Of Guilt and Innocence by John Scanlan Page A

did not desire the “American Dream” of a wife, kids, or the house with the picket fence. It didn’t appeal to him in the least. He had no desire to even leave the safety of his garage apartment he longed so desperately for. What he didn’t know was if he would continue down the destructive path that had landed him in his current predicament or if he would work to get past his urges and desires by any means possible. He struggled with this decision for months, until finally he succumbed to the realization that this was who he was. Who he would always be. His urges were a part of him. He wouldn’t fight them.
    He never felt remorse for what he had done; to the contrary, he felt even stronger now about preying on those who could not defend themselves. He realized that prison would not serve to rehabilitate him as he had been told it would. Prison would serve to sharpen his predatory skills by learning from the mistakes and advice of others.  
    So over the course of his two years in prison Louis crafted his criminal blueprint. The abuse he took at the hands of those stronger than him only served to make his desire for control more insatiable. When he got out of prison he bided his time. One of the many lessons he learned, and probably the most important, was to be patient. A year passed as he scanned gathering places, learned exit strategies, tested stalking techniques, and honed his chameleon-like appearance. Finally, it was time for him to put his plan into action, and to his surprise it worked perfectly. He would orchestrate it time and again, tweaking it just slightly each time, but never deviating from its core. He was methodical in the completion of his schemes, at times it seemed he was almost on cruise control, but he savored every moment.
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    Finally, he was back at home from his trip to the mall, having been gone about five hours. He parked the blue Le Sabre as close as he could get to the garage while still being able to swing the door open. He discretely glanced down the driveway to see if anyone was on the street, but noticed no one. He opened the passenger side door, reached inside and scooped up a large quilt from the floorboard. He began to perspire from this brief but strenuous physical activity. He held it in both arms directly in front of his body and leaned his face downward toward the bundle he held tight, his eyes still peering out toward the street. “Don’t you say a word,” he whispered.
    He left the car door ajar as he quickly but calmly entered the garage. Two small white patent leather shoes peeked out from under one end of the quilt and in a flash Louis placed his cargo, still covered with the quilt, upright and standing behind a stack of boxes. Heavy breathing and whimpers of fear came from under the quilt but Louis paid them no attention.
    With his package concealed to any passersby, he calmly walked back to the open car door, reached in and grabbed his police scanner radio off the passenger seat, then shut the door. As he listened during the course of his ride, he was relieved at a noticeable absence in the conversations between police officers and dispatchers. No reference to him, the blue Le Sabre, or his victim had been made once during his trip. However, he knew it had only been forty minutes since he had made his pickup and he needed to get into his apartment quickly to plug the radio back in and ensure the transmission of utmost importance to him was not missed. He pulled the door to the garage shut from the inside and was instantly closed off from the outside world, his captive secured. Just like that.
    To anyone who had observed this it would appear as if a man was simply carrying a bundle of clothing. It was so casual. There was no sense of urgency or panic on Louis’s part. No sounds were coming from under the patchwork quilt that would have been audible to anyone outside the garage. And now it was over. If anyone had seen it they had already