The evening of the acquittal promised to be a pivotal point in our relationship. We would finally be alone together for the first time. We originally met in the Sea View prison. We conversed daily for months, but only within the unnatural confines of prison. I had never experienced her company outside of captivity.
We separated in front of the courthouse to avoid attention, intending on reconvening at her home for a quiet evening. I followed her to Mount Rose, NJ, as planned. Within a mile of her home, however, the road was blocked by throngs of well-wishers and police barricades, akin to the scene we had left outside the courthouse. What was once a quiet country road was now a transient metropolis, replete with tents and makeshift shanties.
I snaked my BMW Z8 away from the turmoil and somehow stayed behind Destiny’s silver Accord. I contemplated my relationship with Destiny as I followed her toward New York City.
Destiny has been impressed by me since our initial encounter. Admiration inevitably evolved toward physical attraction. In my personal experience this affinity is essentially inevitable. Captivity would naturally superimpose an interesting component to Destiny’s desires. As long as she was in prison, I was her forbidden fruit. Up until the acquittal, our relationship was safely contained within predictable boundaries. What would happen once she was free to express her emotions? The serial killer psyche can tolerate emotional proximity in captivity, but not out in the world at large. This is not, of course, to suggest that Destiny is guilty of murder. She has been acquitted, so I must convey nothing other than her innocence.
You wonder if the attraction was completely unidirectional. All along I was certain that it was. I must admit that Destiny is an attractive woman. Even more alluring is the Satin Strangler thought by most to lurk somewhere within Destiny.
A few hours later we had reconvened at a restaurant table in Little Italy. During dinner I found myself searching for the Satin Strangler through Destiny’s eyes, trying to decide if I was willing to risk giving into her desires.
Destiny’s face has a girl-next-door sweetness, but her malachite eyes betray an unsettled core. I watched her hands tease apart a loaf of bread into smaller pieces and tuck them between her lips. Were those hands strong enough to tighten stockings around the necks of the Satin Strangler’s victims? I said “no” for months to the police, press, jury and judge. I strode through the courtroom, locked gazes with each juror, and declared, “No, there is insufficient evidence in the prosecutor's case to convict this young woman of those heinous crimes. She is innocent. She could be your daughter. She could be your neighbor. Look at her. Look into her eyes. Is this a woman capable of killing?"
Was Destiny capable of killing? I continued to ask myself this question. As her lawyer, I had to say “no.” But sitting there at dinner, watching her every move, I was suddenly exhilarated by the possibility that she could in fact be the Satin Strangler. Could those hands strangle a man? Could this girl kill? I found myself wanting to think so. I imagined being wrapped in her satin web. I fantasized about the touch, not of the frightened young Destiny Blande, but of the fiery Satin Strangler seductress within.
We left our dinner half eaten. The rest of the evening must be left to your imagination.
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This is post #42 in The Satin Strangler Blogs (TSSB).
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