A Killer's Game

by Amy Andrews

  About thirty feet ahead, she saw a nice thick cluster of bushes. She could nuzzle herself deep within it’s bowels, and it would offer ample cover. Aiming straight for it, Leopold glanced again over her shoulder. She did not see Thorne, so she went for it.

  Her heart was hammering in her chest, and she could barely swallow with the dryness of her throat. Her legs were quivering beneath her, but she kept on pushing. She was closing in, only fifteen more feet to go, and she could give herself a much needed rest. Having a finish line burst of energy, she started running as fast as she could, towards the thick expanse of bushes. Once again, glancing over her shoulder, as her feet were moving full speed, she did not see Thorne behind her.

  As Leopold turned her head back around to look where she was going, she didn’t have time to stop; although, her heart nearly did, as her eyes focused on what lie ahead. Thorne stepped out of nowhere, and she was on a one way collision course, right into him.

  Thorne spread his arms wide, in a welcoming embrace. “Ahh. There you are,” he said in a victorious manner.

  Leopold tried to divert, but she ran straight into him. Thorne absorbed the wave of energy from her speed, and redirected it by grabbing her by the shoulders, and forcefully throwing her to the ground, like a little rag doll. A wave of pain emanated from Leopold’s right side, as it smacked the dry unforgiving ground.

  Thorne wasted no time, by allowing her to get up. Time was wasting, and this little bitch needed to be taken care of. Leopold cried out in pain, as Thorne started kicking her forcefully, about the torso and face. Feeling helpless, Leopold curled herself into a tight ball, and tried to cover her face with her forearms. It was a futile effort against Thorne’s savage assault.

  As her body was severely ravaged, her breaths became harder and harder to take. They came in short, hard, sucks. She equated it to the same feeling you get when you swallow water down your windpipe. It was getting harder to breathe, and it was getting harder to see through her swollen eyes. She could taste the distinct metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

  Leopold realized that she had gone into shock, when she could no longer feel the intense pain that accompanied Thorne’s blows. She knew that her end was near, and silently made her peace with her maker, before she took her last shallow and painful breath.

  Thorne stopped as abruptly as he started. Sensing his job here was finished, he knelt down beside the now, unrecognizably bruised and swollen Kate Leopold. Panting, he took his gloved middle and forefinger, and placed them on her neck, directly on her carotid. Just as he suspected, her blood ceased to flow, and was as still as a frozen pond. He felt no pulsating veins beneath her olive skin.

  Thorne retrieved the rest of her clothing from the base of a nearby tree. He fully redressed her, minus her gun and holster, then pulled out his cell phone again.

  Flashes of light lit up the darkness. “Oh yeah. Work that camera, baby,” he said, as he snapped shots of his gruesome handiwork.

  Taking her gun, he fired two random shots. He dumped it, her holster, and her phone battery into a trash bin on the way back to his vehicle.

  Opening up the Jeep’s rear cargo hatch, he calmly removed the boots, the gloves, and the tape. He neatly placed them back into his duffle bag, and stowed it under the cargo area, next to the spare tire.

  Moving into the restroom, Thorne studied himself in the mirror, and was pleased with what he saw. The only wound he had, was a small split on the inside of his bottom lip, but it was not visible. Turning on the tap, he ran his hands beneath the lukewarm water, and splashed his face with it. He soaped and scrubbed his hands well, with the hotel quality hand soap, before drying them with a hot blast of electric air.

  Glancing at his Timex, he saw that this little incident had taken longer than he had originally anticipated. Knowing that Leopold would eventually be identified, and that would likely lead to his questioning, didn’t matter to him. By the time that happened, his plan would be in full swing. It was nearly time for phase two of the plan. He would leave her here for a park ranger, or an unsuspecting hiker to find and call in. Right now, he had places to go, things to do, and someone else to abduct.

  CHAPTER FOUR - ON THE RUN

  Considering the Atlantic was to his East, and if he were to head South towards the Florida Keys, he would run out of land, Robert Verde knew that the most heavily patrolled areas would be to the West and to the North. The “po-po,” or so his nickname was for the police, would most likely be expecting him to head either North or West, to hit an interstate in order to flee out of the state.

  So much for what they thought, because he would do just the opposite of what he knew they expected him to do. Just not quite yet. He needed to find food and shelter, and just lay low for awhile, and let the urgent buzz fizzle out.

  Verde blended into his environment, within the tourist filled metropolis streets. He knew it was much easier to elude police by being in a big city, than fleeing into some small podunk town.

  Keeping his red brimmed hat pulled low, Robert Verde strolled leisurely down the busy streets. Walking past all of the designer shops and upscale restaurants, he continued walking until he came upon a more average area of town. Verde saw the familiar and immediately recognizable red and yellow glowing franchise sign of a McDonald’s. He walked back towards the fast food chain’s dumpster, took a seat under the shadow of a palm tree, and waited. He hoped that someone would come out soon, because his stomach was rumbling, and the smell permeating the air, was about to make him start salivating. Literally. Within the hour, a skinny pimply faced teenage boy, brought out a goldmine concealed in black plastic, and whipped it into the large green dumpster. Verde watched and waited until he walked back through the employee only back door, before making a move. Immediately digging out the just placed large black plastic bag, Verde slung it over his shoulder, and took off in a light jog, into an adjacent industrial warehouse’s rear parking lot. He could feel the left over warmth from the fast food chain’s heating lamps emanating through the plastic, warming his back. Smelling of fried oil, and grilled meat, he didn’t even have to open the bag to know that he had hit pay dirt.

  Finding a nice curb stop to dine on, Verde parked his rump on the paved lot and furiously ripped the bag open. The smell of warm, greasy goodness lingered up into his nostrils. Rustling through the smorgasbord, he found loads of still wrapped cheeseburgers, big mac’s, chicken nuggets, and various other menu items. He knew from being on the run once before, that fast food chains often threw out perfectly good food, because it had been sitting under the heat lamps too long to fit their corporate freshness standards.

  As he sat there savoring his late moonlit dinner for one, he started scoping out his immediate surrounding area. Looking at the mustard-yellow colored metal corrugated building directly in front of him, he counted ten large bays. Each one had a roll up type garage door, along with a regular door. He saw no alarm monitoring systems, or building video surveillance in place. This would be a perfect spot to lie in wait, with food and if needed, a restroom right next door.

  Verde approached the building, and started to walk it’s length. Cautiously he checked each door, and each bay latch to see if it was unlocked. Framing his vision with his hands, he placed his face against the glass to peek inside the windows, before doing so.

  Verde was starting to get discouraged, until he came upon the seventh door. When he jiggled the door handle, the door popped open. Slowly opening it, he cautiously poked his head in to take a look inside. The place was an interior decorator’s dream. It was filled with couches, chairs, loveseats, armoires, beds, mirrors, night stands, desks, and all other sorts of home furnishings. With no one around, Verde walked in and closed the door, locking it behind him. Grabbing the door handle, he twisted and shook it, to make sure the lock wasn’t defective. Satisfied he would be safe and sound, he Walked directly to the right rear of the space, finding a small, well decorated office, and flipped on the light. He settled himself behind the executive style
cherry wood desk, into the oversized dark leather computer chair. Looking around the top of the desk, he saw a business card holder that held black cards with silver metallic lettering in a fancy script that said: “Final Touches Home Staging.” That would explain all the furniture, Verde thought. Rifling through the desk drawers, he didn’t find anything except standard office supplies, until he looked in the largest bottom drawer. Pulling out a bank deposit bag, he unzipped it to reveal a petty cash stash of five hundred dollars. Pulling the loot out of the bag, he fanned the soft paper through his fingers, smelled it, and gave it a kiss before tucking the wad into his pocket. “Today must be my lucky day.”

  With his belly full, and a place to rest, Verde wanted to settle in for the night. His curiosity got the better of him, and he just had to check the net before drifting off. Reaching over to the computer’s keyboard, Verde Googled the local Miami area’s top stories. Sure enough, there he was, right at the top, which included a rough sketch of his face. His eyes scanned the headline: “Serial Murderer Escapes Miami Dade Correctional Facility.” The article went on to detail the discovery of his absence by the staff at the prison, a warning to the public regarding how dangerous he was, and the area wide manhunt that had been launched to apprehend him.

  Verde leaned back in the soft leather chair, and clucked his dry mouth. Walking over to the mini fridge in the office, he scanned his thirst quenching options, and settled on pouring himself a nice glass of pinot noir. Raising his white styrofoam cup, he made a toast to himself for being victorious. Settling back behind the desk, he relished the taste of the fine wine, as he sipped on it. He leisurely continued searching the net for various things, one of which included nearby marinas.

  Some time later, Verde glanced at the lower right corner of the computer screen, and saw that it was two o’clock in the morning. He had been surfing the internet for nearly an hour. He had obtained enough information to plan his next move, so he could rest easy now.

  Clearing the history on the computer screen, and wiping his prints off of the desk and computer, Verde got up from behind the desk, and walked out into the warehouse area. He settled himself upon a black Italian leather sectional, that did not face the window of the shop. Fluffing up the cream colored throw pillows that were randomly placed on the sofa, he made himself comfortable and drifted off, dreaming of his new future.

  CHAPTER FIVE - ABDUCTION

  BobbyThorne sat and waited patiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The black Lincoln Continental he was driving was…borrowed, while his Jeep Grand Cherokee took up residency in the Lincoln’s usual garage spot. Ms. Hinkle was his snowbird neighbor, that was only in Naples for three months out of the year. She paid him to keep an eye on her house, and to start her Lincoln periodically when she was out of town from April through December. It prevented the engine from seizing up, or so he convinced her. Old women were so easy to manipulate. All he had to do was turn on the charm and he could have them eating out of the palm of his hand. For the nine months she was back in New Jersey, the Italian widower with the big black bouffant hair and even bigger mouth, which was always meticulously coated with hot pink lipstick, had no idea that he drove her Lincoln on occasion, to pursue his extracurricular activities. It was perfect for covering his tracks and keeping his secret agendas hidden. He could do without the pine car fresher stinging his nose, though; although, he preferred it over whatever God awful perfume she always doused herself in that smelled like potpourri scented mothballs.

  He had been parked two doors down, adjacent to 5252 Palm Drive, in front of a foreclosed house. There were several foreclosures on the street, but this one offered a perfect view point for his current interest. He rolled in to his destination at 6:00 am, still under a blanket of night, in the black car with the dark tinted windows, in his black clothing and blue latex gloves. This had been his routine on Monday through Friday, for the last two weeks, except earlier this evening, his normal routine of wake up at 4:00 am, hit the gym, grab something fast and easy for breakfast, head to Palm Drive, survey the house, wait for the bastard to leave, go to work, go home, repeat, had been interrupted. An serendipitous opportunity had presented itself, and he just couldn’t resist.

  Seeing an amber glow emerge from the large bay window, his thin lips parted and curled upwards to reveal a crooked smile filled with evil delight. Glancing at his Timex, it read 6:15.

  “Right on cue,” he whispered to no one.

  He was like a cat that had spotted it’s prey. His eyes were locked onto the target, his body went rigid, and the hunted had no idea he was about to strike. Reaching over to the passenger seat, his hand glided over the coolness of the light grey leather. Finding the binoculars, he set them on his wide, twice previously broken nose. Abusive foster homes had left him with not only physical reminders of his youth, but emotional scars that still festered. He was no one’s victim. Not anymore.

  The sight of the petite blonde made him flush. A wave of heat, that was not from the humid air outside blasted his body. Setting the binoculars back on the seat, he switched the key to auxiliary mode and the arctic blast chilled his balmy skin. Sticking his face close to the vents, he closed his eyes briefly. His skull buzzed hair stood unwavering in the artificial breeze. The droplets on his forehead dissipated, and he switched the ignition back to the off position.

  Turning his attention back over to the large bay window, his eyes narrowed in despise. The blonde woman, Tessa, and her husband, Detective Lenny Shane, were doing their usual smoochy-goodbye routine. His once drumming fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers ached. His entire body pulsed with tremors, like the Earth quaking. He chuckled quietly to himself in a foreboding tone.

