Dr Demontig - Serial Killer Page 12

  8.

  Dr Demontig finally returned from his trip. He was late back, and so Jack had his lunch in his room. Again, a note was added to his tray, and this time it promised a meeting at two o’clock sharp. Jack had spent a great deal of time alone in the house and had read many books. He was rather bored and deemed that this might have been the dullest stay with a multiple murderer that anyone had ever had. At their meeting, Jack would make good with talk about business and then see to it that he left for home as soon as he could. He had found something on his search in Demontig’s study that would surely support his story and prove Demontig’s guilt.

  The time for their meeting fast approached, and so Jack readied himself. He had been lucky to not have had to spend much time with Demontig since his arrival. His hatred towards the little man was predictably high. Having to sit nicely in conversation with his ‘would be killer’ was going to be a real test of his resolve.

  The clock struck two, and Jack left his room. At the top of the stairs stood the ever present Dog. He raised his eyebrows, indicating that he would lead the way. The two men went down the stairs and into the main hallway. They marched to the back of the house, where Dog opened a door and allowed Jack to pass him. Jack walked into a rather bare, but comfortable reading room. It was rather bland compared to the rest of the house, and was much more to Jack’s approval. Two large chairs took centre stage within the room, their backs to the door.

  “Mr O’Malley,” came Demontig’s voice from one of the chairs. “Please join me.”

  A small gloved hand appeared from the left of the two chairs, and a finger pointed to the chair on the right.

  Jack took his place in the chair, whilst Dog stood sentry at the door behind them.

  “Dr Demontig,” said Jack, warmly. “It is a real pleasure to finally get some time to talk to you.”

  “Yes, you must forgive me. I am a very busy man you see. My time is taken by far too many. I have a troubled time refusing people you see.”

  “Quite.”

  Dr Demontig gracefully raised from his seat and glided over to a drinks cabinet.

  “Sherry, Mr O’Malley?” he asked.

  “No thank you, Sir.”

  Demontig smiled at Jack, and then poured himself a drink. “I will have to drink your Sherry then. What will you have to drink?”

  “Just some water please.”

  Demontig handed Jack his drink and then settled back into his chair. Unlike the day before, Demontig was now seemingly interested in his guest. Something had changed in him.

  “Please Mr O’Malley, tell me about your business proposal. I have read the letters sent by your sister, the great dress maker, but I wish to hear all from you.”

  “Well, Dr Demontig, there isn’t much else to say really. My sister is a fine dress maker, one of the best in America. Her gowns sell for hundreds of dollars and are worn by the great and good of high society. She always looks for the finest materials in order to produce the best gowns, naturally.”

  “Of course,” replied Demontig, with a shrewd smile on his face.

  “I believe that the dyes that you produce are the finest, and so that is why I have come to speak to you. If we can arrange a mutually agreeable deal, then perhaps we could go a long way together. Your dyes would be used in the greatest gowns ever made, and a whole new market in the New World would be open to you. For us, we just want the best. And if you are the best, then your products will be our reward in themselves.”

  Jack was nervous. He knew nothing about business. Especially dressmaking. It was only whilst looking into Dr Demontig that he realised that clothes were dyed. It had not been a thought that had crossed his mind before.

  Demontig stared at Jack. His smile persisting, and his gaze almost sympathetic.

  “Mr O’Malley. Where did you hear about my wonderful dyes?”

  Jack had to think quickly. He was woefully underprepared for any cross examinations.

  “Well, I am not sure myself. I am merely following up on what my sister has told me. I believe she may have heard of you through previous customers, or clients. In fact, I am sure that is how she has come to hear about you.”

  “Yes,” said Demontig. “That is what she said in her letter. And you see, that is what spooked my interest in you, Mr O’Malley. You see, I must admit that I am far from being just a kindly giver and carer. This mansion and fortune were not built from kindness and legitimacy alone. To get this much in life, you either have to be lucky or do what you can to get it. I am not lucky. I do what I can to get what I want. Sadly, that is frowned upon, and so the only way to get away with it is to provide an honourable cover story to seem that you are a genuine sort of person. If you are not following me, then what I mean is that the dyes that I sell are merely fabricated in order to cover my criminal exploits. I do not sell dyes. I do not have previous customers who have bought dyes from me. Which makes me question why you are here.”

  Jack was shocked by the revelation. It blew his cover out of the water and left him in a very awkward position.

  “Like I said Dr Demontig, I am only working on what I have been told by my sister. If her research is wrong, then I will bid you a good day and beg your forgiveness for wasting your time.”

  Dr Demontig studied his half-filled glass of Sherry before tipping the rest down his throat.

  “Why have you come here?”

  “Like I said, Dr Demontig………..”

