In Laymon's Terms

I HAD thought about being a “law-abiding citizen” and calling the police when I first saw the pictures. If anyone ever reads this, I want to go on record as saying I considered it. But when I weighed the pros and cons, doing the “right thing” seemed like a real cop-out. Think about it. Let’s say I reported the pictures to the proper authorities, and they stormed the house, saving the women and arresting Carl Owens. Would I even get so much as a thank-you card from three of those women? It’s doubtful. After all the psychiatric treatment for their “ordeal” and their “post-traumatic stress disorder,” they’d either go on with their lives and purposely leave any reminders of the experience way behind them, or they’d try to cash in on their “tribulations.” The bottom line came down to “Will good ol’ Alex get some ass in return for his heroic benevolence?” and the answer was always “Not bloody likely.” What WHORES! Some gratitude, huh?

So yeah, I may look like the bad guy, but it was worth it for the steamy thirty seconds I spent with Melinda alone. I’d thought about doing this with her for some time. You’ve never seen such a struggle before in your life, either. I bet she didn’t put up half the fight when Owens came to collect his just reward. All that squirming and whimpering, you’d think Helen Keller’s mom set her down on a hot stove. I have to admit, if half those thirty seconds weren’t spent restraining her gyrations so I could even get it in her, it would have been over that much faster. I made sure to get in a couple squeezes of her tits after I blasted my payload in her, because I forgot to do it in all the excitement. Nice and firm, fit right in the palm of my hand.

I didn’t even care that Owens was watching (and he looked at me distastefully, if you can believe that...what a hypocrite!). I should have been more worried that he’d try something, I guess, but I’d offered to develop film in his house, and having found out how close he came to discovery, he liked the sound of that. I’m sure it pained him to have to share the girls, but the guy was so spoiled anyway. He inherited the house, didn’t have to work for anything. I’m busting my ass for minimum wage, and he’s out joyriding, chloroforming flawless high school and college girls for an orgasm holocaust. Pretty unfair, if you ask me.

My hand’s about to fall off from reliving this great experience...and I’m getting tired of writing, too.

AUGUST 22

Oh, I said there were a couple differences from the pictures yesterday, didn’t I? It turns out Mr. Holier-Than-Thou can’t abide by the cost of feeding the girls, so he improvises. Chunks of flesh are now missing here and there from thighs and stomachs (Gray’s Anatomy note: the buttocks were left intact, thankfully). The good news is that the girls don’t have to worry about their stomachs eating themselves from malnutrition...the bad news is they’re experiencing self-cannibalism from the outside.

That was hardly enough to sustain them and keep them from looking like refugees from Auschwitz, though. It turns out there was a FIFTH girl, but she wasn’t local. Owens picked her up hitchhiking (they never learn, do they?). It probably got the whole thing started, such an opportunity falling into his lap. This is in fact how he figured out the high cost of living (as in keeping a sex slave alive), because he had to start buying for two. Then three, because he had to grab Cassandra Bittaker. Why do that if he can barely afford to keep one? Because he HAD to grab Cassandra Bittaker. Check back issues of the newspaper for her picture, and you’ll understand immediately. After some soul-searching (and coming up empty), Owens gave the hitchhiker one more for the road, then slit her throat from ear to ear. A good strategy move, when you think about it—Cassandra Bittaker sees just how valuable she is from his perspective.

Frugal as he is, Owens didn’t have a very big crisper. The fifth girl couldn’t possibly fit. One hacksaw and three hours later, though, Owens did the impossible. Now he had plenty of meat to keep the livestock fed awhile. He’s crafty, I’ll give him that much. It couldn’t last, though, especially when he kept bringing in more girls.

I made him swear not to carve on Melinda. I’ll feed her myself, if need be.

Today I got the privilege of doing the carving for the others, though. A few strips from Holly’s arms. I whittled all the skin from Lorraine’s toes (which contributed little, but the reaction was worth it). The soles of Cassandra’s feet, to prevent visible scarring. That was something! Peeled off like the skin of a potato. More bones in the human foot than you’d think. We’re going to need a new knife.