Free Mister X by John Lutz

herself begin to sob. Her body shuddered, and she leaned back into deeper and deeper darkness.
    There was a clock by the phone. Though it had seemed like seconds, she knew that fifteen minutes had passed and the police were pounding on her door.

14
    He’d dropped silently from the iron fire escape into the courtyard and made his way through the narrow passageway on the side of the building to the street. No one had seen him, he was sure. And even if someone had noticed him, they’d never be able to recognize him. He was away clean. Things hadn’t worked out as he’d planned, but he was safe.
    He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Not at this point. He’d only wanted to learn more about her.
    Her name was Mary. Mary Bakehouse. He knew that much from riffling through the contents of her desk. He knew where she banked, how much she owed, where she left her laundry, that she had family in godforsaken South Dakota. He’d seen photographs of her and her country relatives, the Bakehouse clan, and a close-up of lovely Mary wearing a white blouse buttoned to her throat and grinning with every tooth. Desk drawers could be so revealing.
    He’d been about to switch on her computer and learn even more about her when he heard her out in the hall, fumbling for her door key.
    He’d barely had time to sweep everything back into the drawers and push them shut, then conceal himself before she’d entered.
    She’d diligently searched the rest of the apartment before returning to the living room, where he’d decided to reveal himself.
    He’d known she’d be frightened but not so exquisitely. She was his, and she knew it immediately. The knowledge had stopped her throat and silenced her with its terrible truth.
    That was why he’d taken his time. He wasn’t going to harm her, but she didn’t know that. He was in control. He could manage an orderly exit. She wouldn’t have much of a description to give to the police. Probably not enough to pick him out of a lineup and certainly not enough to make a positive identification. He’d be well away and in the clear.
    Dressed in clothes from his respectable wardrobe and clean shaven, his artificial dentures removed, he was reasonably confident he could pass her in the street or sit opposite her on the subway, and she might suspect he was the same man but she couldn’t be sure.
    From now on, uncertainty would be her constant companion. Even in her dreams she would doubt.
    Thoughts. She would be the victim of her thoughts, just as he was of his. Thoughts couldn’t hurt anyone, but she wouldn’t know that. Not in her heart. Not for sure.
    Walking swiftly toward the corner where he could hail a cab, he smiled. Mary Bakehouse might never be sure of anything else in her life.
    That he could do such a thing to her, and so easily, the special power that he had, gave him a partial erection. He bent slightly forward as he walked so no one would notice. And if they did, so what?
    The power and control…
    His erection persisted. Mary would find the mess in her desk drawers and know he’d examined their contents, but that was okay. He wanted her to know. Ultimately, that would work for him.
    She’d probably report their encounter to the authorities, but she’d soon find out they really couldn’t do anything about it, and they certainly couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again.
    That would make her feel even more powerless.
    Within a few minutes he was seated comfortably in the back of a cab, the incident with Mary Bakehouse fading behind him.
    Thoughts were all they’d dealt with tonight, not blood. Later might come the blood. He knew that. He could deny it. He could fight it. But he couldn’t be sure of the outcome.
    Maybe he’d pay Mary Bakehouse another visit, and maybe he wouldn’t. She knew that he might, and that made the night a triumph.
    He hadn’t set out to hurt her, and he hadn’t. Still, in a way, their encounter had been a success for him. Ask Mary Bakehouse, and if she