  “Stop with your lies!” shouted Demontig, his face wincing in anger. “I am a criminal yes. But I am also a centre of this community and I will not have such disrespect shown to me. I welcome you into my house and I give you food and shelter free of charge and you come and lie to my face. For shame on you!”

  Dog, who was standing at the door, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a brass syringe.

  Jack’s anger grew. How dare Demontig belittle him after all that Demontig had done. He was a cold hearted killer, who killed in the worst way, causing the worst possible distress to his victims. And here he stood, giving this honest and hardworking man a dressing down. How dare he face one of his victims like this and try to take the high ground. Jack could hold his tongue no longer.

  “We have met before.”

  “What?” said Demontig.

  “We have met before, seventeen years ago.”

  Demontig started to look the man up and down, searching his mind for some familiarity. He remained in his chair, but took a distinctly defensive position.

  Dog, took a step closer to the two men.

  “You took me and you tried to kill me. But I got away. Do you remember?”

  Demontig’s face hung solemnly as he looked over at Jack.

  Dog took another step closer, treading silently.

  “Do you remember this?” Jack proceeded to unbutton his shirt to reveal his scar.

  Demontig didn’t look at the scar. Instead he continued to stare deeply into Jack’s eyes. He remained motionless in his chair. Then, he stood up, composed himself, and walked back over to his drinks cabinet.

  “Please allow me my Sherry before we go on,” said Demontig, whilst he poured himself another drink. “I remember you well,” he continued. “The day that I came home from the medical school, I came and sat in this very room. I toasted a drink to your good fortune, and my miserable luck. In fairness, you did not deserve to die that day, and part of me was glad to see you survive. In all of my attempted killings, you are the only one to have survived. I hoped that your character would have seen you safe, but instead it was my poor judgement. Of course you would bleed when cut open. Your heart was still beating. But then I waited for the police to arrive. I waited for two months, sure in the knowledge that I was at the end……. I was hurt badly by the torment given to me as young child. I was hated amongst my peers and tortured terribly in the name of fun. I sought to destroy anyone who liked the life of scaring others. See how they like to be scared by the upmost of fear. A taste of their own medicine? Alas, th
e one who got away, and who stands before me now was the only one who shouldn’t have been a target. Why did you not tell? Why did you not bring the police to my door?”

  “My memory was gone. I believe the fear that I was subjected to must have affected my recollections. I was left with a blank void in my consciousness. It was only recently that the memories came back to me.”

  “So why are you hear?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “To kill me perhaps? Or to take me to gaol? But you must remember that no-one would believe you. What proof do you have? If you kill me you are a murderer and if you go to the police, they will laugh in your face. It is only recently that I paid for a grand funeral for our dear Mayor. It is true that I killed him. Or to be more exact, he suffocated in a casket, six feet underground, probably whilst clawing away at his wooden tomb screaming for dear life. But the world sees that I am the good guy in all of it. The generous one.”

  Jack was the one watching intently now. It was true that he did not know what he planned to do now that the cat was out of the bag. He had hoped to leave and take what he had found with him to the police, but he would have to get out of the house in one piece first.

  “Yesterday, I went to do some business in town. Real business, not made up business like yours. I went to the local church and arranged a funeral.”

  “How can you just bury people in this way? Does no one get suspicious with all the dead bodies you are finding around the place?”

  “My dear boy,” said Demontig, patiently. “This whole place has people dropping down dead around our feet. They beat each other to death. Drink themselves to death. Die of hunger. Die of illness. Die of just being poor and miserable. They are there anyway. I just pick them up and bury them. Or so it seems. If you are willing to pay for the funerals of all the sad and misfortunate wretches that litter our streets, then you too would be an unsuspected pillar of the community. People die in my sanatorium. People die in my orphanage. People die in my care homes. How would you find one golden ball in a bowl full of golden balls, unless it dropped out onto the floor?”

  Jack stared at Demontig. He could understand how easy it was for him to get away with so many murders. He was in the business of burying people. It was one of his roles in society. No-one would give him endless rolls of red tape, as they would be too scared that he would leave them to foot the bill instead. It was a happy middle ground. He organised dealing with the dead, and everyone around him reacted to his every whim so that he would keep on doing it.

  Dog stood motionless and unseen, behind Jack’s chair. He looked down at him, the syringe in his hand.

  “Yesterday, I went to the church to arrange a funeral. The funeral is tomorrow. And you are the star of the show.”

  Jack felt a dull pain jab into the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and slumped over, face down onto the floor.

  Dr Demontig stood defiantly with his hands on his hips. “Good job, Dog. Now take him to the basement where I will see to him later. No need to undress or change him. He can go straight into the box and be nailed in before the night is over. Oh, and Dog, you can send everyone else home until tomorrow afternoon. I do not want any of the maids questioning why they are serving him dinner one day and then he is dead and being buried the next. It is too questionable. Send them all home.”

