I don't know that I remember my first so much as my last. Things had escalated at that point; from simple sexual assault, a warning beating or the threat to kill, to the shredding and violence that got me caught. I was out of control and seeing red. Well, that and I was a stupid kid. But I had plenty of time to think growing up in juvie and I certainly came out with a better understanding of what not to do this time.
My last. I still think of her; the fear in her eyes and the bubbles of pleading that dripped from her wet lips as I choked her. I really thought she was dead and so in my young mind, a coverlet of rotten leaves would surely be enough to hide my sin. Her sin. But as the newspapers spewed, she crawled to through the woods, to the road and then ten miles up hill in the snow with no shoes... yada yada yaDAH. She went twenty yards on level ground. Okay, she was naked but it wasn't like my new graduating class. My new students are left with very little; to identify. They are mere shells of who they are when they go into the woods with me; physically, mentally and spiritually. Maybe they help me. Yeah at some level. They quiet the salty gears that scream under my scalp and demand I do this. Funny, I always liked girls; soft and gentle. Tender and loving. But then the rage of the machine became too strong so in order to fight back, I needed minions and warriors; willing or not to get past the awful shades of crimson that flooded my mind.
Having been out for two years, I thought I was good to go but then there was a familiar, rusty squeak as the gears sensed my availability to feed it once more. I had a job, friends, even started flirting with a lovely lady I met at a bookstore. We were both in the self help section. Since her death and disappearance, I honor her by hunting there. In different cities of course. I am fortunate that my job takes me all over. I hunt only when needed. When my sweating and stammering are too pronounced. When I notice the looks from others as I walk by arguing with the powers that be; often bargaining like a child. "Just leave me ALONE! You can't tell me what to do...." but it can. The machine is strong.
I was enjoying Chi-town. My home city; waltzing down the main drag and sucking down a slice as the wind slapped at me; welcoming me home. I felt good. Confident. I almost made it beyond the store but the machine ground my feet to a halt and left me there at the door; as a command, you see. It was time. I had no choice so I went in.
I love the smell of paper and ink ~ the way it fills your mouth with pleasure and words unspoken. The sound of books being opened for the first time, their spines cracking under the unassuming oppressor; their pages, their skin, bent and pulled, caressed or etched with worthless tattoos of notes and pointless observations. I begin in the comedy section and look around. No little dumplings in need of a pretend bestie; someone who makes them laugh when they are alone (again and again). Onto the Sci-fi. These are not my type because I think they are crazy. They live in some far off Neverland where aliens and robots play off of ancient myths and devour our society and species. They need lives.
Always pass by the true crime. They are suspicious lonely bitches who love Lifetime movies and hate the thought of giving any part of themselves in a relationship. They take pictures all the time and ask questions like they were Poirot or Madame Christie herself. I don't need that shit. No thank you, let's move on. A woman here stops and stares at me. She is in the middle of the aisle, wearing a stupid hat. Who wears hats? Really! I look at what she's reading~ a book about that lady who killed all her babies in Philly. Munchausen Syndrome? Maybe. She nods and offers a small pretty smile. It looks familiar to me. I reach out an gently touch her to get her to do what I want ... move. I return her grin and quietly whisper into her hair "Spoiler alert... everyone dies at the end." She laughs and covers her mouth because we both know it was in poor taste. I keep going. Not that one. Not today. She looks after me, disappointed I think that we will not be engaging.
Ahhhhh the psych section. A little self help anyone? I love it here. All the uncertainties and reservations wander around like lost hopeful puppies. And there she is. My next student. A lovely little red head. I pick something near her and make sure it isn't about menopause or baby blues. I look at her nervously and when she looks up I know to sheepishly back up with apologies for invading her space. I see her author and the book and realize she is a young woman needing or wanting to build a more rewarding relationship. I smile at her choice and tell her I've read it. I have read the jacket cover before when I was hunting in Wisconsin I think. She tucks it away and so begins our game. I must start again by apologizing for reading over her shoulder. It builds her confidence and gives her power to forgive me, a stranger. She volleys back by looking at my book. "How to make friends." She looks at me and says I should have no trouble. I look smart and polite. I dig my shoe into the carpet as an "aw shucks Ma'am" we grin at each other again.
She doesn't know what she's done. I look away as if embarrassed and we continue to lob insecurities at each other. This turns into a coffee and laughter at our fears of relationships and frailties. We exchange numbers and text worthless emojis while making another time to meet because she is on her way to an appointment. I'm sure her therapist will happily scrawl that progress was made today...venturing out of her shell to be rewarded with a kind friend and possible relationship by showing her vulnerabilities and demonstrating the human need to be ... loved... liked whatever... she IS needed. And the machine shifts into second gear to remind me. I feel a hunger and a burning know what is to come. I am so excited that I bump into someone I head out the door. I need to see if Red is driving her own car, Uber or a public system. Public. YES. I feel a pat on my chest.
"Everyone dies at the end." she giggles and adjusts her frumpy hat. A true Inspector Clouseau.
I brush passed her to get the bus number and begin my game of cat and mouse. Weirdo.
