Ice Pick
by Joreid McFate


      Mark Stone loosened the bulb in the wall mounted fixture, sending the corridor into darkness. The narrow beam from a penlight held between his teeth illuminated the lock as he squatted in front of the apartment door. Heart pounding in anticipation, he concentrated on manipulating two thin metal strips inside the ancient lock. He could hear the shower running inside. Good. All that racket would cover any sounds he made.
      A faint click. He twisted the knob. Not yet. Sliding one rod back a notch at a time, he jiggled, paused, jiggled, paused. The running water made it difficult to hear the pins lock into place. No big deal. Mark loved a challenge.
      The lock was an antique, just rusty enough to make opening it a bitch. It'd probably stick even if he had a key. But it was the only thing between him and her. Once he got past it, there was nothing to stop him: no roommate, no alarm -- not even one of those silly chains.
      Which proved that Miss Eve Galena, despite her alleged secretarial skills and her executive boss' high opinion of her efficiency wasn't as smart as she thought she was.
      He twisted the tension wrench a bit more and raked the pick over the pins, listening with his fingers as well as his ears. Another click. More like a clunk. Holding the knob with only his fingertips, he turned it. Bingo. Mark smiled as he stepped into the apartment. The water, still running full blast, sounded like rain on a tin roof. This was a snap, almost too easy.
      Luck didn't have a thing to do with it. He had dogged her every step long enough to know she was a creature of habit. She showered at this time every night. Didn't budge from her routine by more than a minute.
      Excitement, like that of a hunter stalking its prey, coursed through him as he closed the door, pausing to get his bearings. He had studied the apartment's layout from the roof of a building across the street. Entering through the door reversed things, making it almost a mirror image. The bulky wooden dinette table and chairs crowding the entranceway were the farthest objects when viewed through the window
      "Me and my sha-a-a-dow..."
     Mark jumped as Eve Galena burst into song, warbling uninhibitedly, her voice rising on the held notes.
     "Strolling down the a-a-a-ven-ue..."
     Her voice, lusty with a hint of grit, conjured up a sensual image in Mark's mind.
     "Me and my sha-a-a-a-dow... "
     Heat spread through his body as he pictured water pounding against her bare flesh, the pulsating stream dimpling the soft places before flowing down the curves.
     "Not a soul to tell our troubles to-o-o-o."
      Her skin would be flushed, warm to the touch, her hair wet, the jet black curls cascading down her back the way Jane's hair used to -- Damn! One stray thought about his ex was more effective than a whole pound of saltpeter. Remembering her suspicions, the constant questions about his nighttime forays, the accusations, his desire drained away. He could still hear her whiny voice, nagging, goading until he lost control. The inevitable divorce had brought bitter relief. Until she disappeared.
     With Joey.
      She wouldn't get away with that. He'd find her.
     After he finished with Eve.
      Mark squeezed past the sofa that acted as a divider between the kitchen and living room. With the overstuffed armchair and a large, glass-topped coffee table, it filled most of the available space.
     "And when it's twelve o'clock--"
     Mark froze in place, scarcely daring to breathe as Eve's singing abruptly ceased. The pause was short-lived.
     "We climb the stairs..."
      Mark took a cautious step forward, then another, moving stealthily toward the sound. The bathroom was just around the corner, off the leg of the "L" that formed the bedroom. He planned to place himself in the perfect spot to greet her.
     "I never knock, 'cause--no--body's there. Me and my sneaky-creepy shadow..."
     Stifling a twinge of annoyance at her addition to the lyrics, he rounded the corner. The mahogany four-poster bed came into view. Why had she crammed so much oversized crap into this dinky little place?
      He leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door and sized up the place. After weeks of tailing her, it felt strange being inside.
     The newspaper Eve Galena had bought from the box outside the apartment building lay on the coffee table, still neatly folded. The dark brown aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Both were part of her ritual. After the shower she poured a huge mug of coffee, curled up on the sofa and read the paper front to back.
     Tonight's edition was thin. The story, six women murdered, to date, had been hashed and rehashed until all that remained was fear while the entire city held its breath, waiting for the victim of the month.
      The Ice Pick Killer hadn't struck for four weeks.
