My appearances in the once the last month or so have beensporadic to say the least. All I seem to want to do now is workout, lifting weights, mostly, and secure reservations at newrestaurants I've already been to, then cancel them. My apartmentreeks of rotten fruit, though actually the smell is caused by what Iscooped out of Christie's head and poured into a Marco glassbowl that sits on a counter near the entranceway. The head itselflies covered with brain pulp, hollow and eyeless, in the corner ofthe living room beneath the piano and I plan to use it as a jack-o'-lantern on Halloween. Because of the stench I decide to use PaulOwen's apartment for a little tryst I have planned for tonight. I'vehad the premises scanned for surveillance devices;disappointingly, there were none. Someone I talk to through mylawyer tells me that Donald Kimball, the private investigator, hasheard that Owen really is in London, that someone spotted himtwice in the lobby of Claridge's, once each at a tailor on SavileRow and at a trendy new restaurant in Chelsea. Kimball new overtwo nights ago, which means no one is keeping watch over theapartment anymore, and the keys I stole from Owen still functionso I was able to bring the tools (a power drill, a bottle of acid, thenail gun, knives, a Bic lighter) over there after lunch. I hire twoescort girls from a reputable if somewhat sleazy privateestablishment I've never used before, charging them on Owen'sgold American Express card which, I suppose because everyonethinks Owen is now in London, no one has put a trace on, thoughthere is one on his platinum AmEx. The Patty Winters Show todaywas—ironically, I thought—about Princess Di's beauty tips.Midnight. The conversation I have with the two girls, both veryyoung, blond hardbodies with big tits, is brief, since I'm having adiɽcult time containing my disordered self."You live in a palace, mister," one of the girls, Torri, says in ababy's voice, awed by Owen's ridiculous-looking condo. "It's areal palace."Annoyed, I shoot her a glance. "It's not that nice."While making drinks from Owen's well-stocked bar, I mentionto both of them that I work on Wall Street, at Pierce & Pierce.Neither seems particularly interested. Again, I ɹnd myself hearinga voice—one of theirs—asking if that's a shoe store. Tiʃany ɻipsthrough an issue of GQ that's three months old, sitting on theblack leather couch beneath the strip of faux-cowhide paneling,and she's looking confused, like she doesn't understandsomething, anything. I'm thinking, Pray, you bitch, just pray, andthen I have to admit to myself what a turn-on it is encouragingthese girls to debase themselves in front of me for what amountsto pocket change. I also mention, after pouring them anotherdrink, that I went to Harvard, and then I ask, after a pause, "Everhear of it?"I'm shocked when Torri answers, "I had a businessacquaintance who said he went there." She shrugs dumbly."A client?" I ask, interested."Well," she starts nervously. "Let's just say a businessacquaintance.""Was this a pimp?" I ask—then the weird part happens."Well"—she stalls again before continuing—"let's just call hima business acquaintance." She sips from her glass. "He said hewent to Harvard, but ... I didn't believe him." She looks over atTiʃany, then back at me. Our mutual silence encourages her tokeep talking and she continues haltingly. "He had, like, thismonkey. And I would have to watch this monkey in ... hisapartment." She stops, starts, continues in monotone,occasionally gulping. "I'd want to watch TV all day, 'cause therewas nothing else to do while the guy was out ... and while I triedto keep an eye on the monkey. But there was ... something wrongwith this monkey." She stops and takes a deep breath. "Themonkey would only watch ..." Again she stops, takes in the room,a quizzical expression creasing her face as if she's not sure sheshould be telling us this story; if we, me and the other bitch,should be privy to this information. And I brace myself forsomething shocking, something revelatory, a connection. "Itwould only watch ..." She sighs, then in a sudden rush admits,"The Oprah Winfrey Show and that's all it would watch. The guyhad tapes and tapes of it and he had made all of them for thismonkey"—now she looks over at me, imploringly, as if she'slosing her mind here, right now, in Owen's apartment and wantsme to, what, verify it?