  Dog hauled Jack up onto his shoulder and carried him out of the room. Dr Demontig poured himself yet another Sherry.

 

  A short while later, Dr Demontig and Dog entered into the basement and lit a couple of candles around the room. Jack lay motionless on the table. He had been piled in a heap. Faced down with his arms dangling off the side. Dr Demontig was feeling hungry, and was somewhat annoyed with himself for sending the staff home before they had made him a meal. Once everything was set in the basement he ordered Dog to go into town. There was no chance of Demontig waiting all night and all morning before he could eat. Dog would go to the local tavern and collect a meal for his master. Having been given his orders, Dog gave a subordinate nod to the doctor and left the room. Dr Demontig then turned his attention back to Jack.

  “I am sorry that you have to go through all of this once again,” he said, with not a shred of sympathy. “But of course, if there was a slight chance that I could have let you go as a child, there is no way that I can do that now. You have been very sneaky and so will feel the full wrath of Dr Demontig. My favourite execution method is to bury my victims alive. I do not need to run through what is happening to you again. I am sure you remember. But of course you were not buried alive last time. There will be no time for you to recover. I am not taking that risk again. So you will be nailed into your coffin and placed in the ground before the effects of my serum start to ware off. I must admit that it was nice to see you again, my dear boy. And in all honesty, I think that you owe me a debt of gratitude. I followed your story after your awakening on the anatomist’s table. I saw that your life went from slovenly to sublime. I know that if I had not tried to kill you then you would probably be dead already from your nasty drunk of a father. And look at this way, you are about to die, but your sister is happy and successful. You have sacrificed your life for her. If I had not tried to kill you then she would not be who she is today.”

  Dr Demontig turned away from Jack and walked over to the window. He stared out through the glass, watching the trees sway in the wind.

  “You know that this is where we first met. I heard you outside the window, and told Dog to come out and get you. We first came face to face through this window all those years ago. Who would have thought that we would be back here together now?”

  Demontig walked over to a bench that stood against the far wall. On the bench lay various tools, including the nails for Jack’s coffin. Demontig leant on the bench and studied the objects. His hand slid over the handle of a hammer. He picked it up to feel the weight of it.

  “Of course, I have had bad luck with you before. It would be a disaster for you to suddenly come to life at the wrong time. Perhaps I should be less reckless.”

  Demontig stepped over to the table, with his hand clenched around the hammer.

  “It would be easier just to smash your skull in.”

  He placed the hammer against the back of Jack’s skull, lining it up. He slowly raised the hammer high into the air and held it ready. Demontig bared his teeth and tensed himself.

  “No! This is a very messy way.” Demontig lowered the hammer slowly. “There will be blood spray everywhere. All over my beautiful outfit.”

  He returned to the bench and selected a long screwdriver. This would be a much neater way of ensuring the death of his prey, thought the doctor. Demontig strode over to the table and pushed his victim’s body so that he rolled onto his back, exposing his chest. Demontig lined the screwdriver up on Jack’s chest and then raised it high into the air. His eyes looked up at the screwdriver, held firmly in his hand. He built himself up, getting angrier and angrier. In a big release of energy, Demontig howled as he drove the screwdriver downwards with all his force. His arm piled down into an opened palm. The palm grabbed hold tight, whilst another hand flew up and attached itself firmly around Demontig’s throat. Jack was awake, and although he was lying down, his strength and size was far too much for Demontig to handle.

  Jack got himself up off the table, his hand still round Demontig’s neck. The screwdriver dropped to the floor. Jack squeezed hard as Demontig gasped and fought like a hooked fish. His limbs flailed around and mucus bubbled from his mouth and nose.

  Jack leaned his face in close to the struggling doctor. His face was creased with fury.

  “I found your syringes, doctor,” he said. “And I emptied out whatever fucking shit was in them. I put water in them instead. It hurt like hell, but sadly for you, I’m still fully awake.”

  Jack fumbled around in his pocket with his spare hand and pulled out a brass syringe.

  “It looks like I will have to use the evidence I stole. It’s the first thi
ng I have ever stolen. This one does contain the serum. Your luck with me really is bad.”

  Jack plunged the needle deep into Dr Demontig’s neck. He pushed the plunger halfway down and slowly lowered Demontig to the floor. He was careful not to waste all of the serum, as he would have to lie in wait for Dog to return and deal with him as well.

  Jack’s coffin was leant against the back wall, by the bench, with the lid and nails all lined up in preparation. Jack lifted the coffin onto the table and deposited the unconscious Demontig into it. He nailed the lid on and went off to wait for Dog.

  Dog was easy to deal with. As he walked in through the front door, Jack crept up behind him and slipped the end of the needle into his neck. He dropped like a stone. He tied him up and then dragged his body up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms.