The Skin Collector

He lifted the machine off her leg, looked over the work and returned to inking her.

‘My uncle was backward in a lot of ways. But he had one moment of genius. He came up with the Rule of Skin. He’d lecture about it all over the country – at other militias, at revival meetings, at churches, at hunting camps.’ Billy’s eyes shone. ‘The Rule of Skin … It’s brilliant. Think about it: Skin tells us about our physical health, right? It’s flushed or pale. Glowing or dull. Shrunken or swollen. Broken out or clear … And it tells us our spiritual development too. And intellectual. And emotional. White is good and smart and noble. Black and brown and yellow are subversive and dangerous.’

‘You can’t be serious!’

He made a fist and Pam cringed and fell silent.

‘You want proof. The other day I was in the Bronx and this guy stopped me. A young man, I don’t know. About your age. Black. He had keloids on his face – scars, like tattoos. They were beautiful. A real artist had done them.’ His eyes looked off slightly. ‘And you know why he stopped me? To sell me drugs. That’s the truth about people like that. The Rule of Skin. You can’t fool it.’

Pam laughed bitterly. ‘A black kid tried to sell you drugs in the Bronx? Guess what? Go to West Virginia and a white kid’ll try to sell you drugs.’

Billy wasn’t listening. ‘There’s been an argument about Hitler: whether he genuinely hated Jews and Gypsies and gays and wanted to make the world a better place by eliminating them. Or whether he didn’t actually care but thought that German citizens hated them, so he used that hate and fear to seize power.’

‘You’re holding up Hitler as a role model?’

‘There are worse choices.’

‘So? What is it for you, Billy? Do you believe in the Rule of Skin or are you using it for power, for yourself, your ego?’

‘Isn’t it clear?’ He gave a laugh. ‘You’re smarter than that, Pam.’

She said nothing and he dabbed the tears of pain off her cheeks. And she did know the answer. And something occurred to her, hit her like one of his blows. It had to do with the blog she and Seth had worked on together. She whispered, ‘Our blog? That’s the opposite of everything you’re saying. What … what did you create the blog for?’

‘What do you think? Everybody who posts a favorable comment is on our list. Pro abortion, pro food stamps, pro immigration reform. Their day of judgment’s coming.’

There were probably fifteen thousand people who’d posted something on the site. What was going to happen to them? Would Billy’s followers track them down and kill them? Firebomb their houses or apartments?

Billy set the tattoo gun aside, smeared Vaseline on the ink on her thighs and blotted.

He smiled and said, ‘Look. What do you think?’

Reading upside down, she saw two words on the front of her thighs.

PAM

WIL

What the hell was he doing? What did he mean?

And he pulled his jeans down. She read similar tattoos on his thighs, in matching type fonts.

ELA

LIAM

When read together:

PAM ELA

WIL LIAM

‘We call them splitters. Lovers get parts of their names tattooed on each other. They can only be read when they’re together. It’s us, see? Separately, we’re missing something. Together, we’re whole.’ What passed for a smile crossed his sallow face.

‘Lovers?’ she whispered. Looking at his inking – it’d been done years ago.

He was gazing at her confused face. He pulled up his, then her pants, and zippered and buttoned them.

‘I knew someday I’d get you back.’ Billy was gesturing at the tattoos. ‘“Pamela”, “William”. Nice touch, don’t you think? Our names will be whole when we lie together to make our children.’

He noted her expression of dismay. ‘What’s that look about?’ As if speaking to a daughter upset about a bad day at school.

‘I loved you!’ she cried.

‘No, you loved somebody who was part of the cancer of this country.’ His eyes softened and he whispered, ‘What about me, Pam? The woman I’ve loved all my life turns out to be the enemy? They took your mind and heart away from me.’

‘Nobody changed me. I never believed what my mother did. What you believe.’

He stroked her hair, smiling, murmuring, ‘You were brainwashed. I understand that. I’ll fix you, honey. I’ll bring you back into the fold. Now let’s go pack.’

‘All right, all right.’

He pulled her to her feet.

She turned and looked into his eyes. ‘You know, Billy,’ she said in a soft voice.

‘What?’ He seemed pleased to note her smile.

‘You should’ve checked my pockets.’

Pam swung her right arm toward his face as hard as she could, holding tight, fiercely tight, to the box cutter she’d used to cut through the duct tape – the same as she’d carried in her hip pocket ever since those terrible days in Larchwood.

The blade co

As he howled and gripped his face, spi

CHAPTER 72

Pam’s hands were slick with Billy’s blood, but she got the door open and stumbled into the front hallway of the building.

She’d get outside onto the street and start screaming her head off. Maybe there was no one to hear her pleas for help in the building. But there were plenty of neighbors.

Ten feet, five feet …

Yes! She was going to–

But then fingers grabbed her ankles and she was falling to the lobby floor, with a cry. Her head bounced on the hardwood.

The knife went flying. Pam squirmed around and faced Billy, kicking furiously toward his groin.

His face was a mess – the image both pleased and shocked her. The gash began below his eye and continued to the middle of his cheek. She’d hoped to blind him but he could see all right, it seemed. Still, blood poured from his cheek and bubbled from his lips and she knew the blade had cut clean through to the inside of his mouth. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. Threats, of course. Rage.

Blood flecked her jacket, her arm, her hand. The spray spattered her face.

The horrific expression revealed the pain he’d be feeling.

Good!

She gave up fighting. He was weakened but still much stronger than she was. Escape, she told herself. Just get the hell out!

Clawing at the floor, she managed to move a foot or so away from him, closer to the door.

But he stopped her and spun her onto her back, landing a blow in her solar plexus, knocking the air from her lungs again and doubling her over. She broke away momentarily – thanks to the slick blood, he’d lost his grip. She made it up on her knees. But fury possessed him. Billy planted his foot against the hallway wall and lunged forward, wrapping his sinewy hands around her throat. On her back again, gasping for air.

She kicked upward once more and co

She tried to kick again, tried to punch, but she could get no leverage.

And all the while she was gasping, trying to draw air into her lungs and cry for help.

But nothing. Silence only.

The gash on his face was ghastly but the flow of blood was slowing, coagulating around the wound, dark and crisp as maroon colored ice. Now she could hear: ‘How could you do that?’ More words but they snapped and sputtered and grew unintelligible once more. He spat blood. ‘What a fool, Pam! You’re beyond saving. I should have known.’

He leaned down and fixed his grip around her neck and began to tighten.