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A Devil For A Companion

A Devil For A Companion

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A Devil For A Companion

Länge:
311 Seiten
5 Stunden
Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 11, 2019
ISBN:
9780463778050
Format:
Buch

Beschreibung

You could kill her— after raping her!

The thought seemed to leap into his brain. It was a half-thought and, somehow, a half-sound that seemed to originate all around him. It had no direction or origin. At first, it startled him. He looked around for the source of the voice. Finding no one, he had to conclude that he had imagined it. Curiously, he found that the possibility of committing rape and murder did not horrify or repulse him. It was only the thought of being caught and going to jail that made him hesitate.

The Voice once again surrounded him, speaking louder now, from everywhere and no where.

Herausgeber:
Freigegeben:
Oct 11, 2019
ISBN:
9780463778050
Format:
Buch

Über den Autor


Ähnlich wie A Devil For A Companion

Buchvorschau

A Devil For A Companion - Ron Jay

Jay

Chapter One

It was seven o’clock in the evening in the small northern Pennsylvania town. Thick black clouds were hanging low over the town. A hazy twilight had reluctantly given way to a dark night. A young man was climbing up a tree, silently and swiftly, stepping up onto one thick branch and then pulling himself up to the next branch to finally reach a height of thirty feet. He had climbed up this oak tree dozens of times. Months earlier, he had originally ascended to this height, unraveling a rope beneath him, and had pulled up a metal tree-stand seat, the type that hunters used. The man was now able to comfortably sit and see into the third-story windows of the apartment building directly across from him on the narrow street. The seat folded up against the tree’s trunk when not in use. It was very difficult for anyone to see in the daytime. The height above ground and the thick foliage of the tree concealed it perfectly.

He was now able to watch the woman in the apartment as she undressed every evening. Her windows were close enough that he could watch her without binoculars. She had no curtains or blinds on the windows, thinking her height above the street and having no buildings or houses on the other side of the narrow street would give her complete privacy. She lived alone, usually wearing only a bra and panties until going to bed. The woman was beautiful and sexy – gorgeous beyond any woman he had ever seen. She was the woman you would stare at on the street as she walked past you – and then she was gone. But now he could watch her for hours, in her most intimate moments.

It was late autumn. The leaves were turning color, beginning to fall to the pavement and the street below him. Soon, if he continued watching his private peepshow, he would be too exposed. He would risk being seen by anyone walking past the street on the concrete sidewalk below him. If anyone noticed him, it would be obvious he was committing a crime, a peeping-tom. It would be very difficult to escape with someone standing under the tree while he tried to shimmy down and run away. He would be arrested if someone called the police and they were waiting for him under the tree. The young man was also relying on the darkness to remain concealed. The streetlights in this town were the old-fashioned bare bulbs, protected only by overhead shades and chicken-wire. He had shot out the streetlights, months earlier, using a BB gun. The township hadn’t yet repaired them.

He had first seen the woman entering the apartment building two months earlier, when he was walking home from a movie. He had stood and watched the outside windows of the apartment building that she had entered. Minutes later, he had seen her lights go on. A quick climb up the tree on the opposite side of the street had allowed him to discover he could easily see into her apartment. This was the beginning of the fantasy that had begun to obsess him. The woman had long red hair and was perhaps twenty-four years old. She had a slim, yet sexy body. He had seen her naked several times, but when she moved around her apartment wearing only panties and a bra, it was somehow much more exciting to watch. He was in his perch in the tree every evening, except when there was a full moon to possibly betray his presence.