      He shook his head in disgust. Why'd the press feel obligated to come up with catchy names for serial killers? Each victim had a single hole in her jugular. When the coroner speculated that the wound could have been inflicted by an ice pick, the putrid press jumped on it. Not one of them had the sense to figure out that these were not random killings, that this killer was intelligent, not some lowlife ghoul who had crawled from the sewers. Only a mind of equal or superior intelligence would recognize that the deaths had resulted from careful, meticulous planning with close attention to detail.
     He shrugged off the irritation, concentrating on a sense of satisfaction instead. He loved it when his planning paid off big like this. God knew, he had earned it. Nearly four weeks of tailing this broad. Sitting a few tables away in restaurants. Pushing a cart behind her in the grocery store. Crouching on the roof of the warehouse across the street had been the worst and best of it. He was there every night, even when it rained, forcing him to continually wipe the lenses of the binoculars to see.
     And she never knew he was there.
     Damn, he was good.
      Touching his pocket, he smoothed his hand over the familiar, reassuring shape of the weapon. The bathroom door was ajar -- nothing to stop him from walking in. But despite what his bitch of a wife used to call his rough edges, he would never bust in on a lady taking a shower. At heart, he was a gentleman.
      Besides, there was always a bonus for good manners. In this case, waiting gave him more time to savor the thrill of imminent victory, the moment when she'd walk out and find him there. He pictured her bundled up in that big terry-cloth robe she always wore, skin all rosy and glowing from the heat. He couldn't wait to see the expression on her face. Call him sadistic, but the eyes staring at him like some trapped animal was the most satisfying part of his job. It was the thing that drove him--his brass ring.
      Time passed. His leg tingled. He shifted his weight to the other foot. Shifted back. Finally, with a rush of sudden silence, the shower stopped. Mark tensed with anticipation.
      A squeaking noise was followed by the trickling sound of running water and a faint, rhythmic swish. Brushing her teeth.
      Take your time, Miss Galena. It'll be your last long, hot shower.
      He raised his arm slowly, checking his watch. Yep. She was a creature of habit. Right on schedule.
      Gargling sounds, followed by spitting and another squeak as the faucet was turned off made him tense again. It was time.
     Working his hand into his pocket, he tightened it around the weapon and drew a deep breath.
      A cloud of warmth assailed him as the bathroom door opened. He stood motionless as she glided past without so much as a glance, trailed by a pleasant soap and water fragrance. Her movement was sinuous and flowing as she walked to the window and closed the drapes, then faced him and smiled.
      "Hello, Mark."
      "How--how do you know my name?"
      "Shouldn't I? You are a guest in my home. You've been shadowing me for weeks." She tightened the sash on her robe and walked toward him. "I know it was rude to keep you waiting, but I like to stay until all the hot water's gone. Not that it takes terribly long for that to happen in this building."
      He stared dumbly.
      "You--expected me?" he finally managed to stammer.
      She smiled. "Of course." She was near enough that he felt heat radiating from her skin. "Actually, I've been excited about your visit. I don't have guests often."
      His hand spasmed around the weapon. Why couldn't he grip it?
     Her damp hair, drying in tendrils that framed her face, gave her the innocent look of a child. But her eyes mocked him. He concentrated, willing his fingers to close around the gun, but they wouldn't obey. It was as if that one hand had been struck by paralysis.
      "Having a problem, Mark?"
     Though softly spoken, the question enraged him.
     "None whatsoever." Who needed a weapon? He could handle her with his bare hands.
     Matching action to thought, he reached for her arm--and came up empty.
     "You missed."
      Eve stood in the kitchen, calmly pouring coffee into a mug.
     How had she gotten there?
     Taking two long strides toward her, he dived, arms outstretched and landed face down on the floor. Alone.
     Mark's head spun as he sat up.
     "How did you?--"
     "Please, Mark. Let's stop playing this silly game."
     "I came here to do my job. I intend to finish."
     "I know you like hurting women, but--"
     "You're crazy."
     "Oh, I don't think so. What about your wife? You liked hurting her."
      He hesitated. He'd slapped Jane a couple of times, but she asked for it. He never beat her.
     "You want to hurt me too, don't you, Mark?"
      Damned right he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to kill her. Of course he wouldn't. That wasn't why he was here. He stood, withdrawing the detective's shield from his pocket as he approached Eve.
     "You're under arrest for suspicion of murder."
     "I don't think so, Mark." Eve's eyes had a mocking look. "It'll never stick because you didn't play by the rules. You're a rogue cop and I'm afraid you made a big mistake."
