Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
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That was the first page. A disturbing read sober, a suffocating nightmare on your first hash cake in fifty years.
At least the journals contained some variety: drawings of mutilated bodies, dark poetry, long, detailed, violent fantasies. Or were they testimonies? Was Carol simply documenting what she had done?
There were scrapbooks filled with newspaper reports of murders. Surely, Carol hadn’t done them all. Some of the dates and places didn’t match up. As sick a mind as Carol had, it would be hard to pin the assassination of JFK on her.
Carol was a fanatic and this was her life’s work, her love letter to murder.
There were practical diagrams offering advice on the most effective parts of the body to stab. There were lists of poisons, with the required dosages noted beside them. Catherine had to admire the work. Carol had done her research.
There was a long list of murder methods, each with a paragraph on the pros and cons—drowning, shooting, stabbing, strangling, poisoning, pushing, bludgeoning, impaling, drilling.
The work was thorough. Hand drills were harder to clean than axes; axes created more splatter and required a good aim.
Poisoning was like baking, a science, not an art form.
Drowning and pushing, when done right, left no murder weapon but “may require muscle.” Strangling offered one the opportunity to look into the victim’s eyes, the chance to watch them die up close.
This could be a pro or a con, depending on the circumstances.
Catherine felt like insects were crawling around her body. She was in the bedroom of a serial killer, sifting through their thoughts. She wanted to wake Geoffrey but she couldn’t move.
One page described a man in a warehouse, tied up, lying on a concrete floor. Carol placed a hot iron on his chest, his screams fading into the distance as she went to run some errands. She returned just before the iron touched the concrete, proud with herself for timing it just right.
Catherine was cold, chilled to think that she shared a world with a mind like this.
And then a key turned in the door.