The man the police and press were calling, "The Ice Man" but who thought of himself as God stared out the window of the cab, thinking.  Why was this little grocery store twerp carrying Jenny Lee's head around?  It was obvious that he had been the culprit that deprived God of his warranted public acclaim.  God knew that as soon as he connected the Tennenbaum bill at Jenny's apartment and the delivery boy's coveralls from this morning. 

            But, why was he carrying the head with him and what had he done with the other body parts?  He'd have to find out, but not now.  Not in the cab.  They would arrive at an address two blocks from his home, soon; and then, he would have all the time in the world to pick young Jeffrey's brain...figuratively first and then - literally.

             The taxi pulled to the side of the road and God threw some bills onto the front seat.  He glared at Jeffrey, raised his right, gloveless hand and wiggled his fingers under Jeffrey's nose.  Words were unnecessary.  Jeffrey had seen what God could do with his hands.  God scooted toward Jeffrey and followed him out of the cab as Jeffrey followed the unspoken command to get out.

             God walked past Jeffrey and started up the walkway toward the large house.  He heard Jeffrey following him and stayed only a step ahead.  He didn't expect the boy to bolt, but he didn't want to give him too much room either.  He also didn't want the cab driver to see any form of duress directed toward the boy.  From the corner of his eye, he watched the taxi leave the curb and when it reached to intersection and turned right, he stopped, turned and grinned down at Jeffrey who, staring at the ground, walked right into him. 

            God grabbed Jeffrey's collar with his gloved hand and said, "You didn't really think I'd let the cabbie drop of us off at my place, did you?" 

            Tears were beginning to fill Jeffrey's eyes as he looked up at the monster and realized the apron he'd left in the cab was not going to be his salvation.  He looked back toward the ground, embarrassed by his tears and shook his head - no. 

            "Walk in front of me, in the opposite direction the cab took.  I'll give you directions." 

            Jeffrey turned and shuffled back down the sidewalk.  God spoke again, "And Jeffrey - do not do anything stupid."  The cold chuckle that followed this warning raised goosebumps all along Jeffrey's spine. 

            God watched the terrified delivery boy shuffling along in front of him.  Such a pussy, this kid.  Peed his pants and now, he was struggling to hold back tears.  Why?  God had done nothing to cause the boy's tears.  He dropped that thought into his subconscious.  He knew it would stew there and eventually produce an answer.   

            Idly, God wondered if the boy was gay.  A sissy boy, maybe.  Then, he remembered the look of admiration and love the boy had cast toward Jenny's frozen head.  He recalled his dismay when God had directed him to take the bag and then, when told to leave the bag for the Detective, the boy had shown a brief, but ineffectual flash of courage and determination not to abandon her head.  God recognized the look of budding rebellion and quickly touched the boy's hand with the tip of his ungloved index finger.  The jolt of instant, freezing pain had quelled all thoughts of resistance the boy might have had.  He'd jerked his hand back and his small gasp of surprise went unheard among the crowd; but, he'd instantly dropped the bag and cradled his wounded left hand with his right, close to his chest. 

            Inside his mansion, God directed the boy to "the room" without further ado.  Two steps inside the boy stopped.  God sensed that he was about to bolt and grabbed him by the back of the neck with his gloved hand.  He laughed aloud, terrifying the boy even more.  "The Room" as God thought of it, was certainly not for the faint hearted, though his models never saw it.  They were brought in unconscious and when alert, they were certainly more concerned about their health than the looks and smell of "the room" and, of course, when they left the room, their frozen eyeballs were no longer able to see - the pieces of their noses, unable to smell. 

            He knew that Jeffrey was scared for his life.  Awake and alert, he was receiving the full impact of the chamber.  There was the visual aspect - the table in the center of the room, covered in dried, black blood.  The walls, the floor, even parts of the ceiling showed spatters and smears of dried blood.  And then, there was the smell.  The smell alone was enough to rock a weak man on his heels.  There was the odor of terrified sweat,  a whiff of urine and overriding all of that, the unmistakable scent of blood - tangy, coppery and primal in its subliminal waves of terror, torture, unendurable pain, death and oblivion. 

            God leaned forward and whispered in the shaking boy's ear, "Are you duly impressed with my studio?" 

            Jeffrey, shivering and gasping to retain the vomit that threatened to burst forth and mix with the blood that coated most of the room, couldn't speak.  He shook his head - no. 

            "You've hurt my feelings, Jeffrey!"  God thundered, as he slammed the door, causing Jeffrey to jump and spin around - his eyes wide in abject fear.   

            Facing each other, God continued, "You've no idea what art is all about, do you, boy?  You're illiterate to the masterpieces I produce here.  Masterpieces that one day will be seen as....."  He broke off and glared at Jeffrey.  "Never mind."  He grabbed Jeffrey by the upper arm and pushed him towards the table.  

            "Jeffrey - you and I have a lot to talk about.  There is much I need to know about you and what you did with my Jenny Lee masterpiece.  I'm particularly interested in how you found her and what led you to my latest work." 

            Jeffrey's eyes were not focusing and God slapped his face.  "Pay attention!"  He ripped Jeffrey's shirt open.  He laughed when the boy burst into tears.  He slapped him again, much harder than before.  He grabbed the suspender's of the coveralls and yanked them off.  He tore the shirt until it hung down in tatters, connected only where the tails were still stuck inside the coverall trousers.  He reached for the pants and stopped.  Sniffing, he pointed and said, "Jeffrey - you've pissed your pants again.  Get them off - now!" 

            When Jeffrey didn't respond to his demand; when Jeffrey fell to his knees, pleading and crying for his life, God grew angry.  He kicked Jeffrey in the stomach, finally releasing the bile that has thus far been held in check.  He kicked him again, sending him two feet toward the table in the center of the room.  Again - another two feet.  A fourth time and he heard the bright snap of a rib cracking.  Finally, he grabbed the back of Jeffrey's coverall trousers and lifted him up and onto the blood stained table.