Darkest Places

6/ TWO /

I was beginning to struggle after an hour of walking. I could ignore the pain for so long, but then it would build incessantly to the point where every step made my back feel as if it were a giant clenched fist. Pins and needles would stab at my finger tips. I'd decided to return home, back to the warmth and a Netflix binge. I wasn't disappointed, I was accepting. Such was life and death.

My path took me a different route home than my outward journey. It was a little longer, and I needed to take that into consideration next time. Not to the point of killing on my doorstep, but close enough for me to be able to get back without being in agony. A bus passed me on the way to town, and gave me an idea. I didn't need to choose my victims close to home. I had decided not to drive to other towns, as I didn't want my car to be identified close to the victims being found. Hence me walking around. A bus would give me the opportunity to be elsewhere whilst my car remained at home.

I wasn't used to using public transport in recent years. As a child and teenager, I did, but a car gave me more independence and was far more convenient. I could, maybe, take the bus there and then, but no. I'd had enough. There'd be another chance. Home it was.

But, there she was. Short, dark haired and not dressed for the weather. She had just alighted from the bus and was walking away from its stop. Her eyes were on her phone, with her thumb flicking the app up repeatedly. Every so often, she would rub her arm and blow hot breath into her cold hands. Her bubble had retreated to containing only her social media skimming and her discomfort.

If I'd have been religious, I would have likely imagined a stream of light shining down from the heavens upon her. As it was, and as I wasn't, there was none, but I was still certain she was the one.

She turned into an area of greenery that had the misleading moniker of 'park'. It was little more than a small grassed space with hedges at its edge and a few trees. A paved pathway ran through it and it was just big enough for children to play football and dog walkers to let their pets loose. Aspirations more than those were too grandiose. The woman should have been more concerned with who might be hiding therein than the goings on of old school friends and work colleagues. She walked in without a glance in any direction.

Including at me.

Besides, if she had, I'd just be a man with a walking stick. Harmless. Automatically slower than she could possibly run.

I followed her in. I did look around, wary of the things she should have checked for. There was no one about. The weather had kept everyone who didn't have a real need to be out, indoors.

Perfect.

As I walked, I unscrewed the tip of my stick. It was a thick stud of rubber that protected it from the constant impacts against the floor. I put the piece in my pocket, the one that didn't contain my scarf - that might yet come in useful. What remained was a flat end with a hole in it. Into the hole I inserted a long, headless screw I'd painted the same colour as the walnut cane, twisting it until it was held fast, but not so tightly as to be difficult to retrieve after the fact. It wasn't quite the Bond villains' sword in a stick, but it would suffice. I put the end back down, careful to avoid hitting the path with it. Instead of the noise dampening rubber, there'd be a distinctive, and loud, tapping that would announce my presence.

Unable to use the walking stick for its original purpose, I found walking to be awkward and had to consciously keep myself stiff to avoid walking like a penguin. A wobble, or waddle, always seemed to find its way into my gait if I was unaided. I gritted my teeth through the jabs that stabbed my back with each footstep, and did my best to look as if I was still using it.

The woman sniffed and put her phone away, finally taking notice of her surroundings. She looked around the park, either just to let her eyes adjust to the real world after being focused on her phone, or to make sure she was alone. She didn't, yet, look behind her, so I increased my speed a little. If she looked behind her, I'd still be a man with a walking stick. If still appear to not be a threat. I could slow immediately and, if a stab of pain caused me to grunt or moan, it would serve to enhance the illusion.

I was almost upon her when a particularly viscous twist of muscle punched a curse from me. She spun around, suddenly aware that she wasn't alone. Seeing me, her eyes took in my hunched figure and walking aid. I saw her visibly relax.

"You made me jump."

"Sorry love," I said, bending slightly into the pain. "Didn't mean to. My back hates me."

"I bet the weather doesn't help."

She was making conversation with a complete stranger, in a park in the dark, alone. I marvelled at her confidence. I would have expected her to ignore me and hurry her way from vulnerability.

"Not at all," I said, shaking my head.

I was being honest. The weather played a large part in how much I could handle my condition. Winter and I had had words in the past, but my plea had been ignored. Global warming was my only hope.

"Do you live far?" she asked, taking a sympathetic step towards me. "I can give you a hand getting home if you like."

I wondered if she was actually being considerate, or of she was just padding the time to let her gauge my threat level whilst preparing herself for flight. I would have, if I was able to, felt sorry for her. Or grateful.

I lifted the end of my cane to use it as a pointer.

"Just over there," I said.

She turned her head slightly in the direction I was indicating. The action exposed her neck.

I only had to move my hand forward 6a fraction,before taking hold of the stick with my other and whipping it across herthroat. I expected a tearing sound as the sharpened end of the screw cut herflesh, but there was none. Still in silence, her own hands went to her neck,quickly being coated in the free flowing blood, and her eyes widened in shock.I took the opportunity to puncture one, her right, hard.