Then she would go and I would be alone.
When I first came to the White Room, I’d been eighteen years old. Long before spending time here, my mother tried to teach me the holy scriptures, but I’d been much too young and too head strong to truly understand. Societal influences were powerful—just as the lust I had for sweet, young Jenny had been powerful.
“That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart,” I warned my mother, reciting from the Gospel of Matthew just as she had taught me. The lust-filled temptations I’d had for Jenny were potent and my resistance was weak. But my mother didn’t heed my warnings. Instead, she advised me to avoid the girl and focus on my lessons.
But I didn’t listen—it had already been too late. Lust had wrapped a leash around my neck, leading me to take what I had desperately wanted.
Then young Jenny died.
Her parents sought vengeance for the unknown man who had defiled and killed their sixteen-year-old daughter. I had wanted to repent and turn myself in to the authorities, but my mother wouldn’t let me. Instead, we moved from our home in Salt Lake City and started anew in Cincinnati. She said my desires were the result of corruption that comes at all levels of society—it was a behavioral consequence of power and greed. The only way to escape it and fully embrace Him would be in the solidarity of the White Room.
So that’s where she sent me.
Two years after stepping into the White Room for the first time, I finally began to understand my mothers’ lessons, and I was never truly alone again. He was always with me in the windowless room where everything was white. A white comforter covered the white double mattress. A white dresser with drawers full of white sheets stood in the corner, with holy books wrapped in white dust jackets lined in a neat row on top of it. There were white lamps with bright, white lights.
So bright. All. The. Fucking. Time.
White carpet.
White frames that held no pictures hanging on the walls.
White, rubber chain links and shackles.
My mother loved white. She said it symbolized the purity and innocence she had been robbed of. The only thing marring all the white brilliance now was Cynthia’s body.
“Oh, Cynthia, Mother will not be pleased.”
I took one final glance at her mutilated face before closing the white door. I should kill her now and be done with it, but I couldn’t just yet. I wasn’t prepared. Had I known she was going to raise problems today, I would have planned things much differently. Now, I had to make a trip to Avondale to get what I needed. I would just have to hurry and make sure I was back before she woke up.
I walked down the hallway toward the front door. After lacing up a pair of Doc Martens, I grabbed my keys off the little table by the door and made my way to the elevator that would take me down to the lobby. When the metal elevator doors opened, I came face to face with Mr. Broderick, a building resident who lived on the second floor. He squinted at me for a moment before flashing a wide grin that revealed yellowing teeth. His eyebrows were bushy, and his nose hairs were in need of trimming, shooting out at weird angles from his nostrils. Disgusting. Someone needed to take him down the men’s hygiene aisle at Kroger’s and introduce him to Braun.
“Good evening, Ethan! Such a pleasant night out. Headed out to enjoy it?”
I really hated this guy.
He lived a boring life with his boring wife and boring fucking cat. He was practically blind and shouldn’t have been outside after dark. He should have been indoors watching boring sitcoms, while sitting on what I was sure to be a boring couch.
But no, he just had to be blocking my path. I couldn’t afford to waste time with his stupid chatter tonight. I wanted to shove him out of my way but I knew what my mother would say. “Be steadfast, my boy. Be steadfast. Never show them who you really are. Your true self should only be shared with He who is Most High.”
I nodded and smiled politely at Mr. Broderick.
“Yes, sir! It is a nice night,” I replied, using the voice I reserved for convincing people I was just like their favorite nephew. “I’m headed out to get a cone of fresh custard and maybe take a walk along the River.” Like I would ever really walk along the Ohio River for fun. It was crowded with college kids who smoked too much weed while wearing their Mumford and Sons t-shirts. Fifteen years ago, it was Dave Matthews Band. Same shit, different name.
“I heard there was some trouble on the water a few nights back. You be careful now, son,” Mr. Broderick warned.
I hated when he called me that. I was nobody’s son.
“Sure thing, Mr. Broderick.” I made to move past him, but he kept talking. There were sixty-four people living in this building, and somehow, I managed to avoid talking to all of them—except him.
“How’s your mother doing? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
Of course, he hadn’t seen her. She died over nine years ago—a fact Mr. Broderick never seemed to remember. “Be steadfast, my boy. Be steadfast.”
“She’s good,” I lied, not wanting to explain her death to him for the forty-seventh time. “I have to run now, Mr. Broderick. I’ll make sure to tell her you said hello.” Not wasting any more time, I hurried past him toward the parking garage.
The drive to Avondale was short and uneventful. The gentle, arpeggiated harmonies of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata soothed my agitation along the way. When I arrived at the apartment, I didn’t even yell at the homeless man who was lying on the front steps—again. I didn’t have time to waste with him either.
I went inside and grabbed what I needed. Disposing of Cynthia’s body wouldn’t be too difficult. I had an oversized, heavy-duty, duffle bag on wheels similar to the one’s hockey players used for their equipment. Positioned the right way, Cynthia was just small enough to fit inside.
It was unfortunate she would have to die this way, but I knew the world would be better with one less lustful whore. Even if it wasn’t His will, I took an oath when I became a police officer.
“On my honor, I will never betray my integrity, my character or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions...”
And hold her accountable I would.
After stuffing plastic sheeting, duct tape, and four cinderblocks into the bag, I grabbed the long-handled iron I kept in the closet behind the statue of the Blessed Mother and headed back out to my car. Opening the trunk, I placed the large bag inside. I kept the iron, one of my most prized possessions, with me as I climbed back into the BMW.
Starting the ignition, I glanced down at the head of the branding iron, resting across my lap. The chthonic serpent coiled around the Tree of Knowledge starred back at me, a symbol of sin and lust. Normally I would have used an industrial-strength blow torch to heat the emblem at the tip, but lugging the bulky contraption through the building of my condo might draw attention. The gas range on my stove would have to do for today. Cynthia, like all the rest, would only die after she was branded as the whore she really was.
As I pulled away from the curb, my hands shook with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to press the hot iron on the skin between Cynthia’s navel and public bone, inhale the smell of burning flesh covering her womb, and watch as she woke to the excruciating pain.