Page 33 of Requiem & Reverie

“Are you saying you’re a serial killer?”

“We’ve already established I’m a pretentious philosophy major with a hard-on for existential nihilism. You tell me.”

She quickly turned to the side, catching the dribbles that leaked from her mouth as she took a sip of her drink, before unleashing a burst of laughter.

“I’m sorry, I … made you spill your drink. Which, in the great scheme of things, has no bearing on the universe.”

A wheeze left her bent forward, and with another hearty chuckle, she dabbed her mouth with the napkin from beneath her glass. Pretentious, indeed.

The Sandman’s eyes settled on the condensation gathering around the glass, and he leaned forward, nabbing another napkin from behind the bar. “Here. Let me fix that,” he said, slipping the napkin beneath her drink.

“What’s your name?”

“Names are rather inconsequential, don’t you think?”

Shaking her head, she flashed him a smile that had clearly been groomed for the public. She’d probably wore braces and never missed a dental hygiene appointment. Her pale green eyes carried a sort of sparkle that, in spite of her interests, had undoubtedly never really seen the darker side of humanity.

A waste, really.

He imagined those eyes brimming with tears, trapped behind latex, and her large tits begging to be groped while she fought for air.

“I’m Zelene.”

“Sunshine.”

“So, I guess, when you’re not studying philosophy, you study baby name sites?”

Only in the case of her name. He’d thought it rather exotic for a not-so-exotic girl. He wanted to own that name. Make it his, and only his.

Oh, Zelene! How ironic that she’d never see the sun again after that night.

Ah, why not give her a name? Any name would do.

“I’m Carl.”

“With a K, or a C?”

“Carl with a C.”

“Well, that makes sense, then. I’m going to go … ponder my existence on the dance floor. I’ll see you around, Carl.”

“I’m certain of it.”

11

Voss

“Police are investigating the disappearance of a twenty-six-year-old psychology student, who was last seen in a parking garage on West Van Buren Street. Authorities say Zelene Schumaker left Yonkers Bar at approximately eleven at night, and never arrived back home. Her roommate told police, she never stays out past midnight, and that her sudden disappearance is highly unusual for Zelene, who maintains a four-point average in her Masters studies. This marks the fifth university student missing within an eight-month period. No suspects have been identified at this time, and police are urging women, particularly around the age of twenty to thirty, to please be cautious at night and walk in groups. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Zelene Schumaker, you’re asked to call the police.”

Another missing girl.

Unfortunately, if I had a fucking clue where her kidnapper was, I sure as hell wouldn’t be calling the police. I turn my car into the Conservatory and Nature Center parking lot, eyes peeled for the white van. Not that my quarry would be stupid enough to drive it all the time, but a bastard can hope.

Place is packed, and I gotta wonder what the hell is so enthralling about a bunch of gardens. It’s not until I exit the car and make my way to the entrance that I notice the banner strung across the front of the building, about some lecture on pond ecology.

Exciting shit.

I enter the building, adjusting the cufflinks of my shirt and approach the chick at the lobby desk.