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The Color Of Blood

Paul Stansbury

    “I see you are waking up, Elizabeth,” said Shaw, running his fingers over the duct tape covering her mouth. “Can’t have you screaming out in the middle of the night.” He checked the rope tied around her wrists and ankles. “Can’t have you running off. Just a moment till I get you upright.” He inhaled the sweet fragrance of soap and shampoo that wafted off her freshly bathed body. Before moving her outside, he had applied fresh makeup while she lay unconscious on the bathroom floor. “The moon is rising over the treetops. It will be well up in the sky and you’ll be fully conscious by the time we get there. Don’t worry, I’ll go slow. Wouldn’t want to bump you against anything. I despise bruises.” He climbed into the cab of the backhoe and slowly raised the boom until she dangled inches off the plastic tarp on which she had been lying. The light from the full moon meant he did not need the headlamps to find the way to the ‘garden’.
    Shaw maneuvered the backhoe through the woods of his remote farm outside Graysville, Tennessee until he came to a large clearing. “Here we are, Elizabeth, the garden,” he said, steering to the left until he reached a fresh excavation. He wheeled the backhoe around, backing up until her nude body swayed over the black pit. Cutting the engine, he grabbed the bundle with her clothes and personal effects from the floorboard.
    “You see, Elizabeth, sloppiness leads to downfall,” Shaw said, holding the bundle up for her to see. “No evidence left behind, Elizabeth, no souvenirs taken. That’s the smart way. Those who get caught aren’t smart. You know, Elizabeth, I’m smart. You might even say I am a genius. I have an IQ of 144. That’s why I don’t get caught.” He tossed the bundle into the hole. “You see, I don’t need souvenirs. I have hyperthymesia. That means I can remember every event of my life in full detail.
Don’t believe me? According to your Tennessee driver license which I just threw in that hole, your name is Elizabeth Marie Long - DL 572093982 - DOB 02/11/1994. Need I go on? Not convinced?” Shaw pointed to a rectangle of dirt about 5 feet away. “Jessica Ann Morrow – Kentucky Driver’s License – 4d Lic. No. S85 923 017 – 4b Exp 04-05-2023 and so on. I don’t think there is any need to go further. Besides, it would take far too long to share the bio of everyone in my garden. So you see, I need no souvenirs, no photos, for I’ll remember all this in detail. Forever. Now to business,” he said, stripping off his shirt.
    Tears rolled down Elizabeth’s cheeks as she wriggled, suspended above the ground. Her muffled cries struggled to get free from her duct-taped lips.
    “Did you ever notice how skin looks blue in the moonlight?” asked Shaw. “That’s why this gentlemen prefer blondes,” he sniggered. “Their skin is so pale, so blue.” Shaw withdrew a straight razor from his pocket. He opened the blade, tilting it to see the moonlight reflect off its honed surface. Then with a quick motion, he sliced her across the ribs. She writhed in pain, blood welling out of the gaping wound. He touched the severed flesh, letting the warm liquid flow over his fingertips. “Don’t worry, it’s not too deep.” He held his hand up to the moonlight, allowing the blood to trickle down his arm. “Blood looks black in the moonlight,” he whispered, “so black against pale blue skin. Isn’t it beautiful?” He stroked her cheek leaving black blood smears. Turning away to face the moon he cried, “I am of the Nephilim, descendent of the Sons of God. I have dominion over the daughters of man. Be it known that the mercy of the Nephilim is cruel.” He turned back to Elizabeth, lifting the razor high in the air.

* * *

    Shaw wiped Elizabeth’s blood from his body then threw the towel in the pit. It landed on Elizabeth’s limp torso. Her severed head lay in the dewy grass, dead eyes staring at the moon. He took a final look into her lifeless eyes. “To remember you by,” he said before kicking it over into the pit. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, then climbed into the cab of the backhoe.
    It took a few minutes to fill Elizabeth’s grave. Shaw was tamping the fill flat with the underside of the loader bucket when a black shadow engulfed the backhoe. Its engine sputtered and died. He craned his head out of the window and peered upward into pure black. No moon, no stars. The last thing he saw before passing out was the flash of blinding light.

* * *

    He awoke to find himself strapped to a padded table. Bright light bathed his nude body.
    “Welcome, Shaw Gheene,” said a strange voice with a curious accent. A figure in a hooded suit stepped into the halo of light. Shaw struggled to speak, but his mouth would not respond. “You can’t speak or move for that matter. We have immobilized you, Shaw.” The figure retrieved something from a small stand next to the table, holding it out for Shaw to see. It was his straight razor. With a swift motion, the figure sliced Saw across the forearm. Blood flowed out of the gaping wound. “The species on your planet have always been of keen scientific interest to us. I myself, have always been intrigued by the crimson blood of your species. It is such a beautiful color,” said the figure. “However as for this blade of yours, while it is quite effective for cutting, it is of little use for dissection. We will need a finer blade.” The figure placed the razor on the stand and picked up a fine scalpel. “Now on to business.”

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