AMA-Con: The Compilation

Do You Fear The Reaper?

  Written by: @ninnabautista

Prompt: Pulling hair + he fell in love with the same woman thrice

Prompt by: TTrNeo

***

ON E

The soft rays of the moon and lit lampposts illuminated the streets. The sound of crickets chirping in the distance and the few cars that passed by resonating into the night sky. A soft breeze rolled through the trees and dried leaves circled around each other, hovering above pavements and roofs. Crashing. Falling.

An old swingset creaked and whined, webbed with memories of what used to be someone's. He wondered if it was hers.

The night was dark, quiet. Everyone was inside their homes, basking in the comfort it offered as they locked themselves in from the world, lulled by their false sense of security and foolish ignorance over the truth that:

There were such things as The Boogeyman. Or The Reaper. The sinner and the killer.

And he's singing merrily right under their noses tonight.

Red. The tip of his cigarette glowed red as it idled in between his fingers, the smoke billowing up in the air. He leaned back on his car and let his eyes wander around her neighborhood, a smirk spreading across his lips as sirens blared until they faded the further they drove away from him.

Wrong way, he thought with a scoff as he pushed himself off the hood of his car and skipped up the short steps of her porch. If his calculations were correct, and they usually were, it would take at least an hour for Special Agent Richard Faulkerson Jr. and his team to arrive, raid a warehouse without him, see a wall littered with Doctor Mendoza's photos, figure out that they were played, and rush like headless bullet-vested chickens to save her.

Nicotine filled up his lungs after his final drag and he let it cloud over the nerves that seemed so raw from the sheer excitement of this new game he was playing.

He reached behind him to grab his cellphone, its light shining on him as he pressed and dragged until a video of Doctor Mendoza appeared, the colors sharp, the sounds muted. With nothing but her in mind, he breathed heavily through his nose as he watched her have dinner with Special Agent Faulkerson, watched as she took a spoonful of her food and rolled her eyes at whatever it was that he said. She was exactly like the ones before-- long brown hair that cascaded softly on her shoulders, doe-eyed, plump lips. She was everything he searched for and more. She was perfect.

What Special Agent Faulkerson said was probably stupid, unintelligent. Laced with charm he knew he didn't have, charm that he was sure Doctor Mendoza can overlook and forget once she realizes that their brains run the same wavelength. And when she does they would talk for minutes. No, hours. Who was he kidding? They would talk for days!

Upon days...

Upon days....

He rocked on his heels and sighed. She's right behind the door, just somewhere in the house. He grazed his thumb over her cheeks on the screen and took in every minute detail he could.

He'll be able to touch her soon.

Wrapping his fingers around the simple, bronze doorknob, he twisted it only to find out that it was locked. Rolling his eyes at his sudden predicament, he huffed and pressed on the doorbell.