  He hated that bastard for what he did, and he was going to pay. An eye for an eye. Tessa wasn’t really the object of his despise…she was just a necessary pawn in his game, just like Kate Leopold. Collateral damage. He harbored no feelings of guilt or empathy for anyone or anything. His mind was a one way track that led straight to revenge. He was going to get it, and he wasn’t letting anyone get in the way, and he didn’t care who got hurt in the process. He had worked very hard to get to this point. Years. As the plan required, he assumed a new life, complete with a new identity. He took that from a vagrant, whose body was never found. Now that the payoff was so close, anticipation rose over him. Today was the day that his plan would finally be set into motion.

  The buzzing street lamps on Palm Drive silenced as the life flickered out of them. The squealing sound of the garage door opening was the intro to his masterpiece. It sounded like nails over a chalk board. Most people cringed at the sound, but he delighted in it.

  Detective Lenny Shane roared out of his garage on his custom v-twin in his usual couture, with his shoulder length grey hair blowing in the breeze, and his Harley sunglasses covering his dark chocolate eyes. He was dressed in his typical cowboy boots, Wranglers, white oxford with a bolo, and a vest. The man in the Lincoln rolled his eyes at his predictable routine. 7:00 am on the dot. So. Fucking. Dull. He was hoping that this might be somewhat of a challenge. Some fun.

  As Detective Lenny Shane grew smaller in the distance, Bobby Thorne stepped out of the Lincoln, onto Palm Drive and closed the driver’s side door with the faintest click. He threw his back pack of goodies over one shoulder.

  Leaning against the car, watching Lenny until he completely disappeared, he said in a snarky tone, “I hope you like the present I left you. Detective. Shane.”

  He strode quickly across the Palm lined street to the rear of the house. Reaching into his back pack, he pulled out a black ski mask and slid it over his buzzed dome. Peering into a side window, he saw Tessa finish the last of the breakfast dishes. She had an iPod clipped to her hip and was dancing around like a fool. She dried her hands on a dish towel that was hanging from the oven handle, then wiped the remaining wetness off on her grey velvet sweats. He watched her saunter down the hallway, into the last room on the left. Her Sketchers
doing a squeaking song of their own on the ceramic tile, but he was sure she couldn’t hear the sneaker music over the Aerosmith blaring through her Dr. Dre Beats headphones.

  The long sliders slid open without a sound. Peering down the hallway, he closed them slowly, as if he were diffusing a bomb. The lock clicked into place. His 185lb lanky body floated across the floor as if it were made of air. He knew what room Tessa had gone into, because this was not the first time he had been in the house.

  He tip-toed down the hallway, stopping briefly to admire the woman’s wildlife photographs that were lined up like soldiers on the beige wall. He particularly liked the one of the alligators. Vicious and powerful predators, they were. Lurking just beneath a murky surface waiting for their unsuspecting prey. Reminded him a bit of himself. He wondered briefly how long it would take them to notice if he just took it home with him, but decided it was a bad idea.

  He squatted down behind the last door on the left. Red light from the photography dark room peaked through the door frame. He flung the back pack off of his right shoulder and carefully placed it just outside the door. Opening the pack, he reached in and grabbed a white terry cloth towel, and a bottle of his homemade chloroform. It was so easy to make. A couple of ingredients from your local drugstore, and wahlah. He soaked the cloth with the dreamtime liquid, replaced the cap, and set the brown glass bottle back into the pack, with a gentle carefulness.

  Thorne placed his unwavering latex bound hand firmly on the brass door handle. He was as calm as the eye of a hurricane. A sneak attack was not necessary, but he took great delight in not only assailing his victims physically, but also psychologically. The horror that exuded from their wide eyes and screaming mouths were orgasmic to his senses. The handle rotated with slow precision. Placing his left palm on the door, he pulled it open as gently as a Mother cradles her child. The door did not make a sound. Fortunately, it wasn’t in desperate need of some WD-40, like the garage door. The sight of Tessa being consumed in the red light made him fantasize of bathing her in the crimson liquid that pulsed through her veins. Unlike most serial killers, he wasn’t picky about how he killed his victims. Variety, after all was the spice of life, or so they said. Changing it up kept it fresh and exciting. His breath quickened as his four chambered heart beat ferociously in his chest. His excitement radiated out from his core.