Big mistake. The man grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to my feet. I screamed and tried to reach for the door, but he jerked my head back against his chest, raising the knife to my throat.
“Shhh,” he said. I stopped mid-scream, my mouth still hanging open. The metal edge of the knife was cold as ice on my throat. If I shifted my weight, it would slice me open as easy as anything. Ohnononono.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man said. “But I will if I have to.”
“Please, no,” I whimpered. “Please—”
“No more talking,” the man said. “Just smile and nod for yes, or shake your head for no. Okay?”
I opened my mouth to say okay, then realized my mistake. I pressed my lips together and nodded slightly. The edge of the knife was sharp against my skin.
“One more time, then. Are you with the police?”
I shook my head no.
“Is your car out on the road?”
I nodded yes.
“Is there anybody else out there?”
I hesitated, then shook my head no.
“Does anybody know you’re gone?”
What would he do to me? Would he kill me if he knew somebody was out there looking for me? Or the other way around? I didn’t know, and I was so scared that I fell back on the truth. I couldn’t help the tears running down my face as I shook my head.
No. Nobody knows I’m gone. Nobody knows I’m here. There’s nobody coming to save me.
Gav
Spring cleaning was my favorite time of year. Cleaning itself was glorious. The shiny sink, the gleaming floors. The bright windows looking out on the pine trees.
And in spring I allowed myself to kill early, before the shadow crept in on me and began to rot me from the inside out. I had really been looking forward to this kill, to getting rid of the shadow. And then she had to pop into my nice clean world and mess everything up.
I knew that I couldn’t let her go. That much was certain. But I couldn’t kill her either.
I mean, I could. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t cared about another human since I can remember words. I remember –vividly remember—the sensation of looking up at my mother, the sun behind her hair.
Then—darkness—looking down at her body.
After that, there was no caring anymore. Only numbness.
I could kill this woman; the difficulty comes from all of the attendant complications. Her car, for one. Her cell phone. If she turned out to be a cop. Or even if not, whether she’d told a friend where she was going. Whether she had an accomplice waiting for her at the road. Even as I held the knife to her throat I was checking off all of the things I needed to do.
All of the complications that she had brought to my nice, simple, serene life.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m as peaceful as Siddhartha, ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s only that the shadow builds around the edges like dirt on a glass table. It builds and builds, creeping inward, until it reaches the heart, and then the choice is simple.
I have to destroy or be destroyed. And I’ve always chosen the former.
Interesting, since I don’t have much reason to live. But I figure that neither does anyone else. So who’s to say I should be the one to go? I have to admit I tilt the odds in my favor when I weigh my lives against those of my victims. It’s easy to look through public records. Easy to find the rich men who have settled their abuse cases with fines instead of jailtime. It’s so easy to pick out the men who, like me, are capable of hurting others.
They’ve all been men. I’ve never captured a woman. Or killed one.
She might be the first.
Kat
“Alright,” the man said. The pressure of the knife eased up off of my neck. “Let’s go inside.”
He let go of me and gestured down the wood-paneled hallway. I choked back my sobs and took a step forward. My leg gave out under me as pain shot upward from my ankle and I bent over, clutching my leg.
“Ahh,” I gasped. It was almost completely dark in the front hallway, and I couldn’t see the features of the man anymore. I didn’t know whether he would cut my throat right then and there if I spoke, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t walk. I could feel myself beginning to have a panic attack. My pills. Where were my pills?
“It—it hurts,” I whispered.
“To walk?”
“I rolled my ankle.” The man gave a deep sigh. The knife twirled in his hand.
“Wait! I can crawl,” I said quickly. “Please. I’ll crawl. I’ll—”
“Come on,” the man said, reaching out to me. He pulled me to my feet and put one arm around my waist, holding me up. “I really don’t have time for this.”