JF Gonzalez - Fetish.wps (55 page)

Unfortunately, talking somebody into committing suicide and telling them how to do it wasn't as much fun as killing them yourself.

He laughed at this thought. Rita stopped in mid-sentence and looked at him curiously. “What's so funny about my best friend getting an abortion?"

He didn't miss a beat. “Nothing. The story just reminded me of something. That when we are faced with the most dire, most disturbing moments of our lives we somehow find a way to laugh in the face of our adversaries and carry on. Your friend going through what she did no doubt scarred her, but it probably made her a stronger person, even though she might not realize it.” He turned to her and smiled. “There are worse things, Rita. Always remember that and be thankful that no matter how bad you have it, somebody else has it worse."

Rita forced a smile. “I'll remember that. It might even help with dealing with my own past."

“Which is?"

“Did you forget already? My dad ... you know ... molesting me when I was real little."

“Oh yes.” He didn't remember that part of the conversation; he had been too busy remembering his exploits back in LA. He nodded as if he remembered, not missing a beat. “Taking that approach will really work. It's worked for me."

“How so?"

“I was sexually molested by my parents, too."

“Really?"

“Uh huh. And I got through it. Living through it made me a stronger person."

“What did you do? Did you like ... go to counseling or something, or—"

“No, none of that,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I took control. I told myself that nobody was ever going to treat me that way ever again. Nobody was ever going to dominate me again, or make me feel that I'm their slave or that I'm owned by them. I wanted to escape that old life, so I changed my name and left home when I was eighteen. I never once looked back."

Rita appeared to think about this. It was six-thirty in the evening. He had at least three hours that he could spend indulging in Rita's flesh and blood before he had to be back at home. She would stay fresh in the freezer until tomorrow morning when he could then begin to prepare her. With the exception of Carment Aguirre, the three gang members he had consumed in Los Angeles shortly after acquiring the taste of human flesh all had tough, sinewy meat that was hard to chew and had a slightly bitter taste. Rita might look older than her years, but she would no doubt taste much better. Besides, he had always liked Italian.

“So you changed your name ... what did your name used to be?"

“Stacy Temple,” he said, smiling. “I changed my name to Rachael Pearce the minute I left South Bend in ‘86. And I never once looked back."

Later that night, Daryl Garcia sat alone in the bedroom he shared with Rachael, cradling their infant daughter in his arms. He looked at the clock on the nightstand by the bed. It was twelve-fifteen a.m. His daughter had just fallen asleep after having cried for her mother for the past two hours. And as Daryl sat in the glider, cradling his infant daughter, his stomach began to flutter with nerves and he wondered where his wife was and what she could possibly be doing this late at night.