Vents

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The early morning sun shone through the fall leaves that clung desperately to their branches, while the cold October wind blew viciously. He sat in his car, hunched over the steering wheel, waiting for the front door of the two-story, red bricked house’s cherry door to open. She would be coming out any minute now to leave for work, like she did every Saturday morning at this time. He had no worries of anyone watching since her house was the only house in this court that wasn’t vacant.

     He double-checked to make sure his cloth, which was soaked in ether, was still where he had left it in the glove compartment, and it was. He grabbed it and put it in one of the cup holders. Getting the ether was simple. All he needed to do was go to his cabinet of starter fluid that he kept for recreational use. You could get this at any store that sold starter fluid for cars. There were two kinds of starter fluid premium grade and standard grade. The premium grade held 40%-60% ether; the standard only held 21%-35%. Wanting his victims to be put out immediately he had chosen the premium grade.

     The door opened, and yelling could be heard all the way down to the street, then the thud of a door slamming filled the air, the yelling continued for a few moments then stopped. She must have been on her cell phone. The crunching of footsteps echoed down the rubble driveway, and soon turned into the muffled pit-pat of shoes hitting the cement in anger.

     The girl, who just left her house in a huff, was now pounding down the street, angrily, the wind blowing her loose auburn hair, knotting and whipping it into her crystal clear blue eyes. She wiped it out of her face with one smooth motion of the hand showing the freckles that covered her face. Her small frame of 5’3 walked past the red Chrysler Town & Country minivan, it didn’t look conspicuous, the windows weren’t tinted, the plates were easy to read and not out of state, it was stopped at a stop sign, and the driver seemed to be reading a map, she didn’t give it a second glance, not even a first. If she had, she might have noticed it was parked. She carelessly tossed her house keys into her old, beat to death, leather shoulder bag, over-throwing them in her haste, sighing she bent over to pick them up.

      Perfect, everything was going according to plan. Not wanting to scare her he rolled down his window, and yelled out to her, “Excuse me, Miss? I seem to be lost, can you help me? I think my map may be a little outdated,” he chuckled, flashing his million dollar smile at her.

     She looked up at him leery, not making a move to come closer to the car, “Where are you headed to?”

     He got out of the car, handing her the map that he was holding, “I’m trying to get to Maple Street, but I seem to be lost. Can you just show me how to get there?”

     Looking over the map she replied, “Well, your problem is this is a map of Virginia… You’re in Chi-“

     Before she could finish her sentence he slapped the cloth soaked in ether to her face, she was knocked out in a matter of seconds.

      Quickly, he dragged her to the back of his minivan and opened the hatch, tossing her in nonchalantly, then bound her wrists and ankles with duct tape and slapping a piece over her mouth to prevent any screaming if, unfortunately, she arouse. He quietly shut the hatch and walked back to the driver’s side and got in. Before turning the key in the ignition he checked his reflection in the mirror, smiling at himself and winking, chuckling as he did so. His curly, blonde hair, messy in a way that looked attractive, was falling into his eyes, and he took his hand and wiped it back from his forehead. His green, bedroom eyes looked back at him welcoming and friendly. You wouldn’t suspect him to be a kidnapper. Or a killer. Turning the keys in the ignition and putting a foot to the gas, he pulled away from the curb. Leaving his latest victim’s house behind.

     He had his abductions down to a science. He’d go from town to town. Making sure he was far enough away from the last town to prevent the police from catching onto his pattern, but close enough to his hideout that he wouldn’t have to worry about his prisoners awakening and trying to attract help from a passing car.  He’d learned this through trial and error.

     Why was he kidnapping random teens from their homes? The answer was simple. He wanted to play a game. A game that ended with death. The rules of this game? Kill until there are no more players. Then with the remaining player, or players, he’d torture until boredom set in, then kill and bury them in the backyard.

     Four times the game has been played; no player has ever left the houses alive. If they had he wouldn’t be here now, would he? The preparation for the game took about a month, and then selecting took from two to four months, then learning their schedule took about a week or two. He had to make sure they were all the right height and width. If too big, they wouldn’t be able to participate in the game, and that would be no fun now, would it?

     Once he had their routines down, he’d wait until a moment they were alone then he would abduct them, putting the cloth doused in ether to their face, knocking them out, and dragging them back to his van. From there he’d take them back to his hideout, and trap them in a room.

     His hideout, for the fifth game of Vents, was an old abandoned farm house, set far away from any form of civilization. He could have his game in peace and not worrying about being caught or interrupted.  The farmhouse consisted of 16 rooms. Each one having a secret escape for the victims to find and get to, he had personally installed each escape himself, knowing that they would work without error. Once each capture made their escape, the game of Vents began. Within 24 hours Vents would be over, and his time at the farmhouse was done and he’d move on from there.

     The point to this game? None really, except the satisfying feeling of power he held when the game was being played. These people were in the palm of his hand. They were dead without him. They were only alive because he let them live. He was God. He was their God.

     He pulled onto the deserted, dirt road that lead to the farm house, the game would be beginning soon. Only one more player was needed. It wouldn’t be hard. He knew exactly who the final player was, where he would get them, and when. The game could begin tonight. Smiling, he turned on the radio, singing along to the Garth Brooks song on the radio. Not having a care in the world.