6. [Chapter Six: The Madman]
"Just by sitting there, I know you're crazy."
From that Christmas onward, I could finally call it "our" road trip, because I no longer had to sit in the back of the car, but could instead sit relatively comfortably in the front passenger seat. Before that, it felt more like a convoy. To me.
A few days later, one evening, we encountered a roadside prostitute. She had long, fiery red hair and was wearing a white tank top that was far too revealing for the season, along with ripped jeans. She didn't seem to live at the same latitude as me, but she and Lawrence might be, as he was also dressed quite scantily. She said her name was Serena.
From the moment the truck stopped in front of her, her gaze never left Lawrence's face. We hadn't stopped at a motel for days, and we all looked rather unkempt. Lawrence, in particular, hadn't even shaved, revealing his wild nature and exuding a powerful, fatal attraction. He lifted his sunglasses, revealing his bright, azure eyes, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and leaned lazily against the window like some large feline just awakened. Serena was flirting with him by the window, while I sat quietly in the passenger seat, listening to classical music on the radio. Lawrence liked this; everything about him was incongruous, the contrast almost unbearable. Only I knew that.
"Do you often drive this road, handsome?" Serena asked, puffing on the cigarette Lawrence had given her, her heavily made-up eyes flashing a seductive look at him.
“You could say that,” Lawrence said, his hand still resting on my thigh out of habit, though Serena couldn’t see it from his angle. “But this is the first time I’ve seen a beauty like you here.”
He gave my thigh a suggestive pinch, signaling me not to expose him or be jealous of her. "Want me to buy you an ice-cold beer? I have a whole truckload." He smiled, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth, and pointed with his thumb to the back of the truck. There wasn't any ice-cold beer there, but plenty of frozen arms and legs.
"Drinking ice-cold beer on such a cold day, can't you see I'm almost frozen?" Serena scolded playfully.
“No, not really,” Lawrence said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You’re obviously burning with desire the moment you see me.” He exhaled a puff of smoke, brushing it against her eyelashes. “Me too.”
Serena chuckled at his words and moved even closer to him, their eyelashes almost touching. I coughed—I swear I didn't mean to, I'm still recovering from a cold—interrupting their almost palpable eye contact. Serena then noticed me and asked Lawrence curiously, "Is that handsome young man your friend?"
Lawrence raised an eyebrow at her. "Guess?"
"Hmm..." She walked around to my side, scrutinizing me closely. "Black hair, green eyes, you two can't be brothers. Could you be a gay couple?" Her tone was quite disdainful, and I was sure that if Lawrence said yes, she would walk away without looking back.
I'm not as quick-witted as Lawrence, who can come up with any lie on the spot. So, in situations like this, I just stay silent, keeping my thoughts to myself and leaving it all to him to handle. For some reason, Lawrence is unusually quiet today, just staring at me with interest, flanking Serena on either side. My face is burning hot; my hesitation and procrastination only fuel her suspicions. I stare blankly, trying to escape the situation. Suddenly, Lawrence poks me in the lower back. I jump, stammering, "No, no! I'm his… his…"
What about him? What's our relationship? Aside from the fact that he's the infamous "Highway Butcher," I know almost nothing about him, not even a lie. I was frantic, but Lawrence went even further, slipping his hand inside my shirt, kneading my most sensitive area, and even reaching into my jeans to touch my genitals. I couldn't help but groan, my face burning red. Serena looked at me with even more curiosity: "Are you alright?"
"I……"
"Alright, stop pressuring him!" Lawrence suddenly laughed and pulled his hand away, saying to Serena across me, "This kid is my apprentice! He gets speechless when he sees a pretty girl, so I brought him out to broaden his horizons!"
Apprentice? What apprentice? What did he teach me? Murder or sex? I was completely baffled. Perhaps it was because I was indeed fair-skinned, or perhaps Lawrence's tone was too matter-of-fact, but Serena's gloomy expression vanished instantly, replaced by a bright smile. She even stood on tiptoe and poked my face with her long fingernails. "What? So cute?"
