T. Marie Benchley, author of Once Wicked Always Dead
Once Wicked Always Dead

10:35 pm
Atlanta, Georgia
September 1, 1985

The dimly lit room was specifically designed to create a soothing atmosphere for his patients.  An illusion of safety and warmth was his mastermind.  He was a Picasso when it came to the details of decorating his office.  A large mahogany bookcase became his backdrop and held the treasure chest of necessary books he would use to refer to in order to diagnose his most tormented patients.  It was after hours and he sat in a supple, dark leather chair with his pad and pen upon the table beside him.  The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock.  The woman who lay upon the overstuffed couch was not one of his usual patients. She began caressing the opulent fabric while enjoying the scrumptious feel of it as it touched her skin.

“Thank you for letting me see you so late,” she said softly, almost childlike.  “I was pleasantly surprised when you called me and asked me to come in.  Your office is beautiful.  You have such an acquired taste, but I’m sure you have been told that before.  I have always been curious, Doctor, how one develops such taste.” 

The attractive brunette raised her head allowing her long hair to fall upon her back while giving him a brief glance.  “You see, that has always been one of my problems,” she continued.  “I guess you could say that is why I’m here with you.  I’ve been with so many men whose taste, well, how shall I say, is unique.  Some men just have the strangest taste, wouldn’t you say?”

She sat upright to adjust the strap of her candy apple red Stiletto.  “I’m sure you personally know all about these kind of men, don’t you, Doc?” Her soft childlike voice began to emerge into that of a confident woman.  “I really enjoy showing these men how bad their taste is.  I mean, someone has to.  Wouldn’t you agree?  Let me give you an example of what I mean.  I am specifically talking about their taste in sex.” 

With a seductive smirk on her face, she cocked her head and looked at the man who was silent in his chair.  “Some men have very peculiar taste when it comes to sex.  You know what I’m talking about, Doc.  They like ‘em young.  You would be very surprised at how many men out there like the idea of having sex with very young girls.”

As she continued to speak she rose from the couch, allowing her trench coat to fall open and reveal the red teddy that she wore beneath it.  She turned to face the doctor and continued talking as she seductively walked toward him.  “But Doctor, I don’t have to tell you about these types of men, do I, when you personally know what I’m talking about, right?”

She now straddled the man, as she continued.  “You can relate to these men, can’t you Doc, because you like little girls.”  Bending over, she placed her mouth to the silent man’s head and with her full lips planted a big red kiss upon the top of his forehead then laughed.

“You see Doc,” she continued, “this is my calling, and this is what I was meant to do.  Just call me your Super Hero, baby, because you know my motto: Once Wicked, Always Dead!”

With his body still warm, his ghastly hollow eyes stared into the dark abyss as the hypodermic needle protruded from the neck of his dead body.  He was just another one of her many victims as she laughed hysterically at his expense.