His name was George Tomlin. He was twenty-years old and had graduated from high school three years earlier. Since then, he had remained unemployed. He lived with his father and uncle. His father was almost always absent, since his job on the railroad kept him away for weeks at a time. George’s mother had deserted the family when he was three years old. He had no memory of ever seeing her. His early years had been a long succession of poorly paid babysitters. This had been followed by him being left alone when he was old enough to feed himself and to go to and from school unsupervised. There had been an interval when child-services had taken him away from his father’s custody. The experience of living for three years with a mixture of convicted juvenile delinquents and orphans had left him bitter and mature beyond his years. George was extremely intelligent, but now he was damaged goods. Love and affection had been completely lacking in his lifetime. He was, by definition, a sociopath. There was a terrible emptiness inside him. He did not love or care for anyone. There had never been a time when he tried to help or pity anyone.

When he had discovered the redhead’s erotic show, he had eagerly become a nightly viewer. He never thought of himself as being a criminal while doing this. He always weighed whatever he did only in proportion to the risk involved. The only shame would be in getting caught. He did not personally see anything wrong with his behavior, although he knew it was illegal. He always was very careful not to be seen or caught while spying on the woman. Satisfying his own needs and desires was the only thing that was important to him.

This voyeurism, unfortunately, was the only manner he had found to gratify his natural male urges to interact with the opposite sex. Women constantly resisted dating him or even becoming friendly with him. It was probably his demeanor and strange behavior that repelled women. He wasn’t totally unattractive, although when he had been in school, he had been a bit on the skinny side. He was short, 5’7, and extremely quiet and withdrawn. This intensified when he was around women. He tended to stammer and stutter. This made it impossible for him to become friends with any woman. It also had made him the butt of practical jokes and scorn by the other boys in school. He had never had any friends in his schoolyears and this paranoia had spilled over into his early adulthood.

He felt the excitement and tension rise within him as the woman entered her apartment and turned on the lights. She immediately moved to the bedroom and began undressing, stripping slowly down to her underwear, then carefully hanging up her clothes in the bedroom closet. George was pleased to see that tonight she was wearing a low-cut black bra with matching silk panties, both were trimmed with black lace. The lingerie contrasted provocatively with her white skin, outlining ample breasts and hips.

When he was in bed at night, he had often lain awake and thought about breaking into the woman’s apartment and raping her. Sometimes, he had awakened with a vivid memory of a dream of raping her. It was a delicious experience, but it was only a fantasy that would never happen. He was intelligent enough to know that he would be caught and sent to prison if he dared to attempt it. She lived only one block away from his father’s house. He already had a bad reputation among his neighbors. They resented seeing him sponging off his father in the three years since he had graduated from high school. He had made no attempt to find a job. His loud music and his boisterous behavior had earned him many enemies in his neighborhood. They would be only too happy to point him out to the detectives who would be canvassing the neighborhood after such a crime.

There were too many obstacles to evading arrest. The apartment building could only be entered by using a key at the front entrance. There was a doorman inside, who was very strict about identifying visitors. There were surveillance cameras everywhere. He dismissed the thought of raping the woman. He would be caught and arrested. The thought of being in a prison with hardened criminals terrified him. In prison, he would be the one being raped. He knew the inmates would pass him around like a ragdoll.

The woman had now entered her bathroom and shut the door behind her. George knew she would remain in there for at least a half-hour. The bathroom was unfortunately the only room where George could not watch the woman. This left him alone for a long period of utter boredom, with only random memories and thoughts with which to entertain himself. He remembered, for some obscure reason, reading the memoirs of a retired homicide detective. He had written that if someone would enter a strange town, kill someone at random, and leave without taking anything from the victim, it would be virtually impossible to catch the killer. Of course, raping a woman under these same circumstances would be riskier. She would be a witness, able to identify him later.

You could kill her – after raping her!

The thought seemed to leap into his brain. It was a half-thought and, somehow, a half-sound that seemed to originate all around him. It had no direction or origin. At first, it startled him. He looked around for the source of the voice. Finding no one, he had to conclude that he had imagined it. Curiously, he found that the possibility of committing rape and murder did not horrify or repulse him. It was only the thought of being caught and going to jail that made him hesitate.

The Voice once again surrounded him, speaking louder now, from everywhere and no-where.

Go to another town and choose a victim carefully. It will have to be a woman who lives alone. Her house will have to be isolated, without any neighbors to hear her screams. There would be no witnesses and no one to testify that you were near the crime.

This sudden barrage of plans for murder and rape – coming from an unknown voice – overwhelmed George’s senses.

Where was this coming from?

The Voice continued, softly this time. It described the joys of dominant sex. It painted vivid pictures in George’s head of nights he could spend wallowing in illicit intercourse on top of helpless women. The harder George tried to resist the thought of murder and rape, the more persistently it returned to obsess him. Finally, the Voice faded away. He surrendered to the lurid thoughts completely. He became aroused as he imagined a helpless woman, tied and naked, completely vulnerable and laying underneath him. He began vividly picturing every motion of the crime, almost physically feeling the rape. He breathed heavily, his eyes clenched shut---and he felt a deep satisfying climax course through his body. It lasted only a minute. He was left completely exhausted and satisfied. It was a confusing, yet delicious experience. It was the first time he had ever climaxed without touching himself.

The woman opened her bathroom door. She stepped into her bedroom. George hurriedly returned to following her every move. She was removing her bra and panties and changing into a pink negligee. That usually meant she was expecting male company, which was a whole different show. But George was no longer interested in watching the woman. The thrill and anticipation was missing, gone forever. Images of rape and murder were now racing through his mind. The woman he was spying upon was virtually untouchable.

Watching her was like a starving man staring at a steak he could not eat.

George unfastened his tree stand. Using the rope attached to it, he lowered it to the ground. He climbed down from the tree, knowing he would never return. His sexual urges and desires had changed. His only satisfaction, the only thing he would now seek, would be rape and domination. The man craved a new and more dangerous type of crime and he could not afford a police arrest for being a peeping-tom.

He lay awake in his bed that night, trying to fall asleep and stifle the lust that was filling his head. He tossed from side to side in the bed, attempting to find a comfortable position and stop the wild sinful thoughts that kept fueling his imagination. To distract himself he tried concentrating on remembering, scene for scene, a movie he had watched on TV that afternoon, thinking it would blot out the violent images. He did not want to violently take a life. However, the thought of sexually assaulting a woman was not as repulsive. He knew that rape was wrong. It was a serious crime. But it seemed to be the only way he would ever experience sex, except possibly by paying a prostitute. He didn’t have a clue about where to find a prostitute. He also didn’t have any money and it seemed unglamorous and dirty. Gradually, the commotion in his brain subsided and he fell asleep.

Tie up the bitch and rip off her clothes!

The Voice filled the room, pulling him out of a sound sleep. George was instantly afraid that it would wake up his father. Waking him up at this late hour would earn him a beating with the man’s leather belt. The numbing effect of last night’s drinking would have worn off. He would be in a foul mood. George turned on his bedside lamp, searching to see who had entered the room. There was no one. He had probably dreamed the sound. He turned off the light and settled back under his covers.

Georgie Boy, why are you resisting me? We could have so much fun together ...

Again, the voice seemed to be at the edge of his bed.

Who are you?

Georgie Boy, you’re hurting me! I’m your Companion. I’ve always been with you. I’m the one who pointed out the redhead’s light going on after she entered her apartment. I urged you to climb the tree and watch.

What do you want? Where are you?

It’s not what I want! It’s what you want, Georgie Boy. It’s what you have always wanted but were afraid to admit to yourself.

I don’t want to rape or murder a woman.

Yes, you do!

"No! I was just dreaming – pretending to myself"

There was a long pause. George snapped on the bedside light. There was no one. He was hallucinating. He turned off the light and settled down again under the covers.

Let me do it, George. You can just watch and enjoy. Just plan it and set it up carefully. Then I’ll take over.

George didn’t answer. It was crazy. He was talking to himself and then answering. They locked up people who did this type of thing. He snapped on his bedside light again, searched the room with quick, furtive glances. There was no one. Yet, the Voice had been loud enough to wake up the entire house. His father was in the next room, sleeping less than twelve feet away.

