by Mark Edwards
“Honey, why did you leave the front door open, you know these bugs will come in?” she blew up, switching her grocery bag to her left hand after resting her head on her right shoulder, gripping her mobile phone closer to her right ear. Her golden hair hung over.
“Madge, let me call you back,” she said before putting her mobile phone on the foyer table.
“Now, who's that?” She tip toed towards the library that was located to the left of their hall room. “Andy?” She rid her tall legs of the heels and continued moving stealthily towards the library.
Am I hearing right? She pondered. “Andy, playing the cello, nah,” she murmured, listening the allegro from the bows of her own string instrument. Beautiful, she thought.
“Andy, we've been married for 3 years and I never knew you played the cello, yet handling it so beautifully. I guess you're playing that song for us, right?” she enchanted, both hands covering her chest; her cheeks reddened.
The music continued.
She pushed the door of their home library opened.
“Andy... Wait, who are you?” she blazed, making a backward step after seeing this stranger in her home, sitting, back turned to her, bowing painfully beautiful by now, against the plucked strings of her own cello.
The music continued.
The stranger's music started to sound decently ugly by now; he played the instrument even harder, his layered colored brown hair flashing to every movement of his bow, making the frightened owner of the house almost appreciative of what sounded somewhat like an ensemble in her own library.
I guess Andy is trying to be romantic this evening, hiring a cello player, but what's the occasion? she wondered, standing there, totally taken aback.
She clapped, raising her long hands in the hair.
“Impressive.”
“Thank you,” he accepted, resting a finger on the scroll of the mid-sized wooden instrument, making it spin beneath his hand.
“And...who are you? I,m Amy.” She stretched a hand out.
“Nice to meet you, Amy,” he crooned, getting up and accepting her salutation with a kiss on her knuckles and not without doing a curtsy. She pulled her hand away, a bit forward, she supposed. She then pulled her skirt down, making sure it was above her knees and started buttoning her blue cardigan over her yellow tank top.
“And you said your name was?”
“Nice piece of instrument you've got there, Amy.”
“Oh, thanks,” she murmured, keeping every movement of him in sight.
He closed the buttons of his coat.
“...But, why are you here? Did my husband hire you?”
“Nah, I was just planning on spending the night.”
She shuffled backward and looked over at the large ceramic vase that rested on top of the shelf, which had been strained with at least a thousand book, to the left of the room.
“Don't even think about it,” he smiled after obviously looking on what her eyes were focused on and figured what she would try to pull off.
She continued looking him over, from head to his boots, but paying close attention to his straight face. Do I know this man? she kept wondering, even as he brushed a hand through his middle-parted hair.
“What-are-you-doing in- my-home?” she ranted, taking deep breaths between words, her chest muscles moving up and down.
He pulled a see-through plastic bag from his bosom. Her eyes open wide; she swiftly reached for her cell phone. “No!” she screamed after he swiftly held her wrist before she could even complete her 911 dial out.
“I won't be needing company over here, Madam,” he warned. By now she was pulled close to him, his arm around her neck.
“What-do-you- want, Mister? Did my husband hire you to kill me?”
“Nah. He couldn't afford me anyway.” He looked her over, with some amount of disdain, forming a rigid line between his brows. "And since we're on it, why would he hire someone to kill you?"
She looked on, lips quivering, not uttering a single word, only thinking her way out of this.
"Yeah, why would your husband contract someone to kill you?"
She continued looking down on the transparent plastic bag that he held.
"You not going to tell me?" he coaxed, dangerously calm. He pushed his hair behind his large ears and then edged closer.
"My husband... He probably found out that I had screwed his business partner, Barnes. But I honestly never meant to."
"Never meant to, oh." He held his head down, arms crossed, with the palm of his hand holding his chin up, as if he could relate to the pain her husband would've endured, having known this.
“Why do you do crap like this? It's really not a nice thing to betray someone who loves you, you know.”
“Well..” she stuttered, “I know but...”
“But?” He edged even closer; she moved backward, eyeing the exit door of her home library.
“We grew apart from each other, over time.”
“Hmmn, and what would cause that, Amy – did I get the name right?”
She nodded, “yes, Amy's the name,” she gritted out.
“So why did you cheat, Amy?”
“We both got busy, work, studies, nosey in-laws – who only wanted to run our marriage...”
By now she was out of the library, and he followed closely behind.
“Poor excuse to give it away, Amy.” By now she was braced by him against the wall of the corridor.
“Has someone ever cheated on you?” she mumbled.
“9 freaking years, we've been together,” he cried, slapping his knuckles against the wall, making her jolt with nothing but fear. “I came home from the tour, just a day too early, and there she was, in our bed, doing it, with another bloke, our family doctor.”
She tried her best to appear sorry for him but the only thing on her mind was getting the heck away. He kept a stern eye on every focus of her grayish iris, though overwhelmed he was with painful emotion. “How could you, Chrissie?”
“Mister, probably you should speak with a counselor; I'm sure there's a lot of them here in Westervill who are more than qualified.”
