The Murderer's Daughter

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Chapter II

| Eight Years Later |

She closed her eyes as she listened to the sound of her father led the customer to another room away from his office. Lena knew the room well, every inch of the walls, even the phrase that her father used to lure the man or woman to the room. "May I show you my second pride and joy?" It always made her smile as she waited until her father would come and knock on her bedroom door. Two years ago he promised to let her join in his macabre world when she turned eighteen. That would be in a few short weeks. Behind her closed door she studied many medieval torture methods and devices, delighted by each new discovery she made from the Intestinal Crank to simple practice of flaying where a victim's skin was removed from the body, kept in a simple piece of flesh. She had a journal full of notes that she wanted to always keep on hand,

Notes about torture, psychology terms and even different science studies from demonology to Abnormal Psychology. She had all the time in the world to learn, no disturbances, no distractions. After going through the Routine she would always disappear, it was rare for her to leave the house other then to enjoy the outdoors. She made sure her father never hired and help, insisting that she organize and clean the house by her rules. Sometimes she forget that it was her father that was the true adult of the household but neither minded the role she played in making sure the house was constantly presentable. She picked the flowers to display, she picked the food to eat for meals, knowing what her father liked and disliked.

She listened for the screams, even though they would never come. The entire downstairs was soundproofed, and the windows bulletproof. No one ever tried to rob the house, there was a pit bull that roamed the property, an abandoned animal that Lena took for her own and nursed back to health five years ago. She named him Rasputin, after the witch doctor who killed the Romanov family back in 1918. She always named a pet after a historical figure, she had had a black cat named Elizabeth, after Elizabeth Bathory. The animals stayed outside unless taken straight to her room. Rasputin was vicious yes, but by her command. He would not hurt a fly unless she said the special word that would make the dog charge and fight to the death but the test was never used yet. She opened her eyes again, sitting up in bed to look out the window and saw Rasputin, his white coat prowling the grass and as if by some strange connection, he looked up to the window at her.

She smiled, pushing her dyed brown hair from her eyes and walked away from the window, taking out her book entitled Witches and their Craft by Ronald Seth and went to the page she left off at in the history of the witches. Now and then she considered practicing sorcery and witch craft but she wanted to learn more before she went into the practice. Her and her father were not religious, spiritual perhaps but they didn't believe in a God. Nor a Devil, but they knew that there was something dark in both of them. The sun did not excite them, the world seemed worthless without a desire to live. The book in her hands was small and the pages a yellow color but she loved it, taking the best care she could of it. She still did not possess a computer, the only laptop was in her father's top desk drawer on the right, the only connection besides his phone that gave them access to the outside world and society. She still avoided it whenever she could. She never watched television, unless it was a movie that her father recommended she see.

News and reality shows however were pointless and unnecessary to her. If she wanted to learn about something medical, she would find a encyclopedia on the human body and medical devices used for surgeries. She had a stack of books piled on a table by her bookshelf, the shelves already filled and compacted tightly with ancient and books on topics from languages, to history to mysteries that were not explained yet. Her mind was always in a panic at how many books there were and how little time she had to read them all. What would she do with the information? Use it to her advantage. She would help her father achieve his goals so she could continue on with what she loved doing. She never had actually took part in taking a life, her father did all of that. She even wrote out all of her questions that she had for her father written in her journal. She had kept the list numbered and was at least up to thirty five questions or so but she was waiting for her birthday to ask.

Lena paced her room, staring at the pages of the book, keeping her senses focused on everything around her. She looked at the pages, smelled the smell of lavender and sage in her room, felt the book in her hands and her soft carpet under her feet. She could taste the mint from her toothpaste still. She could hear the wind blowing outside, blowing at the leaves outside her window. Lena had trained her mind to focus on everything, notice little details like when a button on a jacket was coming undone, or when the temperature in the room was a few degrees about the normal temperature. Details, rules and schedules were important to her, they made a day last and gave her the most pleasure. To know that she had achieved more then the day before gave her a thrill that both inspired and excited her.

Her father even came to her sometimes to ask about his schedule, needing to know right away if he could have another customer as he called them. She kept a separate journal of his year long appointments, telling him in less then a minute i a schedule can be made. What she loved most about her father was that her never doubted her, never talked down to her or thought of her as a child. Even when she was a toddler, he gave her the freedom to learn things on her own, learn how much pain she could handle when she fell out of trees or what foods she liked.

She looked up at her clock, the meeting has been going on for almost a half an hour now. The man this time had been of larger build, too confident and sure of his ability to strike fear into someone. Her father was a little over average height, but even he was a few inches shorter then this customer. When Lena had answered the door, it was like she could read his mind. She could watch and see the way his eyes widened at her appearance, the low cut black dress that hugged her torso but flowed when she walked liked a ball gown. The routine provided for no awkward silences. He had taken off his black sports coat and she put it in the hallway closet, the build up from the past jackets had been removed a few months ago, raising no suspicion. She felt his eyes always on her and she responded with a dark look, being careful not to appear to dark or that would ruin his impression of her father and put him on edge.

He was given the beer that he asked for and she guided him through the double door office and assigned him to the seat in front of the desk while she engaged in harmless small talk until her father arrived. The conversation had ranged from talk of how he liked his beer to what book he had read last. She ignored the signs on his face that showed how aroused he was by her. She never tried to acquire the attention she got, only gave her father a small wink when he met her eye after he arrived that this customer had paid too much attention to her and her father would see to it he suffered more. She knew when her father saw the wink by how he would 'adjust' his watch as she made her way from the room. Which brought her to where she was now, still wearing the airy dress that had a leather belt around her stomach to add shape and her bare feet brushing over the carpet as she made sure not to step on the skirts. She put her finger in the book to mark her place and walked over to the window, staring out at the sky to see it almost past three thirty. Rasputin still paced the yard, not liking the black car in the drive way.

She knew that her father would be smart with getting the care information and would sell the car or do something like making it seem that a natural disaster had happened, the body would be more constructed for that sort of ending if that was his plan. By the look of the car, it was brand new, most likely a gift of a promotion of some sort. She made a mental note of it and looked at the clock again. They would not be in the office anymore, but that did not give her permission to go downstairs. That was her father's only rule for her. Not to be downstairs while he worked. If they were discovered, then the fault would be on his hands, not hers. But when she turned eighteen, she was entitled to involve herself if she wished in his practices. The world was bright and sunny outside, giving an illusion of paradise, an illusion of what was hidden underneath, behind thick walls. She smiled to herself at how wrong the world was about what life was truly like. If they could only see the evil and see what really happened in the mind of a person who did not go by the rules of society.

Each session lasts a few hours, some only a few minutes, but after this customer, Lena knew her father would make him suffer greatly, she was only ashamed that she wouldn't be able to see what would happen. Her mind played ideas and fantasies, but she knew her father was just as creative with torture as she could be, she was only waiting for the chance to try, to truly be the one to strike complete fear in someone's eyes, not sexuality. Yes, that was a fun perk to have but sex meant nothing to her, she would get so much more pleasure out of seeing a grown man cry for his life at her feet as she held his life dangling before his eyes. She smiled again, biting her lip as the excitement build ed up inside her, making the darkness in her soul grow and get more comfortable inside her. Did her father get the same feelings as she did? Did he get pleasure in her gut from the thought of being so in control of life? Or was she worse? Was she much more evil and malevolent then the man torturing another man downstairs for being too interested in his daughter?

The clock continued to move, time continued to show its passing in the sky as the sun moved lower on the horizon, the blue sky turning to a navy. He had never taken so long before, she never asked about what happened, he would have told her, but she would make what happened this evening the first question she asked her father when she turned eighteen. She rubbed her palms together, entwining her fingers and smiling to herself, walking away from the window as she sat on her bed with her book, reading each word carefully as she impatiently waited for her father's knock.

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