Was that not the most annoying sound on the planet? Yeah. She would be the first. I had made the decision a while ago. Almost six months since I’d come to terms with it. It was what I had to do, what I was put here to do. And she would be the first. That laugh sealed her fate.
I watched her closely from across the room. Everything about her was designed to bring attention. From her hair that was blown out way to large, to the hot pink, short, and much too tight dress she wore. Her heels were a complete spectacle all on their own. There were too high and she nearly fell with every step she took. All eyes on her, that was what she wanted, what she desired. Well, she had it, my full undivided attention.
She giggled incessantly. A constant reminder of what I had to do. Every time I would begin to change my mind, grab my things and head for the door, she would laugh. It was like nails across a chalkboard. I settle in and waited for my opportunity. Soon her audience would tire of her. Soon she would be alone. Soon she would be the first.
I finished my drink. Gin. Neat. Just as the last of the group trickled away, leaving her alone at the bar. Sadness in her eyes as she dangles the silver stiletto from her left foot. She was alone. The exact thing she fought to avoid the entire night. This is when I would make my approach, as the loneliness began to engulf her. She would be slipping into a depression, one I imagined returned to her often. She would be longing for someone to pull her from it. Well I would be that someone for her, if only for a short while.
I sat on the bar stool next to hers. Introduced myself in true gentleman fashion. She told me her name and wrapped it in that hideous giggle. I made no effort to remember it. What would be the point of that? Once my task was done, I would have no reason to ever use it.
Getting her to leave with me was a lot easier than it should ever be. Apparent lack of concern for self-preservation. She pretended to be drunk, but I kept count, only two drinks. One of which was soda. She was really desperate for company. No problem, I’ll provide that.
She jumped in my car quickly. I did promise to return her to her car, but really we all know promises are made to be broken. And had I been planning for her to be able to drive after our little encounter, I would have kept that promise.
The ride was eventful. She was hands on to say the least. Constantly giggling and groping while repeating how it was the “bubbly” that had gotten to her head. I knew she hadn’t had even a sip of champagne the entire night. But she was really good at playing the role of damsel in distress. Fake belches and all, I wondered if she would be this way if she knew.
I pulled into the garage. Decided then not to drag this out, nerves, jitters, maybe pure excitement, I just wanted to get to the main event. The door led inside the house to two set of stair. One led up into the house and the other down into the basement. I convinced her, once again all too easily, to come downstairs with me to see my “wine cellar”. She went down first. I locked the door behind me, she didn’t notice.
Her scream was glorious. The first one even more than the ones that would follow. It took her no time to sober up once she realized she had just willingly gone into an empty basement with a complete stranger. She turned to run. My body blocked her escape route. Didn’t matter, she needed the key to open the door and that was in my possession. No way would she ever be able to get it from me.
I watched as that sad, desperate, lonely look in her eye turned to something new. Suddenly she wasn’t so desperate (at least not for company) as if now she had so much to live for. I’d like to tell you that was when I let her go. I’d like to say I sent her back to freedom with a newfound zest for life. I’d like to tell you that because that is what you’d like me to tell you. But unfortunately the story I tell you isn’t to appease you, but rather to celebrate myself and my accomplishments.
At this point in the encounter, I will admit, I got a little nervous. This was my first time after all. The gloves fit perfectly. (As they should, I spent countless hours choosing them.) Snug over my hand, I got a thrill just feeling them slip over my skin. I pulled them on slowly, emphasizing for my guest what was to come. I planned for this. Everything must go according to plan.
I wasn’t prepared for the rush, the thrill; the pure adrenaline that surged through my veins was intoxicating. As I watched the life slipping from her I stopped. I loosened my grasp around her tiny throat. I had to make it last, I wanted more.
I felt myself harden as she pulled in short breaths trying to revive herself, to regain what little bit of life she’d already lost. A moment of relief as she hoped I had gained a conscious, some sense of humanity. Her hands loosened around my wrists. Thanks for leather or she would have my skin under her nails by now. I’d watched far too much CSI to let that happen.
She looks beautiful, real; I imagine her eyes like this every day instead of the desperation that was there before. I brought that to her. Yeah, this clarity she has now, I gave that to her. She should be thankful. I think she is. I think she started to smile. I would never know. I tightened my hold again. The rush was the same; even more it seemed the second time around.
She clawed, kicked and grasped for air. It was glorious. Her last efforts to retain her life were the absolute best moments I had ever experienced. Yes, this is what I was meant to do. This is who I was meant to be.
A week later was when they found her in the basement. The empty house was being shown to a prospective buyer. They were newlyweds, fresh off their honeymoon and searching for their empty nest. The new wife ventured downstairs. Well, let’s just say they didn’t buy the house.
I read the headline over again and sipped my drink. Gin. Neat. As I watched her, she was beautiful.