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First they ran, then they collapsed and then they begged.
It had been going on thirty minutes, this chase. Thirty long stupid minutes. Their gazes locked and Allen McKay felt her surrendering – it was as if she was now asking to be killed. He made his way through the entanglement of pines and fallen trunks, head spinning as each crunch of twigs brought him closer. His breath left him, heavy and thick. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck pooling into the thick depths of his coat. He stilled and the woods breathed their damp, leafy scent with him. A sign. Where could she be? He was desperate – desperation flooded his fingertips, burning in his irises as he searched for her stumbling form. Movement. His head snapped up and he turned, shifting in his coats. They made it easy, especially when they cried. Women had the worst cries.
Yes, keep resting.
He thumbed the doll head in his pocket, hypnotized by the soft plastic hairs.
No.
I won't think of her.
Not here.
Allen darted forward. The woman's knees crashed to the ground and her hair splayed over her shoulders. Pine filled his nose and sobs grew thundering as he neared. Her fear hit his skin like static whirling through his body shattering his nerves.
She kept her gaze on the big house wanting to die with its memory and not with him. Her fingers twitched when his knee crashed into the earth pressing damp against his knee. She smelled like lilacs, sweat and lilacs and from the cutting moonlight he watched her pupils shrink. Tears spilled from her eyes when he reached a gloved hand to her neck. He wanted to feel her soft skin under his fingertips but thought better of it. She closed her eyes and a muffled sob left her trembling lips.
She was like a spiderweb.
Beautiful and easy to break.
Her wild eyes searched his for humanity. The soft side of him that had gone long ago.
He held her and ran his fingers over her hair and her hair tickled his nose. He drew back, wrapping his fingers around her throat, his fingertips pressed into her skin. They told him not to look into the eyes but he looked anyway.
Every killer knew it but Allen was different, the non superstitious type.
"Think of your family," he said, unable to stop the words from crashing from his lips.
Her words slipped out garbled. Poor thing didn't have a family. He told her to think of sunshine but her wails grew. Her eyes snapped open and her fingers clawed at his neck sliding. She kicked. Her cheeks reddened. The sting filled his nostrils causing them to flare. Allen squeezed. His fingers hurt from the force he administered to her pulsing neck. Skin was so soft and blood spilled so easily down his thumbs. Her breath grew ragged and her eyes filled with fear as her fingers pressed into his wrist trying to tear his flesh.
Her fingers stilled.
The liars in the movies said it would only take thirty seconds. It was more like two minutes.
Nobody died in thirty seconds.
He knew better.
He released her and she crashed into the earth entangled in the bushes. Her eyes glazed over and her body went limp and her limbs bounced. Her arms twisted like licorice. Around her white flowers embraced her form as if they had been waiting for her all along. Fate. She had been hot once...before the dead settled in. He drew to his feet, jamming his gloves into his pockets, sweating so much he felt soaked as if he took a walk in the rain.
Goodnight Sleeping Beauty.
He liked to kill the pretty ones.
They made the nicest of pictures.
He left the scene, staggering up the hill as cars from the overpass whizzed in the distance in a blur of orange lights. Fleeing toward his car parked at the bend, he froze. Headlights spilled around the bend and his fingers flew up to shield his eyes. Allen squinted. Gravel popped from the wheels, darkness pushed into his eyes and the headlights flashed again. The signal. One. Two. Three. Obediently, he turned on his lights climbing inside the chevy. His breath still ragged from the kill and his fingers shook.
One down and fifteen more to go. There would be no sleep tonight.
