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Lucy went home with David, just as she knew she would,
just as he hoped she would. Once there, the ‘date’ as they had known it
stopped, and something else began. Something one of them was not prepared for,
and the other could not control.
The killer emerged, of course, as was destined to
happen. It was the whole point of the night, the whole point of meeting up. Why
would such a person trawl the internet and meet up with someone they didn’t
know unless it was to gratify themselves? The dangers were heard of, of course,
of meeting someone like this online. But never in a person’s wildest dreams do
they think it would happen to them. In reality, it could happen to any one of
us. ‘Take care’, they say, ‘you never know who is on there or what they
want.’ Truer words were never spoken.
The victim fought back, as they always did, but it was
futile from the start. How can a mere mortal overcome a psychopath, no matter
how strong they think they are? No matter how hard your mind is, how fit your
body is, how tall you are, how determined your will to live - there is always a
weakness. And the killer will find it. It doesn’t matter what it is, it will
make itself clear, and a hatred from within the killer will rise up that will
instantly recognize that weakness, latch onto it and not let go until that thing
about you, and you yourself, are dead.
The struggle came on hard and fast. Screams were no
use, scratching stopped nothing, fighting back was pointless. It was meant to
happen, it was fate. With the victim’s last breaths, they realize that. A
numbness comes over their aching and bleeding body, a calmness sets in and they
are detached from the pain as their life ebbs away from them. They look up, see
the killer smiling over them, and realize that their whole life was for this, to
make this person happy, if only for a moment. They don’t like it, of course,
but why else would they be here, on this dirty carpet covered in blood? Their
dark and horrible life had led them here, for years and years, just to die at
the hands of a monster. Why? They will never know. Only the killer knows, and
they aren’t telling.
It’s not fair.
And the worst part is, it never stops.
The killer sat on the lounge and looked around. The
adrenalin still pulsed; the heart still beat wildly. The killer leaned back,
took a drag of a cigarette, and let it all sink in. This is what a killer’s
life is all about, living a lie until the monster reveals itself and takes over,
just for those few moments of glory. Then it’s over, and must start again so
that the killer feels alive, no matter how dead they will always be inside.
© Cynthia M. Piromalli
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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