Shadow of Perception by Kristine Mason Page B

convinced she needed to take any measure, no matter how extreme, to make herself perfect. Or rather her mother’s perception of perfect.
    He brought the Wild Turkey to his lips again, and drank. As the whiskey traveled down his throat he looked to the still shot on the old TV. Michael had decided watching the DVD he’d created of Eliza would become part of each operation. The string of old home movies fueled his anger and grief. Especially this final still shot of Eliza lying on her bed, the razor wounds to her fragile wrists open and weeping with blood.
    He then looked to the final letter she’d written to him before she’d taken her life.  
    Make them pay, Daddy.
    After taking a final swig, he slammed the bottle of whiskey onto the desk. He would make them pay. Elliot paid for the botched up breast implants he’d given his daughter. He’d paid severely. Now, Dr. Brian Westly would pay. Yes, he might have simply been Eliza’s dentist, but Westly had been involved with the group of plastic surgeons who had manipulated and mutilated his daughter. After Eliza had died, and he’d investigated the surgeons, Michael had learned that Westly enjoyed fat kickbacks for every patient he’d sent to the group.  
    The thought of Westly making money off the insecurities of his daughter and other naïve, young women, lavishing himself with expensive cars, vacation homes and exotic trips, made him physically sick. Bile rose in his throat, but he bit his lip and swallowed. The acidic burn from the Wild Turkey would serve as a reminder. Westly, and the others, would pay for their crimes.  
    With renewed determination and rage, he left the office and moved quickly into the OR. Westly still hadn’t awakened, and remained restrained in the barber’s chair Michael had bought at a garage sale. A slow smile tugged at his mouth as Michael anticipated Westly’s reaction when he suddenly woke and realized he was in hell.  
    Michael grabbed a syringe from the nearby workbench and double-checked the amount of paralytic he would soon administer. He then made sure the video camera had been set properly. After a few quick adjustments, Michael approached his patient, then gave his bony face a hard slap.
    Westly jerked, but remained immobile due to the duct tape Michael had wrapped around the man’s head, hands, and ankles. Panic shone bright in Westly’s eyes as he darted his gaze first at him, then around the room.  
    “Oh my God,” the man yelled. “What the hell is this? Where am I?”
    “Hell is exactly where you are, Dr. Westly. Welcome.”
    Westly rapidly blinked his eyes several times. “Wait, you’re my…new patient. I checked your teeth today.”
    “That’s right,” Michael said as he raised the syringe. “What did you say when we were introduced? Ah…that’s right. New patient or latest victim.”
      Westly stared at the syringe Michael held in front of him. His overlarge Adam’s apple bobbed as he opened his mouth. “I…what did I do to you? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry,” he screamed and tried to kick his legs.  
    “There’s no use in exerting your energy, Dr. Westly. You’re fully restrained and will remain so until we’ve completed your procedure.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?” Westly darted his eyes from the syringe and then to the workbench. “Oh no. No, no, no, no. You can’t be serious. You can’t,” he finished with a shout as he kept his gaze riveted on the Black and Decker drill.
    “As a heart attack. Sorry, that was a bit clichéd,” Michael said with a smile. “Now I suggest you calm down and relax.”
    “Calm down? Do you know who I am? I—”
      Michael backhanded the dentist, then leaned into his face. “Make no mistake, I know exactly who you are, Doctor Brian Westly. You prey on naïve, young women with fragile egos and zero self-confidence. You make them feel bad about themselves in order to make a buck…or in my daughter’s case, twenty