“Right,” Lawrence lay on his side on my lap, pressing his entire weight against me, his eyes like hooks, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his upturned lips. “So cute.”
Thank goodness, Serena has already circled back to Lawrence's side. I was terrified she would hear my rapid breathing and pounding heart.
“You’re excited,” Lawrence whispered in my ear, pressing down on my shoulder. “Are you excited because she’s teasing you, or because you’re thinking about how you can make love to me right after she dies, and that’s why you’re so hard and wet?”
I was about to faint. "Please, let me go," I cried out in my heart, yet I couldn't resist moving closer to his lips. Those lips were sharper than a knife; I was always extremely careful when kissing him, afraid of being cut. I had almost forgotten that Serena was still outside, but Lawrence remained as vigilant and ruthless as a hunter. Before she could even open the car door and get in, he gave me a fleeting kiss on the corner of my eye, then shoved me away. Caught off guard, I slammed against the car door, while he pulled Serena onto his lap, kissing her passionately while glancing at my embarrassed state out of the corner of his eye.
I don't know how they reached the agreement that it was perfectly fine to have sex in front of me. Lawrence's hand ripped open Serena's tank top, while her hand slipped inside his vest, caressing his pectoral muscles. The temperature in the driver's seat rose ambiguously, filled with the cloying scent of cheap perfume; I just wanted to disappear into the ground. Ultimately, women are more considerate; Serena, amidst her busyness, didn't forget to ask me, "Does the handsome young man want to join us?"
"Good question. Want to come along, Ray?" Lawrence knew I couldn't handle this, yet he still asked me so earnestly, as if missing out on Serena was like missing out on a fortune. Even though he put on a show of genuine concern for me, I could clearly see the deep teasing and amusement hidden in his eyes. He loved my expression of suppressed anger, like an addictive drug. I bet three packs of cigarettes he got hard when I said "no."
“What a pity, I was planning to charge you both per person…” Serena scratched Lawrence’s stubble with her red-painted nails, her face full of dazed expression, “Then we’ll just have to enjoy ourselves by ourselves.”
Lawrence laughed. "Aren't you afraid I might do something excessive to you?"
“I’m not afraid…” Serena licked her fiery red lips and hung her bra on the rearview mirror. “Just by sitting there, I know you’re crazy.”
I'd overheard Lawrence having sex with prostitutes in the train carriage before. It wasn't that I had a penchant for eavesdropping; their movements were just too loud. Lawrence always hurt them, as if he hated them. Before he dragged them into the carriage and began his abuse, their bodies were often already covered in bruises. During sex, he would deliberately bite the prostitutes' shoulders, necks, and wrists—areas rich in blood vessels—with tremendous force. At best, they would be bruised; at worst, they would be covered in blood. Sometimes I even suspected they weren't drugged, but rather going into shock from the pain. Once, he even bit off a prostitute's breast; just listening to her screams from behind, I knew how much pain she must have been in. Lawrence was a brutal beast, completely driven by instinct. If he told me he had eaten people, I wouldn't be surprised at all.
Serena also fainted, due to the drugs. Compared to her colleagues who had suffered similar fates, she was only slightly luckier. Lawrence simply refrained from sexually abusing her, not from skipping the other steps. He took her bra from the rearview mirror and tossed it out the window like trash, his face full of disgust, a stark contrast to his earlier arousal. It's a pity he's always busy killing; otherwise, he should really try his luck in Hollywood.
There was no one or any cars on the road. Lawrence kicked open the car door, lazily stretched, and loosened his arms before dragging the unconscious Serena out. His movements were quite rough, as if he were handling an object. He quickly opened the trunk, threw her inside, and then waved for me to bring paper and a pen. The iron door slammed shut, and Lawrence turned on a dim light—for me. The faint light wasn't enough to illuminate the large carriage, but with Lawrence's skill, no lighting was needed to inflict immense pain on her.
