Sergeant Forrester arrived at the Victorian home at the end of the cul-de-sac tired and in desperate need of coffee. It was his last week with the Siler City police department and he had hoped it would go quietly. It was not the first disappointment in his life. He was greeted outside the building by Deputy Danny Lake, a young officer in his twenties who seemed disturbingly chipper for 7AM.
"Hey Sarge," he said cheerfully, "everyone is inside."

"What's this about?" Forrester asked, "I thought this was just a break-in... Why all the commotion?"

"Don't ask me, I haven't been inside."

Forrester entered the house to see a flurry of activity. Forensic specialists were busy snapping pictures and dusting surfaces for fingerprints. He noticed Lieutenant Travers standing in the living room. This was not a good sign, the Lieutenant almost never left the office. He walked up to him.

"Lieutenant, what's going on?"

"It's quite the mess, George. Follow me."

He led Forrester to the basement door and motioned him in, "This way. The basement is sound-proofed."

"That's probably not good." George offered.

"You don't know the half of it," he led him down to the main room where more people were tagging evidence and taking pictures, "what do you think?"

"It's a fucking dungeon. Shit Phil, what's up?"

"A shit show supreme . We sprayed luminol and there's blood and body fluids everywhere... and I do mean everywhere. There's a furnace down here filled with charred bone fragments and teeth and an altar with photos and souvenirs."

"Jeez, a fucking serial killer? Who lives here?"

"That's even more messed up... Doctor Bennet."

"The Dentist? He did my fucking crowns!"

"Ain't life a bitch," Travers couldn't help from chuckling, "who would have thought it?"

George shook his head and chuckled, "Crazy white folks. Y'all do some weird shit."

"Hey," the Lieutenant protested lightly, "you're half white, that makes you half crazy."

"That explains why I became a cop."

"No argument here, George."

Forrester  became serious again, "Who called it in?"

"We don't know. It was an anonymous tip about a break-in. Patrol got here and the door was open. They looked around and got quite a surprise."

"Shit, I'll bet. Hell of a last case for me."

Travers smiled, "So it's definitely final? No changing your mind about staying here? You're really heading north?"

"I got a great offer from that security firm and since Emma passed, all being around here does is remind me of how much I miss her."

"I get it. You'll do great among the Yankees, teach 'em how we do it down here. I wouldn't worry too much about this case. It's a serial and the feds will almost certainly be taking lead when they find out."

George smiled, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that is fine with me. Doc Bennet... un-fucking-believable. He never struck me as a psycho."

The Lieutenant shook his head, "They never do."

As the Lieutenant predicted, two federal agents arrived on the scene later that day. George had stayed on at the crime scene, assisting in it's documentation and to examine the shrine to the victims located in the basement.

The taller of the two agents approached him and stuck out his hand in greeting.
"I'm Special Agent Burke and this is Special Agent Hare. We've been asked to take over the lead on this investigation. I hope you don't have a problem with that. We don't want to step on anybody's toes."

George smiled broadly and shook the agent's hand.
"No problem at all Special Agent. We don't get these kind of crimes here. Frankly, it's a relief for you to take this off our hands. We'll offer any assistance you may need. I'm Sergeant Forrester."

"Very good Sergeant, where do we stand?"

"The suspect is Doctor William Bennet, he's a dentist and if the photos and souvenirs, as well as the bone fragments in the furnace, are any indication, he's probably killed at least fourteen. He appears to have fled the premises for some reason, perhaps he thought we were closing in..." George shook his head, "We weren't. We didn't know about any of these victims. In any case, he's on the run and we are chasing. His photo is being distributed and all police departments and airports, as well as bus and train stations within a hundred miles have been notified. We're also keeping our eye on all his credit cards. That's pretty much our status."

Agent Hare nodded and smiled, "Very thorough. We'll set up at your headquarters and with any luck we'll get this son of a bitch sooner rather than later." He turned to leave.

George was curious about something and put his hand on the agent's shoulder, prompting the Fed to turn.
"Is there something else?" The Agent asked.

"Nothing important," George said with a broad grin, "but I was just curious if you ever get any shit for you or your partners names?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Come on!" George chuckled and asked incredulously, " Burke and Hare... Burke and Hare!?" He saw a blank look on Burke's face, "The two most famous body snatchers of all time? Killed people and sold their bodies for dissection? Really,... nothing?"

"That would be a federal crime, Sergeant. I assure you I or Agent Hare would never..."

"No, not you," George interrupted, "in the nineteenth century. Wow, you guys really don't have a sense of humor."

Burke looked at him and forced a smile, "A joke... of course, ... very amusing. Carry on." The two agents left the basement.

George shook his head and muttered to himself, "I'm not leaving here a minute too soon. Lord help us."

Siggy made the preparations for his harvest. It would be less complicated this time. There would be no plastination for this piece, nor fingers, eyes, or organs, simply two sheets of skin eighteen inches square cut from the backs of his subjects, Jack's scalp, and the Predator's teeth. He did not at this point know that the Predator had been a dentist, but when he found out, he fully enjoyed the irony.

Prior to the actual harvest he selected his music for this phase of his creative project. He chose Nina Simone, and as the strains of Sinnerman began to play he carefully began to remove the skin from his subjects' backs.

Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Sinnerman where you gonna run to?
Where you gonna run to?

He put the two sheets of skin into a tank of saltwater to cure them. He turned on a circulator to agitate the water. They would be ready for tanning and stretching in sixteen hours. For the final process he would use zirconium and titanium salts to produce a soft off-white leather.

Siggy returned to his subjects and proceeded to pull the Predator's teeth.

Go to the Devil, the Lord said
Go to the Devil
He said go to the Devil
All on that day.

Finally, he scalped Jack and placed the scalp in the salted water alongside the skins.

Sinnerman, you oughta be prayin'
Outghta be prayin', sinnerman
Oughta be prayin', all on that day.

This was all he could do for now. He turned off the music. He would dump the bodies down the well later in the day. Siggy was expecting the movers soon to pick up his art for New York. He wanted to supervise the loading of his work. But first, he needed to clean up.

The movers came and went, carefully and professionally packing and loading all the art Siggy had stored. Thirty-six pieces ready to travel to New York. It was an interesting feeling for him. He found himself wondering if this was how parents felt as they saw their children off to college, a mixture of pride and dread, of happiness and sorrow. This was the threshold of new adventure, a new frontier for his art.

It would be several days before he could work on the skins. Until then he would construct and plan his box, select the other items he needed to include, and paint, varnish, and gild as he visualized. Today he still had chores. Siggy had a drink and returned to the workshop with a wheelbarrow.

As the sun set in golden splendor behind the distant North Carolina hills, he unceremoniously dumped the lifeless husks of his subjects into the abandoned well. He emptied a bag of lye into the well and with the help of a backhoe, pushed in enough soil to cover the bodies. Before returning to his house, he sat watching the sunset until Apollo's chariot descended fully below the horizon.