Silver Dagger Tours – the Looks That KillTour and Giveaway!

1989

 

The prison guard spoke softly
into a communicator on his shoulder, and the steel door opened with a metallic
echo in the corridor. The guard looked first at Isabelle, then at Mr. Dunn,
asking, “Do you want me to stay?”

Isabelle replied, “Thank you,
officer, but no. You’ve done your part.”

The guard nodded and left them
in the death row area. They heard the sound of metal on metal as the door
locked behind them, sending a small shiver through Isabelle’s heart. But she
straightened her jaw and stepped into the cell, with Mr. Dunn following closely
behind.

She removed her hat and held
it like a weapon. The edge of its brim was thin and stiff enough to slice. Isabelle
knew her toughness often intimidated men, but this disturbed individual would
likely see her as a beauty queen. Mr. Dunn took a protective stance by the
door, his size and the scar running from his eyebrow to his chin making it
clear why he was there.

Surveying the cell, which was
barely larger than a cheap walk-in closet, Isabelle noted the metal bed,
stainless-steel toilet, and sink. In her opinion, this minimalist setup was
more than the inmate deserved; far too lavish. She adjusted her posture,
shifting into business mode, tilting her head back to exude confidence and
becoming the salesperson she was meant to be.

“Hmm. John Spenkelink’s old
cell. I know you’re awake, Mr. Bundy.”

Ted Bundy, lying on the bed
with his back to them, sat up, feigning disturbed sleep. He yawned, blinked his
eyes, and smiled disarmingly. The news photos hadn’t lied; he was indeed a
handsome man. Yet, Isabelle recalled how he wielded his charm and good looks
like weapons. Maintaining her poker face, she thought of the thirty women he
had confessed to killing, with hints of even more hidden in unmarked graves.

“You have me at a
disadvantage,” Bundy said, keeping his gaze fixed on hers. “But who wouldn’t be
disadvantaged in here?”

Isabelle ignored him and began
her presentation. “I’m Dr. Quint. My associate is Mr. Dunn. We’re from Blunt
Point Labs. Mr. Bundy, the governor absolutely will not consider a stay of
execution.” She glanced at her watch again, already aware of the time. “In less
than twenty-four hours, you’re going to die. We can’t prevent that.”

“Then why bother me?”

Isabelle remained stoic; this
was her favorite part. “Mr. Bundy, we’re here to make you an offer you can’t
refuse. A chance to serve mankind in a positive way.”

Bundy raised his eyebrows.
“Serve mankind? When I’m dead?”

Mr. Dunn moved as if cued; it
was the signal for him to take the next step. He reached into the satchel,
pulled out some important-looking papers, and handed them to Isabelle. She held
them just out of Bundy’s reach. His gaze flickered to the papers momentarily.

She continued, “You’ll be dead
alright, but I think you’ll find this to be a fair offer.” She handed the
papers to Bundy, who studied them intently for several long minutes with a
practiced legal eye. Suddenly, he looked up.

“How does it work? There aren’t
any laws to protect the dead. Blunt Point has this kind of power?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll need a pen.”

“Yes, you will. But before you
sign, I want to know why you tortured, raped, and murdered thirty innocent
women.”

Bundy grinned mischievously.
Everything about him was likable. Isabelle forced herself to frown.

“Thirty?” he asked. “You think
small, Doctor.” He paused, as if considering his words. Isabelle realized he
wasn’t thinking at all; he was remembering. Bundy’s smile turned predatory.
“Having those women tied up and terrified was the ultimate aphrodisiac. They
knew they were going to die because of me. To them, I was their angry god.”

If Isabelle had been holding a
chainsaw at that moment, she would have used it on him. Instead, she forced
herself to remain unresponsive to Bundy’s comment. She didn’t need to look back
at Mr. Dunn to know his expression had not changed; it rarely did.

With no visible reaction from
his visitors, Bundy shrugged. He raised his hand as if holding an invisible
pen, wiggling his fingers in a gesture that conveyed, “I still need
something to write with.” Mr. Dunn reached into his coat and pulled out a
ballpoint pen, offering it to Bundy. Carefully and neatly, Bundy signed each
page and initialed several others. He returned the pen to Mr. Dunn and handed
the papers to Isabelle.

“When do we start?” he asked,
excitement bubbling in his voice like a child eager for an adventure.

Isabelle provided the answer
he needed. “As soon as you die.”