What’s entered my bedroom? he asked himself. What’s calling itself the Companion? Has something strange become a part of me?

This last thought was strangely reassuring and comforting. It seemed to give him a heightened sense of self-confidence. At least, if it was true, he would not be alone. It would be preferable to being a crazy person. But he was only imagining the Voice. It wasn’t possible. He turned off the light and settled back under his blanket again. The bed creaked as he shifted his body, trying to get comfortable on the sagging mattress.

Rape and murder! It was madness.

He suddenly began to see intense brilliant pictures of him dominating helpless women. It shifted from one pleasurable scene to another. In the background, he could hear the Voice urging him on. It was soothing and hypnotic. He found himself quietly beginning to accept the truth of what the Voice had spoken. George wanted this. The thought of violent sex thrilled and excited him. He was confident he could commit the perfect crime. He decided he would become a rapist, although he would have to be extremely careful. He could not risk trusting luck to play any part in such a plan. The slightest mistake could possibly bring the police to his door.

Can I sneak out at night, commit a crime and then rely on my father to say I was in the house all night? No! Offering my father as an alibi would be useless. The man is totally drunk most of the time. This is the type of alibi that would be laughed at by the police and juries.

If I leave DNA behind – that evidence could convict me and send me to prison for twenty years. I don’t know how I could prevent leaving traces of DNA on a victim. There might be books at the Library that I can read to learn about this. But the ultimate defense will be having no evidence or witnesses to lead police to me.

Getting back and forth will be a problem. I can’t take a bus. That would be crazy. I’ll have to steal or buy a gun. Some of these women could really put up a fight.

After an hour of frantic planning, he gradually fell into a deep sleep

He awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and cheerful. As he ate a breakfast of cold cereal and milk, he decided to take the next step in his planned career as a rapist. He would need to have a job, something respectable that would establish himself as an upright, hardworking member of the community. The only job he that he could get immediately would be as an employee in a fast-food restaurant. It would have to be one of those hamburger places that were near the Interstate entrance. They were always hiring. The employee turnover was constant. He cringed at the thought of working in such a place. It wasn’t the nonstop pace of the work, or the low pay. It was the close contact he would have with other employees. George did not like people. Usually, people did not like him. Since the eighth grade, he had been constantly teased and mocked. He was always the lowest on the pecking order, so he avoided contact with other boys as much as possible. He stuttered, was short and skinny, and had a hawkish, oversized nose. This made him a natural target for harassment. None of the other boys were afraid of him. Two fistfights had left him with a bloody nose and black eyes each time. George was clearly not one of the world’s fighters. His only defense was to avoid other students as much as possible.

An hour later, after walking three miles to the Interstate exit, he was filling out a job application at one of the many fast-food restaurants. The place was called the Burger Joint. It was like the many chains that had opened to sell hamburgers, except that their menu was sparse and simple. It was also the cheapest of all of them. They sold burgers, fish sandwiches and fries. The place had basically a drive-thru trade, although it had ten tables and chairs in front of the store. It was bright and clean. It had two women up front serving customers, mostly at the drive-up windows. Both women were married. There were two men in back who worked as kitchen help and cooks.

George was, of course, hired immediately. He volunteered to work with the night crew, which delighted the manager. The man was always scrambling to fill that shift. No young person wished to work from four PM to midnight. It totally ruined any chance of having any social life. The man persuaded George to begin that evening, since he was so shorthanded. George wanted that shift. It would give him a perfectly valid reason to be walking the streets at closing time. The restaurant was three miles from his home. The distance he had to walk took him through the overlapping corners of three suburban communities. George knew that to find the perfect victims, he would have to spend a tremendous amount of time peering into windows after midnight.

