They Never Die Quietly (2010) Read Online Free Page B

They Never Die Quietly (2010)
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this psycho."
    "He's a shrewd one, captain," Diaz said, "carefully covered his tracks."
    The veins on Davison's neck were pulsing. "Don't tell me that this fucking fanatic can crucify women, dump their bodies on the front steps of local churches, and drop their kids off at department stores without somebody seeing something ."
    Davison sucked on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. "Get your butts to La Mesa and talk to the priest who found--"
    The telephone rang. The captain snatched the receiver. "Davison. Yeah. When? Where?" He scribbled on a yellow pad. "Okay, thanks."
    Sami could see the captain's face change. Like a violent storm subdued by some mysterious wonder of nature, the captain lost his thunder.
    "They found the kid." His voice softened. "The victim's name is..." He glanced at his notes. "...Molly Singer, thirty-two years old."
    "Did he hurt the kid?" Diaz asked.
    "Just like the other two: not a scratch on him." The captain removed his glasses and massaged his temples. "Please find this fucking wacko."

    After cleansing a sinner, Simon had difficulty falling asleep. Neither guilt nor regret kept him awake. Why should he feel remorse after saving a soul from certain damnation? His restlessness resulted from a bitter reality: How could he possibly cleanse a world so infested with doomed women? One man, no matter how committed, could not tackle such a formidable task.
    He sat up in bed and pulled his knees to his chest, wondering if his mother felt pride for her only son. Perhaps she sat beside God, watching down from the heavens, pleased with the path he followed. Had it not been for her stern hand and love-driven discipline, Simon might himself be a hopeless sinner. How many hours had he spent punished in that dark, claustrophobic closet, atoning for his misdeeds?
    As a child, Simon had often broken the commandments of God. His mother never scolded him. She pointed to the closet without uttering a word, and he knew exactly what to do. The cubbyhole had no light. He was allowed neither food nor water. Just plenty of time to reflect on his unholy behavior. He had to urinate and defecate in the corner of the cramped closet. The area, so confined, caused him to gag and vomit from the foul smell. Often his clothing would be soaked with his bodily discharge.
    In the summer, when the Texas temperatures flirted with triple digits and the humidity felt unbearable, Simon sometimes believed he would suffocate in that closet; die a sinner, unredeemed and sentenced to eternal punishment. This inflicted greater torture than his physical pain. There were moments of sheer terror, a helpless belief that God would never absolve his sins. The period of time in which his mother incarcerated him depended upon the severity of his waywardness. There were sins that required only an hour's punishment. Others confined him to the closet for more than a day.
    Once, shortly after celebrating his eleventh birthday, when his budding sexual awareness reached a new level, he'd borrowed a Playboy magazine from a schoolmate--the same young lad who introduced Simon to the joy of self-gratification. While sitting in bed one rainy afternoon, gawking at the blonde centerfold with enormous breasts and neatly trimmed pubic hair, thinking that his mother was busy with her daily chores, Simon stimulated himself with unwavering enthusiasm. So preoccupied with his intended goal, he hadn't noticed his mother standing in the doorway.
    "The lips of an immoral woman are as sweet as honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil. But the result is as bitter as poison, sharp as a double-edged sword."
    That day, in mid-August, Simon felt certain he would surely die in the closet.
    An eerie feeling of hollowness, a void of excruciating proportions crashed over Simon. He clutched his stomach with both hands, feeling as though he were impaled with a sword. The desperation was like the panic a drug addict might experience when the exhilaration from his

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