15.

2. Rinse & Repeat

The car rolled in. His leafy, overgrown driveway, untouched for days, now, was finally his again. Richard had been waiting to savour the moment of seeing his cabin again but here, under the grey, gloomy sky, he regretted ever coming home. A bleak sense of loss swept over him. A feeling he hadn't felt since the death of his father, three years prior. His tiny forest cabin looked so cute from the drive. Entirely made of wood, the structure stood at about ten foot. The building was elevated off of the floor by about four feet with a set of pine stairs leading up to the oak door. On the front, four windows, each divided neatly into four squares by a set of beech frames. The night before, there had been rain and although the home was insulated and protected from waterlogging inside, the outside was dripping and crumbling from the water. A now darkened tinge had been added to the macabre setting, allowing for a seamless camouflage into the dank woods.

Richard stood for a few seconds, admiring his self-built dwelling before walking around to the back of the house and towards a smaller wooden structure. Inside, a small room lay bare to all kinds of tools and supplies to help around the house. It was essentially a glorified shed. Richard reached for a rusted shovel, left laying across a small workbench and left the shed, walking back towards his car. He needed to find the perfect burial ground. She was going under and that was final. He couldn't have someone finding her, ever!

Richard's gaze was suddenly averted by the dripping undercarriage of his abode. He realised that the four-foot elevation would be just enough for him to duck under and dig. It was perfect. The perfect plan for the imperfect girl. Hands, still gently trembling, he ducked, dragging the suitcase, underneath the wood floor and laid the container next to him. A quick guesstimation gave him dimensions of roughly two by three feet and so he began, shovelling and piling up the dirt beside him as his thoughts began to catch up to him.

Jane Carling. Sweet girl, they'd met way back three years ago through a friend and they'd been together for two years. Since she'd been away, they hadn't slept next to each other in a month. Now she could sleep closer than she'd ever want to be. He began to think about all of the men she'd seen. 'Probably Paul. Yeah, definitely Paul' he thought to himself. Paul was a friend he'd seen her with a few times. They'd gone to some nightclub a couple of months back and then they went bowling or something. Richard was convincing himself more and more that he had been played as a fool by everyone.

"I'VE HAD IT WITH WOMEN! THEY'RE ALL WHORES! THEY ALL DESERVE TO DIE!" He screamed before becoming uncomfortably aware of his thoughts being all too audible. He suddenly silenced himself to hear the chirping and flapping of birds flying away. Then everything fell, once again, into dull tranquillity as Richard continued to dig and dig. But in that moment, something had changed within him. Shock reigned over his body mixed with guilt and agony and a thousand more emotions that only served to make Richard feel two feet tall. Something awoke in him; the feeling that his blood boiled and yearned to make other's blood literally boil. And in the shock of it all, he realised he wanted to kill again.

After two hours, he'd finally done it. The hole was dug and he'd put the case in. Covering it over wouldn't take nearly as long so he spent another half an hour covering over the hole before being abruptly and rudely interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. His body froze, seconds of hesitation allowed him to think. What had this person seen? What were they going to do? Who were they? Could he kill them too? Was it quiet enough out here? And then he turned around.

Standing before him, a man, crouched, with a red bag and a blue coat.
'Excuse me! Mr Alec is it?' he called out, almost shouting.
'Hello, sorry, yes that's me, there's no need to shout!' he replied, lowering the shovel.
'Sorry sir, I did call before but you seemed completely unfazed by me.'
'Oh gracious, I'm so sorry. I just get so invested in... Shovelling weeds.' he lied.
'Umm yes, I have a letter for you.'
Richard's body relaxed visibly. It was going to be okay; It was just the mailman. The man handed him the letter before disappearing on his bike.
'He must hate coming out here.' Richard thought to himself as he carried the shovel back to the shed and settled down into a chair in his living room and opened the brown envelope, he'd received.