He reported for work at four o’clock that afternoon. He was nervous about starting to work at the restaurant. He had no experience at any job, especially one that involved cooking. The manager took him to the rear of the store and showed him where he would work, in front of a bank of microwave ovens.

These microwaves are set for a predetermined time, he said, pointing at three of the ovens. These three are for hamburgers only. You never touch the timers. You place two burgers in the oven, close the door and push the start button. A bell will ring and the red light will flash when the hamburgers are finished. Pull them out, pass them to Jack. He puts the sauce, onions, and tomato on the bun, adds the ‘burger, wraps it and slides it out to the waitress station. The other oven is for fish. That’s all there is to the job, George. Watch the screen up there. It will tell you how many hamburgers to make.

He lightly slapped George on the back and smiled. This apparently ended George’s cooking lesson.

That’s all there is to the job, my boy! he repeated. Now, get to work.

George nervously looked up at the order screen. It was flashing an order for eight hamburgers. He reached over with his gloved hand and began peeling hamburgers off the stack that was piled a foot high on the right side of the counter. He began feeding them two at a time into the microwaves. In less than two minutes, the buzzers were announcing they were finished. He quickly slid them over to the man beside him who already had the buns open and covered with condiments. The job seemed easy enough and simple enough. However, as one hour became the next hour, the pace of the work did not slow. Periodically, a huge brute of a man would slap open the door from the meat storage locker and lay down another twenty-pound tray of hamburger patties. He did not seem very friendly and did not speak. Finally, at nine o’clock in the evening, the manager stepped back to their workstations and relieved them, so they could take a brief lunch break. George’s back and feet were aching from the unaccustomed time he had spent continuously standing. His co-worker, Jack, handed him a tray with two hamburgers on it. He gestured for George to follow him to the front of the kitchen. He scooped a generous portion of French fries onto both of their trays and led George to the soft drink machines.

Thank you! George said, addressing Jack, as they sat down at a table that was at the rear of the kitchen. I’ve never been so glad to sit down in my life.

Jack looked over and laughed. You’ll get used to it, if you stay. We lose a lot of guys after just one day.

Jack was ten years older than George. He was obviously a Latino, although there was no accent in his voice. He was 5’9", weighed about one-hundred-and-fifty pounds, and had the classic black hair of a Cuban. He had a perpetual five o’clock shadow outlining his jaw. He was wolfing down his food and gulping his drink.

Better hurry, man, he said. The boss will be hollering at us to finish any minute now. We’re lucky to get a break and get free food. The day crews have to pay for their meals.

A few minutes later, the manager was hustling them back to their workstations. George had to abandon his meal half-eaten. They worked steadily for another three hours. The pace of the orders slowed down considerably. The manager brought over buckets of hot, soapy water and towels. He showed George how to clean his work area. At the same time, the huge brute of a man emerged from the back room with a bucket that held hot water and supported a wringing device for his mop. He began mopping the floor. He stopped with the floor still covered with soapy water. He looked over at George and stared at him. He slid the bucket and mop into the corner and walked toward George, not stopping until he physically bumped into him. He was younger than George, but he stood 6’3", weighed three-hundred pounds, had a bald head, and his face displayed a terrifying scowl of hatred. There was no doubt that he meant to hurt George.

What’s your name, pipsqueak? he said.

He reached up and grabbed George by the front of his shirt, physically lifting him an inch off the ground. George glanced over at Jack and saw that the man was shrinking away from the confrontation. Apparently, this brute had terrorized everyone in the kitchen. George inwardly cringed at the thought of once again being terrorized every day. Fighting with this man was not possible. He would probably be severely beaten, although this time it would be his ribs and stomach that would be punished. The bully would not want to inflict any visible bruises on George which would show that he had been beaten. It would be done outside, after work, until he submitted to this bully. He couldn’t stand for this bullying, day after day, again. He would have to quit and find another job.

Will this kind of crap never end? he thought, as the brute lifted him higher and physically shook him like a ragdoll. He felt the

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