—"with the commercials edited out. Onetime I tried to ... turn the channel, turn one of the tapes oʃ ... if Iwanted to watch a soap instead or something ... but"—sheɹnishes her drink and rolling her eyes, obviously upset by thisstory, continues bravely—"the monkey would s-s-screech at meand it would only calm down when Oprah was on." Sheswallows, clears her throat, looks like she's going to cry butdoesn't. "And you know, you try to turn the channel and that ddamn monkey would try to scratch you," she concludes bitterlyand hugs herself, shivering, uselessly trying to warm herself.Silence. Arctic, frigid, utter silence. The light burning over us inthe apartment is cold and electric. Standing there, I look at Torrithen at the other girl, Tiʃany, who looks queasy.I ɹnally say something, stumbling over my own words. "I don'tcare ... whether you've led a ... decent life ... or not."Sex happens—a hard-core montage. After I shave Torri's pussyshe lies on her back on Paul's futon and spreads her legs while Iɹnger her and suck it oʃ, sometimes licking her asshole. ThenTiʃany sucks my cock—her tongue is hot and wet and she keepsɻicking it over the head, irritating me—while I call her a nastywhore, a bitch. Fucking one of them with a condom while theother sucks my balls, lapping at them, I stare at the Angelis silkscreen print hanging over the bed and I'm thinking about pools ofblood, geysers of the stuʃ. Sometimes it's very quiet in the roomexcept for the wet sounds my cock makes slipping in and out ofone of the girls' vaginas. Tiʃany and I take turns eating Torri'shairless cunt and asshole. The two of them come, yellingsimultaneously, in a sixty-nine position. Once their cunts are wetenough I bring out a dildo and let the two of them play with it.Torri spreads her legs and ɹngers her own clit while Tiʃany fucksher with the huge, greased dildo, Torri urging Tiʃany to fuck hercunt harder with it, until ɹnally, gasping, she comes.Again I make the two of them eat each other out but it startsfailing to turn me on—all I can think about is blood and whattheir blood will look like and though Torri knows what to do,how to eat pussy, it doesn't subdue me and I push her away fromTiʃany's cunt and start licking and biting at the pink, soft, wetcuntness while Torri spreads her ass and sits on Tiʃany's facewhile ɹngering her own clit. Tiʃany hungrily tongues her pussy,wet and glistening, and Torri reaches down and squeezesTiʃany's big, ɹrm tits. I'm biting hard, gnawing at Tiʃany's cunt,and she starts tensing up. "Relax," I say soothingly. She startssquealing, trying to pull away, and ɹnally she screams as myteeth rip into her ɻesh. Torri thinks Tiʃany is coming and grindsher own cunt harder onto Tiʃany's mouth, smothering herscreams, but when I look up at Torri, blood covering my face,meat and pubic hair hanging from my mouth, blood pumpingfrom Tiʃany's torn cunt onto the comforter, I can feel her suddenrush of horror. I use Mace to blind both of them momentarily andthen I knock them unconscious with the butt of the nail gun.Torri awakens to ɹnd herself tied up, bent over the side of thebed, on her back, her face covered with blood because I've cuther lips oʃ with a pair of nail scissors. Tiʃany is tied up with sixpairs of Paul's suspenders on the other side of the bed, moaningwith fear, totally immobilized by the monster of reality. I wanther to watch what I'm going to do to Torri and she's propped upin a way that makes this unavoidable. As usual, in an attempt tounderstand these girls I'm ɹlming their deaths. With Torri andTiʃany I use a Minox LX ultra-miniature camera that takes9.5mm ɹlm, has a 15mm f/3.5 lens, an exposure meter and abuilt-in neutral density ɹlter and sits on a tripod. I've put a CD ofthe Traveling Wilburys into a portable CD player that sits on theheadboard above the bed, to mute any screams.I start by skinning Torri a little, making incisions with a steakknife and ripping bits of ɻesh from her legs and stomach whileshe screams in vain, begging for mercy in a high thin voice, andI'm hoping that she realizes her punishment will