Chapter Forty Seven
“So you want me to blog about how great I think your dad is. Hmm, so how’s your mom going to feel about that? You know, come to think of it, I kinda like her. Turning her into ‘Mommy Dearest’ wasn’t really what I had in mind.”
“Teegan. You’re fucking hilarious. I guess that makes me Mommy’s Dearest. I’m not asking you to write it in a ‘fan-girl’ way. I’m asking you to write it from a reporter’s perspective.”
“That, I can do. Just think,” she sighed dramatically, “I get to stay alive one more day.”
Thomas grinned and kissed her cheek. “Get to writing, beautiful. We’re luring a killer out of hiding.”
“Yeah, maybe I’ll get a Pulitzer,” she muttered. “Now, close the door so I can concentrate,” she said over her shoulder, then she pursed her lips and positioned her fingers over the keyboard.
“Yes, dear.”
“Oh, please.” She could hear his laughter as he strode down the hall.
Teegan knew a man’s stomach wasn’t really the way to his heart, but his cock and his ego were always a sure thing. Since cock was absolutely out of the question in this instance, Mummy Man’s ego would have to suffice. She wouldn’t fuck anyone but her husband anyway. Bruised ego…yeah, she could do that. A slow smile curved her lips as her blog post took shape in her mind. She narrowed her eyes as her fingers tapped out their staccato rhythm and her words quickly filled the screen.
Many of my readers are aware that criminology has always intrigued me. My favorite tv shows are all those morbid crime dramas about serial killers. I have to admit that even though I’ve studied every facet of the criminal mind, I still can’t get enough of serial killers. Let’s face it, there’s so much to learn about them. I’ve written previous blogs about nature versus nurture, trophies and why killers keep them, and I’ve even profiled a few fans of serial killers. However I’ve never touched on the nobler side of the serial killer experience: what I call Robin Hood syndrome, or what the professionals call a vigilante serial killer.
When a serial killer has a mission, such as cleaning up the streets of our city, are we more forgiving of him or her? Truth be told, I have to admit that, yeah, I am.
Now before you pick up stones and begin heaving them at me, let me explain my reasoning. As a woman, over the last few months I have been warned to lock my doors and windows, to not go anywhere alone, and to be wary of helping anyone who looks like they may need help loading groceries in the trunk of their car. Why? Because we’ve got some sick fuck out there called Mummy Man who believes wrapping women up like mummies and suffocating them is okay. I’m sorry, people, but that shit pisses me off. It’s killing for killing’s sake and it’s pitiful.
On the other hand, we have a Black Rose in our midst who is cleaning up the streets. I believe a hero is a hero, even if he is a particularly dark one. I also believe I’m not the only one who breathes a sigh of relief whenever a killer with no conscience is taken off our streets, regardless of how it happens or who’s involved. So, yeah, if I have to choose between Black Rose or Mummy Man, I’m going to be Team Black Rose every time.
Give us a break, Mummy Man, and turn yourself in. Or, better yet, just go away.
This is your girl Teegan signing out.
Teegan was trembling by the time she finished the post. She was yanking the chain of a madman. She could feel her mind spiraling out of control. The room was closing in on her and she couldn’t breathe.
I don’t need Mummy Man to suffocate me. I’m doing a damn good job of it all by myself.