“And she even looked like you, Amy,” he whispered, running a finger through her blonde hair. By now she had her bare toes curled while still being pinned to the wall by him.
“I could meet you some place in the morning and we could go to someone who can help, ok?”
“Do I look like I need help, woman?” he jeered.
“I thought you did,” she gulped, teeth shivering. “What-do-you need then, Mister?” she murmured, nervous as hell.
He backed off, instantly giving her a moment of scary relief. She gulped.
“I only needed a place to stay for the night, undisturbed.”
"Ok, you can have somewhere to stay, undisturbed."
"I didn't think your husband was too fond of the idea, so..."
"So?"
She followed his eyes, over to the large cupboard in the hall room.
"Where's my husband, what did you do to Andy?" she puffed, looking at the closed brown doors of the large cupboard. "You didn't hurt Andy, did you?"
He stood there, folding his transparent plastic bag in his knuckle. She knew she dare not trust the silly smirk that escaped his lips.
She moved towards the cupboard, but not without keeping the creepy stranger in sight. She turned the knob even as her heart worked in overdrive from the anticipation of the worst, or the not so worst. She opened the door.
"Andy!!!" the woman screamed, both hands over her head after seeing her husband standing inside with an electrical cord around his bruised throat, eyes wide opened.
The stranger moved over towards her.
"How could you, bastard, how the heck could you?" she screamed.
He only smiled, chillingly, opening up the zipper of his plastic bag.
"Leave me alone, bastard!" she wailed, raking her long nails in his neck, leaving 4 bloody marks. In retaliation, he gave her a ruthless jab, sending her c
rash-landing over her dining table.
Silence happened once more, after the crashing shards of ceramic cups and plates on the floor.
He kicked the chair over, moving towards her. The poor woman's entire body quivered at the crashing sound of the broken furniture against the wall.
"Whomever you are, please, take anything, leave me alone, just go - please," she panted, trying to pull herself from off the floor. His timely footsteps served only as deadly warnings.
"Leave me alone, PLEASE!!!!"
FOUR
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That Night.
He sat there, taking a sip of his wine. He buttoned his shirt up to the collar, trying to conceal the cat-claws on his neck, gifted to him by his most recent victim. Damn, stubborn than the rest, he thought, shaking his head in disgust. He kept playing on his mobile phone, pretending as if he was killing time before his date showed up, but only if they knew the unassuming bloke, decked out in this close-fitting black jacket suit was merely figuring who else he would be having some gruesome fun with next. He continued sifting his gray eyes through the guests at the lounge. The night was young, about 8, but his bloody anxiety had the better of him. Missing his daily body count of 5 would make him miserable as hell; he was one short of his quota. He took a glance at the wine in his cup, blood red. And then he took another sip. He swallowed; his Adam's apple seemed larger than usual.
To the left of the crowded lounge, he saw two women in short dress, one blonde, dancing with each other to the racy Salsa music. “Drunk already?” he gulped, watching one of them pouring the wine from her tumbler on the other's cleavage. He switched his focus towards the far right, much more illuminated; there he peered the elegantly adorned females, the oldest about 30, laughing to some silly witticism from this bloke who wore a comb-over hair cut – Lucky chap. They looked like a bunch of bankers or probably young lawyers. “Taking out one of those may not be the wisest of ideas,” he smirked, “messing around with a public figure always has its backlash.” One thing was for sure – he was sick in the mind; he knew it; he enjoyed it.
“Ah,” he sighed, looking over at the young lady, early 20s, who wore this tight-fitting gray dress with arm-length sleeves. Wasn't the shortest of dresses he had seen for the night but short enough to turn heads in the crowded lounge. She threw her back-length golden ponytail gracefully over her left shoulder, covering the left side of her chest.
“Pretty,” he whispered, “only just a pity...just a pity.” He poured more wine into his tumbler and then shook it 2 or 3 times, listening to the crackle of ice cubes as they knock against each other. She wasn't alone; the lucky guy looked somewhat more than twice her age, smart-style haircut with layers of white hair, a few face wrinkles.
What's she doing with him? Oh, must be the money, he said in his mind, looking on at the odd pair with intense curiosity.
“He's sure a gentleman,” he laughed looking on at the man offering his date, the brown hair belle, a seat at the table. “I know she doesn't want him,” he giggled after noticing that she sat, facing the excitement in the lounge, leaving her older date with no choice but to sit facing the wall.
“That confirms it. She's still exploring. Not ready to settle down. She only wants his money. Time to get her attention. And then...I'll punish her, for being a user,” he nodded, fixing his tie. He knew he had to look his best – sharp, if he wanted to steal her attention. His good looks and charm would do the rest, not making her realize that she's going to be trapped by a bloody killer until it's too late. “And that's the fun part,” he giggled, in an acrimonious sort of way.
The Salsa beat continued. A waiter walked over to the couple. She looked the menu over and then she ordered. Her date, the older man, extended his hands, gliding them slowly towards her, with love. She smiled. It looked fake; it looked plastic, their nameless onlooker thought. His blood ran cold within his savage veins, bringing his anxiety up, just another notch. He knew for sure that he couldn't end the day without creating victim number 5.