end up beingrelatively light compared to what I've planned for the other one. Ikeep spraying Torri with Mace and then I try to cut oʃ her ɹngerswith nail scissors and ɹnally I pour acid onto her belly andgenitals, but none of this comes close to killing her, so I resort tostabbing her in the throat and eventually the blade of the knifebreaks oʃ in what's left of her neck, stuck on bone, and I stop.While Tiʃany watches, ɹnally I saw the entire head oʃ—torrentsof blood splash against the walls, even the ceiling—and holdingthe head up, like a prize, I take my cock, purple with stiʃness,and lowering Torri's head to my lap I push it into her bloodiedmouth and start fucking it, until I come, exploding into it.Afterwards I'm so hard I can even walk around the blood-soakedroom carrying the head, which feels warm and weightless, on mydick. This is amusing for a while but I need to rest so I removethe head, placing it in Paul's oak and teak armoire, and then I'msitting in a chair, naked, covered with blood, watching HBO onOwen's TV, drinking a Corona, complaining out loud, wonderingwhy Owen doesn't have Cinemax.Later—now—I'm telling Tiʃany, "I'll let you go, shhh ...," andI'm stroking her face, which is slick, owing to tears and Mace,gently, and it burns me that she actually looks up hopefully for amoment before she sees the lit match I'm holding in my hand thatI've torn from a matchbook I picked up in the bar at Palio's whereI was having drinks with Robert Farrell and Robert Prechter lastFriday, and I lower it to her eyes, which she instinctively closes,singeing both eyelashes and brows, then I ɹnally use a Bic lighterand hold it up to both sockets, making sure they stay open withmy ɹngers, burning my thumb and pinkie in the process, until theeyeballs burst. While she's still conscious I roll her over, andspreading her ass cheeks, I nail a dildo that I've tied to a boarddeep into her rectum, using the nail gun. Then, turning her overagain, her body weak with fear, I cut all the ɻesh oʃ around hermouth and using the power drill with a detachable, massive headI widen that hole while she shakes, protesting, and once I'msatisɹed with the size of the hole I've created, her mouth open aswide as possible, a reddish-black tunnel of twisted tongue andloosened teeth, I force my hand down, deep into her throat, untilit disappears up to my wrist—all the while her head shakesuncontrollably, but she can't bite down since the power drillripped her teeth out of her gums—and grab at the veins lodgedthere like tubes and I loosen them with my ɹngers and when I'vegotten a good grip on them violently yank them out through heropen mouth, pulling until the neck caves in, disappears, the skintightens and splits though there's little blood. Most of the neck'sinnards, including the jugular, hang out of her mouth and herwhole body starts twitching, like a roach on its back, shakingspasmodically, her melted eyes running down her face mixingwith the tears and Mace, and then quickly, not wanting to wastetime, I turn oʃ the lights and in the dark before she dies I ripopen her stomach with my bare hands. I can't tell what I'm doingwith them but it's making wet snapping sounds and my hands arehot and covered with something.The aftermath. No fear, no confusion. Unable to linger sincethere are things to be done today: return videotapes, work out atthe gym, a new British musical on Broadway I promised JeanetteI'd take her to, a dinner reservation to be made somewhere.What's left of both bodies is in early rigor mortis. Part of Tifany'sbody—I think it's her even though I'm having a hard time tellingthe two apart—has sunken in and her ribs jut out, most broken inhalf, from what's left of her stomach, both breasts having beenpierced by them. A head has been nailed to the wall, ɹngers liescattered or arranged in some kind of circle around the CD player. One of the bodies, the one on the poor, has beendefecated on and seems to be covered with teeth marks where Ihad bitten into it, savagely. With the blood from one of thecorpses' stomachs that I dip my hand into, I scrawl, in drippingred letters above the faux-cowhide paneling in the living room,the words I AM BACK and below it a scary drawing which looks like this