     "You mean that little technicality called a search warrant? I can get around that without breaking a sweat."
     "Tsk, tsk, Mark. You have other problems, too--no back up--no one knows you're here. What were you thinking?
     "How do you know all this?"
     "The same way I got you to follow me--using my feminine wiles."
     "You got me to--bullshit. I spotted you in the crowd at the last two murders. Killers like to gloat over their handiwork. That was your big mistake."
     "I was at the last four, sweetie. You were just too slow to pick up on it." She giggled. "I practically had to wave at you to get you to notice me."
     Where's she coming from with all this crap? Trying to throw me off? Scare me? It was a nice try--but the time for chit chat was over.
     "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
     "Why do you want to spoil things, Mark? We were having such a nice visit."
     "You have the right to an attorney. If you can't afford--"
      She leaned close. Mark ducked as a dark tendril snaked forward, snatching the badge from his hand.
     "What the?--"
     The strand dropped the shield, then played across his cheek, mesmerizing him with a feathery touch while a second one twined itself around his chest, restricting his breath. He followed the strands to their source.
     Eve's hair.
     "What are you?" he said.
     "I thought you knew everything. You sure followed me around long enough."
     A third filament circled his knees, tightening until he was forced to sit down.
     "What are you doing to me?"
     She laughed. "Snaring you in my web. What else?"
     A stab of nausea hit his stomach. "You're not human."
     "Relax. I'm just an ordinary girl."
     "Ordinary?"
     "Above average, certainly, but ordinary. At least, where I come from, I am."
     "Where you come from?"
     "The name would mean nothing to you."
      Another tendril bound his arms to his sides at the wrists, one looped itself around his ankles. A fifth ruffled his hair.
     He shuddered. "Medusa."
     "Don't be silly. I'm Eve. First of my species on this planet."
     "There are others here?"
     "Certainly."
     "How many?"
     "It doesn't matter."
     "Why are you here?"
     She shrugged. "Our planet is dying. You'd be surprised how strong the instinct to survive is."
     "You killed those women."
     "Only because I had to." The tendrils stroked his body sensuously. "If there was another way . . . but there isn't."
     "Another way for what?"
     "Staying alive. If I fail to go through the renewal process at regular intervals I die."
     "What's renewal?"
     "It's similar to the procedure you know as dialysis. We haven't fully adapted to Earth. Renewal replenishes my blood cells while ridding my body of toxins that would kill me. Unfortunately the technique also introduces bacteria -- harmless in my world -- into the donor."
     "But your victims were stabbed, not poisoned. The toxicology tests were negative."
     "Interesting."
     Her voice was soothing. The tendrils that had seemed so threatening at first were mildly arousing. He no longer minded the ones that were binding him. It was like those S&M games he'd forced Jane to play. Pleasant now that he had grown used to the strangeness. He was beginning to relax, enjoy himself.
     Mark watched as another lock of hair elongated and slithered toward him. He felt no alarm, only curious anticipation.
     The strand hovered near his chin, thinning, forming a sharp point at its end before jabbing forward.
     Mark bellowed as the tendril pierced the side of his neck.
      "I know it hurts, but don't worry. In a minute you won't feel anything."
     Cold seeped into him at the point of entry, spreading downward. His chest was already numb.
      "What's -- happening?" His tongue felt thick, making it difficult to push words past his lips. He struggled to free himself and felt beads of cold sweat pop out on his forehead.
      "Be still."
     Mark obeyed. There was no way he could free himself from the fibrous strands anyway.
     "The other victims -- women. I thought-- "
     "Gender isn't important. The only thing that matters is that my donors be human." She smiled. "You're my first male, and I must admit, the most enjoyable. Perhaps I've picked up human appetites from my other victims."
     He was getting woozy. Something had changed. But what?
     The tube in his neck. Yes. The inward flow, the gelid cold, had reversed. Something was flowing outward.
     His blood.
     Eve's face wavered before him. Was it his vision or was she actually changing?
      Her eyes grew larger. Her lips swelled and reddened. Her skin flushed as she closed her eyes in ecstasy, breath coming in gasps until the final shudder sent a paroxysm though her entire body.
     She leaned closer. "Thank you," she said, then touched her lips to his.
     The tendrils relaxed their grip. Intense pleasure rippled through Mark as he lay crumpled on the floor, listening to her melodious voice, allowing the darkness to consume him.
     "Me and my shadow, all alone and feeling blue."

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