“Julie, you say that every time you come over here. Don’t you like being in my bed?”
“Well it’s not really the bed that interests me you know.”
“Oh you mean you actually come for another reason?”
“As a matter of fact I come over here because I like wrapping my arms around you.”
There are some giggles and the light goes back out. Wren waits for her eyes and the goggles to readjust to the darkness. She listens, there are still sounds coming from the bedroom she recognizes them but tries not to think about what is going on out there.
After a long while Wren can hear someone snoring and decides that now is the time. Creeping forward she pushes the closet door open slowly, very slowly. She crawls over to the bed and slowly rises. Like an ominous monster of the dark from some childhood nightmare. She cocks the gun on her left arm and with the pistol in her right takes aim at each of the sleeping young women each locked tight in a lovers embrace.
She simultaneously pulls the triggers, the only sounds being the shattering of the girls skulls from the impact of the bullets and their final stop in the floor below the bed. Wren slips out the window and onto the porch roof, pulls the window and the screen back down and hurries across the roof. At the edge she finds the flaw in her plans, how to get from the rooftop to the ground.
Wren starts to search frantically for a way down knowing that every moment she spends there is another step closer to capture. All around the porch the drop is at least ten feet but, at one end there sits an SUV though it is a good five or six feet from the edge of the porch. She has two choices: try to drop off the edge and hope the gutters hold or try to jump to the top of the SUV—she decides to jump. She runs as fast as she can from one end to the other. The jump goes a little too far and she almost slides off the top of the SUV. She flails but gets her balance then lets herself down to the running board and on to the ground.
She runs as quickly as she can, flitting from bush to bush until finally she makes it back to her bike. She remounts and heads for home where she quickly changes clothes to black leather pants, a hot pink sleeveless sweater and a leather jacket. Once changed, she is off again this time to a downtown club for some entertainment to clear her mind.
Once there she finds a stool at the bar and orders a Coke. A tall man comes up behind her and asks her to dance. She takes him up on it though he isn’t the type she normally would have chosen herself. He is young, real young, tall dark hair, deep dark thoughtful eyes, his hair is crew cut short and rich black and to Wren it looked good against his dark skin. He just doesn’t have the muscles like someone who works hard at construction or other heavy labor gets, the kind of hard build she really likes. As she dances she never gets too close to him, always staying just out of arm's reach. The song ends and he walks her over to a table in the corner.
“Don’t like guys getting too close to you do you?”
“No not really, my last real experience wasn’t really endearing.”
They talk for a long time about this, and that, though nothing in particular, he always trying to get closer, her always moving away.
“You know I don’t think this is going to work out the way you're thinking so I’m going to leave and you can try for one of these other pretty ladies. Okay?”
“Hey whatever I’m cool, but if you get interested I’m here most every Friday night.”
“All right, I’ll remember that.”
Wren really had no interest in remembering that or any idea why she went with him to his table or talked for so long. She did understand why she couldn’t get close to him though. She felt he wanted something she couldn’t give, that she wouldn’t give, not yet anyway the memories were just too fresh. She went back home. It was two thirty in the morning when she got back yet she really wasn’t sleepy.
Back home she makes a hot cup of tea and sits down on the old sofa. She reaches behind her and plugs in a cord then opens the laptop and starts studying her next victims.
Harvey Clear, 6997 Chippewa, drives a red two thousand Escort wagon, works at a Gloria Jean’s coffee shop in Crestwood mall, honor society president, captain of the debate team, going to UMSL for civil engineering.
“No one would suspect this guy of being in this gang. I guess by the picture the old saying’s right, don't judge a book by its cover.”
Adam Edwards, 3815 Mc Causland Ave. doesn’t own a car, takes the bus or bicycle wherever he needs to go, lives in an apartment on the third floor.
“What an environmentalist. Now how do we save the planet from him? Oh now isn’t this funny; works at Shoe Carnival at Mackenzie point, and has a foot fetish. Foot fetish and working in a shoe store, sounds like a line from a bad joke.”
Jim Estepp, 1335 S. Lindbergh Blvd. drives a blue sixty-five beetle, works for a landscape company, second year of pre-med, prefers overweight women with black hair.
“Some of the details Hacker put in here are just weird.”
Bob Gristmond, 1673 Crabapple lane, drives an orange seventy-six Pacer, works at Weekends only furniture store on Lindbergh, prefers skinny blondes and anal sex.
“Three have cars and two have predictable jobs, I think it’s time to mix up how I do things. So Bob you're first.”
She closes up the laptop and decides that tired or not she could do nothing else before daybreak. It doesn’t take her near as long to fall asleep though as her body is more tired than her mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment