Shame

he were in Antarctica instead of San Diego. His hands were in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched.
    Weak, Feral thought. It was sixty degrees or more and not cold so much as blustery. The wind was blowing even more than normal. It would have been too gusty, thought Feral, for even those fool hang gliders. He had enjoyed watching them while scouting the territory. Some of the daredevils had a ritual he liked: they yelled as they ran toward the edge of the cliffs, a victory call that climaxed as they threw themselves off. It was a long drop down, hundreds of feet, but they had their faith, believing in the wind, counting on updrafts and thermals to send them aloft, or at least in their finding enough of an air cushion for them to float down to the beach far, far below.
    Feral had told Junior to wait for him beneath the knoll, not too far away from that jump-off spot. He was about a hundred feet away from the edge of the cliffs, but with the wind blowing so hard he was probably afraid to get too near to the abyss. The story of Junior’s life, Feral thought. He was too timid ever to know the thrill of being on the edge, of dancing along the precipice of life. Feral had observed enough of his monotonous existence to be disdainful of it. Junior’s father had done what he pleased with women, but the son couldn’t even control his own wife. He’d watched another man take her and done nothing. Cuckold. Wimp.
    The fog was getting thicker. Feral thought that the wind might have blown the haze away, but it was sticking like wet snow. Junior kept fading in and out of his view. Not that it mattered. Feral knew Junior would stay where he had been instructed. He had promised Junior answers, and more important, the evidence that would show him to be innocent of all the murders.
    “Maybe you will be able to understand my motivations then,” Feral had said. “Maybe we can be friends.”
    Not that Junior had believed a word he had said, but Feral enjoyed planting little seeds of hope. He had done the same thing with most of the women he had killed, had told them that he wasn’t going to hurt them, and just as they were relaxing, justas they were exhaling away some of their anxiety, he had always made his move.
    Sometimes he took them with just his hands, and other times he subdued them with one of his little tricks. The sleeper hold was a wonderful thing. “Pleasant dreams,” he always told his victims.
    Feral crept up to Junior’s car. He reached for the driver’s door handle and felt around for it. The fog was so thick he could hardly see his hand in front of him. Feral silently pulled on the door handle. Damn. It was locked. He had wanted to turn the headlights off for a moment and throw Junior into a panic. But there were other ways.
    He moved to his left, backtracking along the knoll before heading west to the cliffs. He’d approach Junior from his south side. With the lights swimming in his eyes, Junior wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway. He approached closer, and still closer. He wanted to get near enough to smell Junior’s fear. When he wasn’t more than ten feet away, Feral stopped. Junior looked like a wraith, seemed to have been absorbed by the fog. The last few days had made him even more of a shadow. He looked smaller and thinner and more insignificant than ever.
    “Marco!” Feral yelled.
    Junior jumped. Oh, yes, he did. His head swiveled around wildly, trying to get a bead on the voice. But Feral had already moved.
    “Take your clothes off.”
    He wished he could see Junior’s look of surprise.
    “What?”
    “Take your clothes off. Now.”
    “Why?”
    Feral said nothing. He wasn’t going to speak and give away his location. Or his motives. Nakedness was innocence and guilt. A baby coming into the world. An adult using her nakedness to get what
she
wanted. Bitch. Not that Mother hadn’t been pushedinto her life’s decisions, though. Feral decided to punctuate his command with an exclamation point. Another announcement to get attention. Feral raised his gun and shot at the ground near Junior’s feet.
    Another leap in the air, but this jump even higher. Feral had expected a louder bang, but the gunshot was muted by the open space. All the better. Feral doubted the sound could be heard much beyond a hundred yards. But it must have sounded a hell of a lot louder than that to Junior. At the moment he wasn’t jumping for joy. He was cowering on the ground.
    “Get up and take off your