flash through her mind as she half smiles at the whore  in front of her.

“You’ll be fine, my dear, not much difference is there between your plastic surgery endeavors, and this. Also, if you complain about lack of anesthesia, do tell your doctor that I didn’t get the fucking memo in time. That is… if you can tell him.”

Lust stands in front of her knife case, much like Hitler stood affront his army, her knives screamed at her much like his soldiers would scream to him that they would make him most proud.

Well, in that moment, the antique Bowie Knife she had received from her father as a birthday gift seemed to be the one that would make her most proud indeed.

She got elbows deep into the victims torso, the liver hanging upside down off the counter much like a fallen cord phone, the lungs cut into precise 2″ inch cubes set into an oval shape around the head, no reason.

She could feel drops running down her forehead, but they were not of sweat, Lust knew the task would be strenuous and set the air condition to an uncomfortable low, therefore this meant that the drops were of blood.
Warm blood.

Acting on impulse, she allowed herself to loose control, not just physically, but mentally.

She gave in.

She gave in to the instinct, the desire, and the want to cut flesh open.

All humans had it.

She just decided to be smart and make money while doing it.

The victims right leg spasmed as Lust smirked at this thought and continued cutting.

“Are you some fucking nut job?”

“Nut job? No…I just like watching others drive me around. You are going to drive me the rest of the way to Vegas, and no funny stuff yes? Because I wouldn’t want to piss me off. I can count the capillaries under your skin if you’d like. Understood?”

“And after we get there? What happens to me?”

“Nothing. You drive, do your duty for me, and it ends.”

A hesitant approval synchronized with the click of a lighter and the smoke escapes between her lips.

“What do you think of this country?”

“What do I think of this country? I think its full of whacks like yourself miss.”

“Maybe you aren’t as dumb as I thought.”

“How so?”

“You seem to be realistic at least.”

“And what if I am like this because of all the other “normal” people here? What if the sheer pressure of society bearing on me to be normal has subsided me into being completely “whack” as you describe it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Indeed, you would not.”

She checks her watch, been a while since she last slept, but the three coffees and vodka did its duties, about 40 minutes away she decides to read the newspaper, perhaps a place where she will go unnoticed will do for now.

The color of her hair will also need to be rendered to a light blonde perhaps, to change the general appearance and disguise the identity.

She turns her head towards him, his behavioral signs do not tell of anxiety, fear, or any of these expected signs.

The light of the moon hits his lips, showing a profile she just now admires.

She bites her bottom lip.

Lust?

Desire?

Maybe she will not discard him as quickly as she thought.

Just maybe.

The stars sparkle their way into her glistening eyes, perhaps tears, she leads the car to the side
of the road.

 The road less traveled, in reality, dementia is welcoming the typical guest.

Take a polaroid and let yourself go.

Swallowing the sweet concoction of carbon monoxide and tobacco she stares above her, by god this universe is quite large.

Numerous smirks and ironic giggles later, she jumps back into the car.

The iced feel to the leather is a reminder of what her soul truly consists.

Cold and bitter, that she could even dare to love is a foolish joke told in cheap bars. 

Her heart will constantly bleed, but her ambition will close the wounds to continue false elucidation. 

A strong break flys its way through the pedals and onto the tires.

Only to realize the mind is playing parcheesi with her eye sight. 

Illusory and scarce, the image only crossed her range of view briefly.

Perhaps an animal, or a lost soul, she continues on to the explicit destination.

Pushing the limits of machinery she will not fill the tank for another 20 miles.

A quick plan is to take place until arrival.

Just a bit of fun, nothing more.