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The appearance of imminent death always exhilarated him. Billy moved from the bed, pulled up his trousers, and took a step backward to better view the scene. He stared at the inert form lying with arms and legs gracefully stretched on the mound of cheap velour blankets and threadbare sheets. She looked perfect, serene. Her eyes were closed as though in sleep; long blond curls like expensive lambswool delicately embroidered the edge of the pillow, cascading down the side of the worn motel mattress. The white lace teddy sprinkled with pearls - the one he'd purchased and made her change into was appropriate for the moment, complementing the rhinestone tiara on top of her head. Put it on," Billy had told her earlier. "No, I couldn't possibly...." Ignoring her protest, he'd fastened the tiara on her head. Then he backed away and moved toward the portable stereo that he had brought with him for this "romantic" evening. The cassette he had specially prepared was already in place. Soon the music began, and filled the room. Billy walked back to the bed and reached for her hands. His pulse quickened. "Lets dance to the perfect wedding song." The look he'd been waiting for came into her eyes. When she resisted his offer, he sat beside her on the quilted polyester bedspread - standard seedy motel decor. He could now see that first tiny flicker of awareness that something wasn't quite right. Recognizing she was in danger, the near naked showgirl he'd lured away from the strip joint reacted just like all the others. At first she began speaking too quickly, nervously. "I have to go," she said, her eyes darting around the room, her voice now shaky. "Just one dance," he whispered as he pulled her up and held her tightly against him. She felt good in his arms. She belonged there, just as they all had. For a moment he felt disloyal, thinking she might feel better than Rose. Then he felt her panic accelerate. Her body grew rigid and her eyes filled with fear. This was his favorite part, and tonight his enjoyment was intensified. She was particularly satisfying. At the end, she seemed to know it was useless to plead, and in a burst of animal strength, she fought him. He placed his hands around her throat, and when she began to lose consciousness, he whispered, "Till death do us part." When she was dead, he danced with her again. This time there was no resistance in her lovely, flaccid body. As the music began to fade, his eyes fastened on the white lace teddy. Was she an angel yet? No, he thought; with her sordid past, he assumed shed be relegated to a demon. Billy turned his back on her and walked to the window. There was a chill coming in from the cracks around the panes. The incoming draft made a soft hissing sound that vaguely pleased him. Outside, the streets were tranquil. He'd have to celebrate this triumphant moment in silence. His eyes closed as the keen thrill coursed through his body. Then he opened them and shifted his gaze toward the sky. The day dawned blue and wan, the sun only an imagined presence behind a thick blanket of clouds over the city, which from his vantage point looked like one huge gray puddle. The few patches of snow left over from last weeks mild storm had turned to dirty slush as the temperature inched up a few degrees. Gray, wet, dirty...how befitting the moment, he thought. Billy reached inside the pocket of the blue flannel shirt he was wearing and pulled out a box of Marlboros and a gold lighter. He lit a cigarette and dragged heavily on its tip. He always savored that first cigarette after one of these strenuous scenes, his version of "afterglow". The motel room was sparsely furnished. There were a few scattered pieces of antiquated furniture and the few personal belongings the stripper had brought up with her: a purse, a magazine, and a cheaGotti, Victoria is the author of 'I'll Be Watching You', published 1999 under ISBN 9780517464540 and ISBN 0517464543.
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