The whole process was too bloody, filled with screams—Serena's and mine, sometimes I screamed even louder than her—and Lawrence's manic laughter, along with my occasional vomiting, so I'll just put my notes here directly; they're more concise. Because these are all Lawrence's soliloquies, the "I" below refers to Lawrence himself.
"That bitch woke up. She's as stupid as a pig, completely clueless, crying incessantly, one minute yelling that she wants to go home, the next begging me not to hurt her. I'm utterly baffled as to why she's clinging to my knees, desperately hoping for mercy with her useless tears, just like the people I've killed before, muttering stupid things like 'You can do anything to me, just don't kill me' or 'I have plenty of money if you want, please let me go.' There's nothing new under the sun."
Because that woman struggled so much last time, I accidentally got the drill bit stuck in her ribs. I hadn't had time to buy a new one, so I had to use a hammer and chisel instead. I first shoved a long nail into her lung, which made her choke on the blood and foam rushing up her throat, making a wheezing sound like a bellows. Every time I hammered at it, she coughed up blood, like squeezing ketchup. That wasn't funny, of course; what was interesting was her face and her screams. A ketchup bag doesn't twist and strain facial muscles, cough up blood-tinged foam, or make a sound like a cat scratching glass. I didn't find that jarring; it made me want to scratch my arm. It was quite amusing.
Ray's screams were equally agonizing. His voice and hers were worlds apart, one booming with energy, the other barely audible, like a comical duet, utterly hilarious. Even though I hadn't done anything to him, he seemed to understand my pain; I was almost envious of his empathy. He possessed many things I lacked. Oh, he was startled again. I should focus on what I was doing. She fainted again. I splashed a basin of cold water on her face, and she choked awake, her screaming energy gone. This meant she was young and healthy, capable of enduring several more rounds. I began chopping at her legs, starting with the ankles, so each leg could be chopped three times: ankle, knee, thigh. Then the arms, in the same way: wrist, elbow, shoulder. Sometimes, I felt like a butcher in a butcher shop, slaughtering and butchering livestock on a chopping board; other times, I felt like an ancient sculptor, boldly carving a rough outline in marble before slowly refining it. I can indeed carve roses on human flesh, but I usually only do that to prey I admire. She doesn't deserve it.
It was almost time. I tied the rope around her torso; because she was shaped like a rugby ball, it always took me a little extra effort. The method was inspired by SM games; the Japanese are experts at it, they usually use red rope for a more erotic effect, but I was already losing interest in having sex with this woman. Perhaps it would be more suitable for Ray, but now wasn't the right time. I tied one end of the rope to the back of the car and kicked her onto the road. It was like a coin toss; Ray and I would bet on which side would land face up. Usually, I'd guess for him because he was too timid to see the result himself. If he guessed right, we'd go make love in the driver's seat; if he guessed wrong, poor little Mel would have to make do here. Oh, too bad, he guessed wrong. I really should buy a camera and take pictures of his tearful expression.
She's face down. Okay, let's go get the car, Ray. Don't look so sad, you can try guessing next time.
(Lawrence started the car, and I was still taking notes. He sometimes gets lost in his fantasies, like now.) I inserted my index finger into my lower eye socket and found a pulsating blood vessel next to a very elastic nerve. Then I inserted my thumb into my upper eye socket, where there was a piece of bone in the way, so I inserted it slowly to avoid crushing my eyeball. Ready, I pulled hard, and the blood vessels and tendons snapped one by one with a "pop," and my right eyeball landed in my palm. With my remaining left eye, I examined the blue iris that many people praised as 'beautiful,' and didn't find anything remarkable about it. Then, I bit off all five fingers of my left hand with my teeth, and as if dissecting myself, I used a knife to sever the tendons one by one, my left eye staring at my blood-soaked palm. Blood was gushing from all five wounds, and I felt a little dizzy, so I put my mutilated hand over the fire to heat it. Good, the bleeding stopped, and I smelled the burning flesh.
I'm a little hungry.
How boring. It still doesn't hurt at all. Then what are they yelling about?
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