I find them where humanity pools. Nomads, far from home. Hookers. Drug addicts. Girls on the run from their family, their abusive alcoholic fathers or controlling mothers, not many years ago merely scared teenagers.
I give them what they need. I give them what they want to hear, and they come to me like a moth to the flame. It’s so easy. Ply them with drink and wait until it feels just right, until I can see the snare closing around their neck. They’re all flirtatious smiles and gestures because they found a stranger who makes them feel strangely warm inside, but they don’t know what I know – that they’re animals walking into my trap.
It’s awfully dark to walk home alone along the side of the road isn’t it? Come on, let me give you a ride, you’ll freeze to death out here. Reluctance melted by warm smile and good looks. Why don’t you come out back with me to my truck? I want to show the old 8-track player and we can listen to The Eagles. Resistance dissipated by that final shot of tequila we had. How about we go back to the hotel? I’ve got a bowl to smoke and more whiskey to drink. Trepidation gives way to acceptance and hedonistic desire.
They think they have a choice, but I know I’m in control all along. This is something I know in my mind but they never do – on some subconscious level they must be aware, but they never realize it.
This one is different. This one excites me even before then end, before the screaming and the crying, before her body turning cold as its warmth escapes into the night air. She kisses me hard and I can feel the fire inside her. She’s straddling me in the driver’s seat and I can feel it, feel its warmth burning with the one down below, the one she’s rubbing up against me beneath her black skirt.
I get harder when I think about what comes next, about the wrench at arm’s length in the backseat, and the sound it will make when it connects with her skull, that fleshly crack unlike anything else. I get harder when I think about her crying for mercy, huddled in a heap after she’s crawled into the backseat. About her begging me to stop, stop, please stop, when I’m completely in control, and I won’t.
She hikes up her skirt as she rubs against me, and I fumble with my belt and pants. Then I am inside her. Her blond hair is all around me and she’s so warm, and she’s making those little sounds.
I thrust into her and think about the wrench. So soon now, until just the right moment.
And then I hear a metallic click, and there is a sharp pain in my neck. I put a hand to my throat and feel the wet warmth of my blood gushing out. Pain, as she grabs the blade from my neck and stabs it into my chest over and over. I arch my back and I’m plunging deeper inside her as she’s plunging it into me. Finally I slump in the seat and the warmth of her is heavy upon me.
She brushes her long blond hair back from her face with a blood-soaked hand, and smiles wickedly at me in the dark. I can see the white of her teeth in the near blackness. She laughs.
“Silly boy, I’m not that kind of girl….”