If It Didn't Suck....

1

He had slipped into her bedroom window shortly before seven.
It had been easy enough since the window was open an inch already. He had counted on that. Ever since he could remember, even on the coldest of nights, she would open the window a little to let some fresh air in. She would always say something like, "fresh air is healthy." Healthy?, what a joke, he thought, I always had a God damned cold. Those times, however, have long since passed. He felt that it was time to renew their relationship, or more importantly, finish where he left off.

Once inside, he stood in the shadows for several seconds waiting for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. Alone in the darkness, he could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. He was the hunter, getting ready for the kill. In those brief moments, while waiting for his eyes to adjust he felt omnipotent, feral, and indestructible.

When his eyes became acclimated to his nocturnal surroundings, he surveyed the room. The room was papered in a floral print, and the Queen sized bed had linen with a floral print. The room itself had a vague scent of lilacs. He wanted to wretch. He always hated her damn obsession with flowers.

He made his way over to the big triple dresser, which was littered with cosmetics and perfumes. On the far side of the dresser stood a jewelry box that looked familiar to him. He picked it up and examined it carefully. He didn't worry about fingerprints because he had coated each finger with a layer of Elmer's glue. The glue would fill in the indentations around the whorls and loops of the fingers.

The jewelry box was slightly smaller than a shoe box. It was hand carved in a floral pattern. Though the box was chipped and scratched, and the varnish was worn a little more, it was the same one he had given her. He opened it up, and in the center a small plastic ballerina did her endless pirouette as The Fugue played on. It had been his grandmother's and it was the first thing he gave her, back when he had loved her. That was a lifetime ago. The only feelings he had for her now were feelings of hatred.

He closed it and put the box back down. He picked up a bottle of perfume and brought the bottle up to his face and smelled the faint aroma.

Wrinkling his nose in disgust he tossed it aside and opened the bureau drawers. He found a pair of her pantyhose and stuffed them into his pocket. For later, he thought.

Then, he sifted through her panty drawer. His fingers moving obscenely over her private things. Black ones, white ones, lacy ones and frilly ones. The red satin had always been his favorite. He picked up a bunch of her panties and brought them to his face and smelled them slowly almost lovingly; and then threw them around the floor and dresser top. Then, with his arm, he swept all of the bottles off of the top of the bureau, on to the carpeted floor. He thought of what he had to do next. Everything had to look exactly right. There could be no margin of error.
Walking over to the closet he pulled out a very sharp, very deadly hunting knife from a leather sheath on his belt. He opened the closet and carefully, methodically, sliced up all of her clothing. Looking down at his handiwork he noticed a name tag on a piece of tattered clothing. He stooped down to pick it up.

It read; MONICA SANDS R.N.

R.N., he thought, how the hell did that dumb bitch become a registered nurse?
He put it into his pocket and went into the kitchen and looked around. He opened the refrigerator and found a small box with leftover pizza. Putting the box on the counter, he opened the cabinet over the sink and took down a glass and filled it with ice from the freezer. In the living room he found the liquor cabinet and poured himself a nice glass of Stolenshya. He sat down and on an overstuffed sofa with a tacky floral print. He took a bite of the cold pizza and sipped the vodka and waited for her to come home.
He couldn't believe that he had actually seen her this morning on the television. With a little effort on his part, and a few returned favors, he knew everything there was to know about her an hour later. He was astounded at his good fortune.
It's Karma, he thought, everything evens it self out in the end. I'll bet she'll be happy to see me, after all it has been years. Seven years, nine months and seventeen days. That bitch will pay.
He slowly drifted off into sleep and dreamed of the impending reunion and a sinister smile crept over his lips.

****
The ride on the B train seemed to take a lot longer tonight. Monica Sands sat near the conductor's booth with her hand in her pocket curled around her small mace canister.
The door opened and Monica felt her heart jump into her throat. It was an old and dirty homeless man walking stinking from filth he was forced to live in.
"Spare some change?" he asked.
She reached into her other pocket and gave him some. He smiled a toothless smile and said, "God bless you lady," and then shuffled away.
The next stop was hers. She thought of asking the man to walk with her but didn't. She really had a bad feeling tonight.
The train pulled into her station. The platform was deserted. She thought of that as a mixed blessing. On one hand there was no one there to be wary of, but on the other hand, there was no one there to come to her aid if someone jumped out from behind one of the pillars.
As she quickly ran to the stairs no one jumped out to accost her. She breathed a sigh of relief and began to descend the stairs.

Climbing down the stairs to the street she had hoped to see a cab, or some car from a car service drive by, she did not feel safe to walk the three long blocks home. However, she had no luck. The streets were deserted and she began to feel cold from the icy November chill.
She began to walk. The blocks seemed endless. The streetlights were casting peculiar shadows on the sidewalk. She increased her pace. She tried to stifle her breathing for fear that the clouds of air might giver her away.

In her mind, a single sentence repeated itself over and over again; I'm too young to die.
She really thought that she would die that night. She had come close to death before, but instead of the experience making her stronger, it just helped to increase her fear.
Turning the corner she saw her house and her sanctuary. She increased her pace even more, almost breaking into a run.

Once she was in front of her house she frantically searched her bag for her keys; in the process dropping a tube of lipstick, several tissues and a half eaten pack of lifesavers.

She fumbled with the keys trying to find the right one. They fell to the floor as well. As she stooped to pick them up she thought she felt eyes upon her.
Pushing her glasses up on her nose with an index finger she turned around.
Surveying the block she noticed that it was deserted, but there were too many places that someone could hide. Every tree, every fence, even the twin mailboxes on the corner became a hiding place for something deadly and malevolent.


She bent down to pick the keys and thrust the key into the lock and turned it. The lock opened immediately and she jumped inside; slamming the door behind her.

Once inside she dropped her bag to the floor, leaned against the door and let out a hugh sigh of relief. When she regained her composure she picked up her bag and switched on the lights. Looking through the peephole she saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no odd shadows, no sinister movement, no maniacs in waiting.

It was silly to think that a killer was stalking me, she thought, almost laughing. She was right. It was silly to think that a killer was stalking her. He was already inside.