As she slams the door on her Chevy. I pull out the burner and take down her plate number.
All this time, she was right here, in Oakland. Living so close to where I stalk, breathing my air, haunting my streets.
Looking up, I see that she’s come from the nail salon. She takes care of herself. I like that.
Shaking my head free of the notion, I find my truck and sink into it, watching her red car get further away in my rearview.
“Where are you going, pretty poison?” I whisper.
It doesn’t take me long to use the systems I’m hacked into to run her plate and find her address, and to my surprise, she lives in the middle of nowhere; the only neighbor is a ranch across the street, but the house sits far up on a hill, and the driveway has to be nearly a mile long.
No one will hear her screams.
She hurries inside as if the Devil is on her heels.
In her case, I guess he is.
I grin as I drive past, plans to return after dark already working through my brain.
I’ll come back when she’s unaware, with rope and my blades.
A giddy thrill sets into my teeth, and I grind them again.
Hours later, I’m back. My truck is parked off a dirt road I found a mile down from her house, an entrance into the cow pasture beside her property.
My bag is slung over my shoulder, the ski mask with the menacing skull painted on it over my face, gloves on my hands, and titillation is growing in my stomach lining.
Her door only has one lock, and there’s no dog to get in my way.
She thinks she’s safer than she truly is out here alone in the backcountry. Her house sits on the very outskirts of town, miles from help.
She’s such a pretty little recluse, hiding away from the scrutiny of the city.
She’s in her bed, sprawled on her back, with a book forgotten in her right hand. She’d been reading.
Clicking off the light, I veil the room in case she rouses. Slinking into the shadows is as easy as breathing.
I’m more comfortable in the darkness.
Reaching down, I move some of her hair off her face that hides her from me.
Devastating.
What is the matter with you? Bind her!
I shake the inner voice away, not giving it life as my hand reaches for the easily accessible four-inch fixed blade sheathed at my side.
Popping the button on the sheath, I grip the hilt, encasing it as I watch her take a deep inhale, a moan escaping from her perfect, cupid-bow-shaped lips. It stops me in my tracks.
She unhands the book, turning onto her side, and the thin-strapped nightgown slides one way and her perfect breast the other.
Crouching, I scan my eyes over her rose-pink nipple, licking my lips as I wonder what they’d taste like with blood spilling from them.
This isn’t helping!
The voice that steers my delusions is loud tonight, and I’m typically more accepting.
When it comes to her, however, I don’t care for what it has to say.
