Then I remembered the naked picture of her, her legs wide open and her fingers inside herself.I gritted my teeth and slapped the wall again, hard. The emotions swirling in my head were almost too much.“Daddy, can't we just talk about this?”“I don’t even know what to say to you. I can’t talk to your mom. I can’t talk to Father Sarducci about this… I love you sweetheart, but you… you need to be controlled… or taught a lesson… or... I don’t even fucking know what.”I bowed my head for a few seconds.“I stopped spanking you when you were ten. Do you remember? The last one? I swear you broke that Beatles record on purpose.”Ash looked at the floor.“Yeah, maybe I did… break it on purpose, I mean.”I looked up, shocked.“What?” My voice was a lot louder than I intended it to be. “I was just being facetious!”“Daddy, stop yelling. You’re overreacting, again.”The audacity.The audacity that she even had the gall to think I was overreacting. And then, it hit me: sudden clarity. Instead of screaming. He didn’t want to leave marks, anything that they could use to track him later. But the temptation had been there, oh, so heavily pounding in his brain, the need to tear flesh, to feel the hot weight of it against his tongue, to taste it’s sweetness. He resealed the bag, carefully expelling as much air as he could. He closed the file, and placed it, along with all his evidence bags back into the plastic box, firmly closing the lid. The box was set on top of a stack of shelves, carefully placed with five others. Each box was neatly labeled and dated. He could remember each and every one of them without looking into those boxes. And he could remember the others, the ones that he had done before the knife. The ones that were buried and hidden in places where they would not be found. The ones that were before, when he hadn’t the knowledge to study, or to make conclusions. The police wouldn’t be able to stop him. He had studied the greats, Gein, Kempner, Gacy to name just a few. Though.
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