“Just need to get her attention.” She continued smiling at whatever one-liner the man was giving her but she had her bluish eyes searching the crowded low-lit lounge, for excitement. And excitement she was going to get, only if she would just look in the right direction. And she did.
“Yeah,” he smiled when their eyes made four. They stared each other for a good 10 seconds before her date realized something was wrong – her attention was elsewhere. She had a secret admirer. She sharply switched her focus back to her date. The waiter then returned to their table, unloading the steak from off his platter, so mannerly.
The man showed his gratitude, popping a few dollar notes from the inner pocket of his jacket, much to the waiter's thrill, who then discreetly shoved his tip inside his bosom before moving towards the next patron. Impressive.
She raised her head from the plate and chewed on her steak. They continued staring each other. With the paper towel, she wiped the food remains from her red lips; she crossed her long legs. Sitting across from them, he loosened his tie and pulled the collar of his shirt. He looked at her shared smile, awesome half white teeth amid beautiful rose-red lips. He needed her. She was confused; just the way he like things. Her date, the older bloke, looked over, behind his shoulder, but still not knowing who or what was competing with him for the regard of the beautifully blonde haired woman that he had brought to the corporate lounge. Her nameless admirer had suddenly disappeared among the flock of patrons, his seat empty, glass of red wine left behind. She then excused herself from her date. She moved slowly towards the restroom even as she scanned through the horde of frequenters for any sign of Mr. Who.
She looked herself over through the large mirrors of the restroom. She popped her lip gloss out, adding an extra touch to the fading glow of her crimson lips. She then gently ran her hand through her back-length ponytail that rested on her chest and parted the strands of her hair from over her left eye. She looked away from the mirror for a second and then took another look back at it, just for one final approval, that she was looking great, and that's when she saw him, standing behind her. Her heart pumped faster; she turned around. They stared each other. She felt frightened, somewhat but helplessly attracted to him; it must have been his winning smile. He looked over at her, with more than admiration. A pretty woman she is, he said in his mind. But a freaking heartbreaker for sure. “She doesn't even want the sorry man who brought her here. I'll just do him a favour and get rid of her, save him the pain.”
A smile escaped his thin lips, revealing the only pair of wrinkles that graced his straight face. Victim number 5 stood right before him in the restroom of the lounge. A painfully delicious shudder shot through his body at seeing how helpless, like a lamb, she appeared. He edged closer, stealthy feeling for the tool in his pocket.
“Tiffany's the name,” she greeted, with a nervous chuckle.
Now's the time, he thought. "Nice to meet you, Tiffany."
FIVE
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Tiffany
"...And you're?" I asked, looking him over from his chestnut middle-parted hair to his shiny black shoes. He was smartly dressed, his black designer jacket suit, black tie and all. My, my.
I stood there, waiting for his reply, gliding my fingers gently along my curly blond ponytail, which rested on my cleavage.
He responded, not with words though; he kissed my nervous knuckle after gently pulling my right hand towards him.
Shit, It must have been his perfume, so manly, so musk. His close-fitting jacket, oh so meticulously accentuated his chiseled frame, raising my interest levels in his virility and his man-size. It all happened so fast, too quickly for my confused little mind to realize that I was head and heels over a total stranger. I was the deer and he was the fierce hunter. The moment he tilted my chin towards his lips I had totally lost it, forgetting even about Justin, the bloke who had brought me to the lounge. Justin would weary the shit out of me with his sto
ck market and properties jokes. I worked as a clerk for this popular real estate agency. That's how I met Justin and I had finally accepted his offer to go out with him. Not really my type, a bit too polished.
My attention became totally confiscated, and obviously my mind too. My tiny black undies fell to the floor. It was no longer wearable, thanks to his switchblade. His lips folded upwards, killing any hope of a smile from his face. I literally heard my heart pounding much faster than what I'd call normal, not because I feared his harsh interpretation of what romance was all about but because I was totally excited; pretty girls do actually love it rough. This was what my body actually needed. I wished Jason would understand that. Too much of the pampering thingie got me really bored. I needed the full dose of his excitement. I only planned on being bad for just one night. I'd be a good woman after, I promise. I was mounted on the white cupboard, my back against the face mirror. I popped my legs wide; he assumed his rightful position, without further ado. I pulled him, aggressively, towards my warm-blooded frame, using the loosened tie around his neck as a leash. Ok, I know this is weird, right? But the way we kissed I don't even remember whom I had accompanied to the lounge that night. We felt like lovers who have known each other for ages. I promised I would never remember this by the following morn and that I'd be decent again but that night was like no other...would be like no other. He then retrieved his switchblade from the bosom of his suit; he smiled while resting its sharp blade on the tip of the rounded collar of my dress. I figured he was about to peel this off me too.
I heard footsteps, the clunking of heels against the shiny white tiles. I popped my head to the left, looking behind him. It was this other woman, a patron of the lounge, entering the rest room. Her eyes popped wide upon seeing us as if to say O.M.G. She covered her mouth with both hands and ran out. I felt silly even as I listened to the clip clop clip clop of her heels.