Body Art by Triana Kristopher & Blood Bound Books

Author:Triana, Kristopher & Blood Bound Books
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
Publisher: Blood Bound Books
Published: 2016-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

His collection wasthriving: Simone’s face and arms, Carrie’s vulva, Amy’s feet and legs. Haold admired them while the last of the dope took effect, and he dreamed of more lovely plasma, corpuscles, and sinew. His mind reeled with images of tearing muscle and supple dead bodies.

A buzzing like hornets filled his ears.

An image of Laura Shaw flooded his consciousness.

Harold’s memories of her naked body grinding beneath his flashed and bloomed. He saw her breasts heaving and sweat collecting at her naval in a tiny, shimmering pool. Her stomach was pale silk, white jade. Her torso came upward in a small V, ending with the spout of a swan neck and a perfectly-structured skull—the high cheekbones, the heart-shaped jaw line and the straight teeth with no gaps.

She’d been one of the last girls he dated and the one who had introduced him to heroin. She was a functioning junkie then, unlike what she later became. Last he’d heard she was in rehab for the second time. But when he was with her she was full of life, particularly the nightlife. She lived for the rush of her Harley, loud clubs, the spike of cocaine at midnight, and the drift of heroin at nine in the morning. She was a beautiful mess, a woman without self-control or inhibitions, with a strong body and a restless heart, and Harold fell for her like an anvil thrown from a tall building. He had a hard crush and wanted them to be exclusive, but it was a desire she did not share. Laura wanted freedom and that included all the men and women she cared to bed, if they made it to a bed at all. Harold was one of those lucky lovers, but he would never be the one and only.

All signs pointed to her being next.

This is the way it is supposed to be, he thought.

Looking past the collection, he saw Amy’s reconstructed corpse lying there. He’d done an impeccable job on the girl. He put more stitches in her than the Bride of Frankenstein, but the mangled remains had come together with the right putty and plaster. He filled in her cuts and powdered them over, casting a pallor veil over the flesh. The casket would cover her lower body. No one would notice the absence of her legs.

As he went into a nod he looked at her face with pride, noting that he still had to sew her lips shut before the service. As if her body was somehow awakened by this thought, her mouth opened, just slightly at first, but then wider, so wide that it seemed she might dislocate her jaw.

This sight snapped his eyes open with disbelief. He was having these visions more and more now, even when he was sober. But they were more than mere visions. They were tangible, touchable, breathable, and the red dust that brought them was everywhere. He swept and swept, but it piled up in corners and stained the ceiling and the walls.

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