I spend about two weeks watching Red. I know her gym routine (why would you go to a spin class and pretend to ride a bike?) and her work schedule. I know she has a been working long hours to fill a void but she says it will get her up the ladder. She meets her posse on Tuesdays not the normal ladies' night Thursdays because that turns the bars into meat markets and who knows just what kind of loser or deviant you could run into... am I right? I know.. Ohhh I know. So we exchange and exchange and the machine is getting warmer and I begin to sweat. I sound like Mel Tillis as I hear myself stammer through sentences with her about an imaginary home life and ex girlfriend or the job where I am a victim of a ruthless self-absorbed prick of a boss who doesn't understand... I don't know ... I just talk and she reaches out to me and befriends me and when we meet for coffees, she touches my hand and looks at me ... Done. She trusts me. I can ask her for anything; money, sex but all I want is to take her on a picnic. It's laughable. A picnic sounds so lovely and sweet doesn't it? You picutre a little blankie with wine and cheeses and dogs in a park and sunshine.
I tell her there is a pretty little place I know of and would she join me. She jumps at the suggestion and this makes me smile. The machine knows it's almost time. We set plans and I begin to prepare my kit. I will need the drugs for the wine and cheese spread in case she doesn't drink. I need the tarp and the bags of course and my knives. I look over the jars... do I keep anything ? Nah trophies are dangerous. Maybe I'll just eat some of her hair or her fingernails like the others. We text back and forth about how excited we are. This is the only truth I have told.
I tell her where to meet me and arrive early to scope the scene. It is fairly empty; this spot I've chosen. I've used it before when I was young. Before I got stupid and nabbed by the cops. I sit on the bench closest to the trail I want to take. I've been walking through here for the last few days making sure things are where and what I want them to be. Not too desolate to rouse her fears but intimate so she feels we can be alone.
I wait. As I sit and play the endgame in my mind I am jarred by conversation that is coming from outside my head. It's not the machine's happy prattling and expectation but another voice... I look up and see a frumpy hat.
"Wow small world. I've seen you around here a lot these few days" she says and sits down. I take a breath to ask her what the fuck she thinks she's doing but the machine stops me. "I read that book.." she plays with the buttons on her coat. "You were right."
I check my watch and give her an impatient half smile. "Do I know you?" I ask. That should embarrass her. Mortify her into running away and hiding. She cocks her head a little wounded but continues on.
"Yeah. You do." she playfully slaps me with the back of her hand and drudges on with words I don't care about. I want to shut her up. The machine is running at full speed and I feel myself sweating. It's so hot in these clothes. I stutter that I am supposed to meet someone. She asks when. I look at my watch again and say now. She looks around and tells me no one is here so she will keep me company until they arrive. GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY ! I can't believe this stupid bitch. She is like gum on the bottom of my shoe. The machine slows a bit and tells me it's fine. Take her instead. I decide that is a wonderful idea. I regain myself and become more charming. I offer her my arm and ask if she'd be so kind as to keep a silly romantic who's been jilted company. She beams and says of course. This may not be so bad. We stroll off into the woods. She eats bread and drinks from her water bottle. This isn't working for me or the machine. I make a cheese and cracker and pour wine. She refuses. I'm getting really pissed. I scooch closer and touch her hand. She doesn't pull away. I reach for her cheek and brush her hair back. There is a bald spot and a scar. I focus on it too long. She becomes sensitive and pulls her hair back to cover it, changing topics. I am not listening. I am thinking of how to feed the machine. I say "Uh-huh" and "mmm " thoughtfully and listen for footsteps. No one is coming.
And that is when I feel a heat and spray of warm. I gasp and feel a harsh push and pull. It smells like blood. I look and see that it is. It is MY blood. This crazy bitch has taken the bread knife I was going to use to get her clothes off and cut her with to stab me. I am wild eyed and shocked. I grab my chest but she is slicing and slashing at me. Fast. She is really fast. I fall over and begin to kick and scramble away from her. She grabs my shirt and pulls me back. I am surprised at her strength. Every time she touches me she cuts. I can't stop the blood. It is ruining my picnic blanket. I am reaching for the wine bottle to crack her head open. I am begging her to stop. I tell her she's crazy and she is hurting me. Her voice is a childish, whine as she hisses at me "Do you know me? DO YOU REMEMBER ME?"
She rolls me and puts her knees to my chest. It feels like my blood and life are racing out of me with each beat of my weakening heart. She stuffs napkins in my mouth and I am choking. My eyes are bulging. My head is throbbing. She cups my face in her hands and pulls back her hair. A wig. The scar is bigger than I first saw and I understand. I am looking at the one who got away; the one who has waited and plotted better than I have. I am too weak to fight her. There is no sound, only muffled noises through thick cotton. I no longer feel pain. I glance around one last time and stare at my shredded clothes, pieces of me she has hacked away... I see Red.
And hello friends. I am trying to get back here sooner and yes, this is my first re-introduction into the fear factory. I have a couple more ideas floating around so be sure visit again and share with me your thoughts and opinions. It helps me become a better writer. Besides, I enjoy your company. Hope your days are good and your laughter long. Until next time...
