Free Have You Seen Her? by Karen Rose

I change a few folding chairs to gold every day in the hopes of early retirement.”
    He was chuckling when he slid into his seat. “I wouldn’t say that too loud. The parents that don’t hate you for benching the QB will torment you for your secret.” He pulled his door shut with one hand and grabbed his cell phone in the other. “Let’s go report the damage to your car and get you home and out of those ridiculous shoes.” He winced. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
    Jenna smiled over at him as she buckled her seat belt, comfortable in their banter. “You did. But you’re right.” She held three fingers in the air, Girl Scout style. “I from here on out promise to put comfort and safety ahead of high fashion.”
    “My son would ask you to spit in your palm to seal such a serious covenant.”
    Jenna raised a brow. “Brad?”
    A shadow passed over his face. He put the Volvo wagon in gear and headed to the back corner of the parking lot. “No, not Brad.” And just that quickly, the crinkles were gone from the corners of his eyes, replaced by the lines of worry across his forehead.
    Friday, September 30, 5:45 P.M.
    Necessity truly was the mother of invention.
    He stood in the middle of the empty room, viewing the bare walls in the dim glow of the electric lights. Probably not a candidate for a Martha Stewart prize, but it was solid, it had a roof, electricity, running water, and best of all, it was unoccupied. Besides, with a couple of Chinese lanterns, a little paint, a bit of cheery wallpaper, perhaps a throw pillow or two—hell, he could turn this barn into a real little home away from home.
    He glanced up at the rafter beams and smiled to himself. He could truly hone his craft in a place like this. He should have thought of this place sooner. To hell with sacrificing his victims under a starry sky. Starry skies clouded and threatened rain. And then didn’t deliver. He scowled. He couldn’t believe he’d aborted his plan on a false alarm. Not a single drop. He glanced down at the form at his feet. He’d stored her in the trunk of his car all night long on a goddamn false alarm.
    His scowl darkened and he flexed his fist. Only to go back again this morning and be derailed by a damn dog. He’d always hated dogs. He wished he’d chased the mutt and finished him off, but if he’d left her unattended in the woods, someone would have come. That was just his luck.
    He mentally took inventory of what he’d so stupidly left behind. One of his hypos was gone from his toolbox and her panties were gone from the pile of clothes he’d quickly thrown in the trunk. Damn. He’d planned to keep her dainties as a souvenir. But noooo, that fucking dog had to come sniffing, then had to play Lassie. Now there were damn cops all over the place. Luckily he’d worn his gloves. He smirked. And he’d been sure to gather all
that
before exiting stage left. They wouldn’t find anything of a more . . . personal nature he’d left behind.
    He scowled again. Damn dog. Spoiled everything. The next time he came across a dog . . . His scowl melted into a smile as he pictured the scene in his mind. Knives and blood and gore. He nodded, satisfied with the picture. He’d take care of the next dog he met in the manner of Bundy or Dahmer. He’d read about their mutilations. First for practice, then for fun. He’d practiced himself. Often. Of course, he didn’t need to practice on animals anymore. He looked down at his feet.
    Not when he had the real thing.
    He nudged her with his toe, then again when she didn’t respond, harder this time. Her eyelids fluttered, opened. Her eyes widened. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. He’d taken the tape off—no need for her to wear uncomfortable duct tape over her mouth when they were miles away from everywhere. He smiled down at her.
    “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, would we, Sammie? That just wouldn’t be civilized.” He walked across the barn, each step kicking up