Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter 1

There are few things in this life that I love more than moments like this; Kimberly Sweeney's apartment was immaculate, which always struck me as a bit surprising when I looked in on her. Most young professionals were busy with their burgeoning careers, rarely finding the time to keep house. In their minds, cleanliness of their living space was nowhere near as important as making a career advancement. Once they had established themselves, help could be brought on to make sure their home was taken care of.

All in due time.

But Kimberly made the time. She was meticulous, making sure to dust and wipe every surface, making sure all of her laundry was either put away or in a laundry basket awaiting a trip to the washing machine on the first floor. Not like the others I had visited, where clothing would be strewn about, joined by fast food containers and other items that had been forgotten about in the hustle and bustle of a busy schedule.

The weeks of observation -- watching her as she walked to work each morning and home each night taking her normal route, watching her routine unfold -- had been a fun game in itself. Getting to know what made her tick. What made her life hers. But this is what it was all about. This night. This moment.

She would be home shortly. On Monday nights, she worked until six o'clock before joining coworkers for a quick drink at the local bar. She always stopped there, never drinking irresponsibly; never more than a handful of beers at the most. She always gave the impression that she went on those bar trips merely as a networking opportunity rather than truly gathering with friends. She laughed in a polite and somewhat artificial manner. These weren't her friends, at least not really. It was business, undoubtedly a requirement of her new position. Young professionals were always considering their careers, after all.

Kimberly was quite the young professional. She had started at Christopher, Gailey & Wilk -- one of the more prestigious law firms in town -- just six months ago, but had already begun making a name for herself thanks to a relentless work ethic and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She was truly special and ignoring her was an impossibility.

As with each selection, preparation had been key. Learning her routine was critical, but knowing the intimacies of her living space was just as important. With each visit, a squeaky floorboard would reveal itself and I would store it away in my mind for future reference. I would not -- could not -- let this be spoiled by a false step that would alert her to my presence. Too much time had been put into this for it to be ruined in such a way.

It was what attracted me to her. Beauty was such a trivial thing; anyone could find beauty anywhere they looked. "In the eye of the beholder", as it were. But finding someone motivated, someone driven, someone not content to drift through life -- that was rare. Special. She was special. The way that she made me feel; I wish that I could transfuse these emotions into her, to make her truly understand what she means to me.

On a given night, she would arrive home between six-thirty and seven o'clock in the evening. I arrived at six on the nose, allowing myself a bit of wiggle room before taking my place. Rushing this in any way simply would not do. This was a moment I'd waited for and spoiling it by not giving myself the proper amount of time was not something I intended to do.

I make my way through the lobby to the elevators, easily blending in with my surroundings. I didn't directly acknowledge anyone as I walked in, but also did not blatantly ignore them. Seamlessly blending in as if I were a tenant myself, they would never know I wasn't one of them.

Stepping out of the elevator onto the third floor, I do my best to keep my excitement at bay. I can feel it boiling up to the surface, encompassing my very being. Internally, I perform a mental exercise, counting off numbers by adding the one amount to the next in line (IE: one and two is three, three and four is seven, four and five is nine, etc), to keep myself calm and steady. With each step, I grow calmer, more at ease, until I find myself standing in front of Kimberly's door.

After making easy work of the lock with my kit, I ease the door close and lock it once again, returning my lockpick kit to my black backpack. A rush of anticipation flows through my veins, exciting me in a way that I couldn't possibly hope to achieve outside of this moment. I live for these moments. The culmination of hard work, of tracking and learning, all pays off.

I make my way through her living space, perusing pictures of friends and family in familiar poses. Little knick knacks and trinkets here and there that don't particularly do much for me. I debate with myself over whether or not I should sit on the couch, taking in Kimberly's essence from all of the times she had done the same.

To the northwest corner of the apartment lays a single bedroom. Kimberly's bedroom. More so than the living room, this is her space alone. She shares it with no one; not friends or family visiting to see how she's doing. It is the space all to her. A space I want to share with her.

I don't even recall crossing the room, but find myself standing in her doorway. Just knowing that she sleeps here, lets her guard down and feels intimate here...

I feel an overwhelming urge to nestle myself in her bed, to feel her laying there with me, to drink her in at her most vulnerable. Better not, I think, instead glancing at my watch. Six fifteen. It is time to take my position.

I wait in the darkness of her coat closet, enveloped by the cool blackness, listening for the magical sound of her apartment door opening. Getting into her apartment was easy enough; no one really used a lock that was worthy of keeping people out. But they didn't know that. The false peace of mind was usually more than enough to pacify most people.

Waiting in the coat closet was an easy decision: it was warm enough out that she wouldn't need a coat, meaning she would have no reason to open this door. Just as importantly, it gave me a key tactical advantage, placing me behind her from nearly the moment she walked through the door. Timing and the element of surprise were always the keys during the actual encounters. One scream could blow everything.

Kimberly's scent, her essence, permeates the tiny space. Though each garment carried a different scent -- hints of coconut on this one, fragrant flowers on that one -- the smells never clash. They mingle in a perfect, fragrant harmony. They smell of Kimberly. Enjoying the moment, I close my eyes and breath deeply through my nose. Intoxicated, I feel a surge of impatience. I want her. I need her.

After what felt like an eternity, the sound of a key working the lock of the door filled the air. Excitement rises in my chest and I will myself to focus. I love this part of it, savoring the feeling as long as would be allowed. I longed for these moments.

As the door opened and then shortly closed behind her with a click, I could hear Kimberly flip on the light switch and take a few steps into her apartment. The moment had arrived. It was show time.

Easing out of the closet, I drifted behind her, an ominous cloud over her entire being, careful to not reveal myself with a false footstep. I could not help but become entranced with the effortless grace in which she moved, almost gliding across the apartment like a spectre.

She had no idea I'd been there, waiting for her all this time. She didn't know until it was too late, the large metal pipe that I wielded in my right hand crashing into the back of her skull. The impact reverberated through my arm, sending a shudder through the rest of my body. She tumbled forward, landing on the carpet in her living room with a thud.

I stared at the pipe in my hand. Blood coated it, dripping to the floor slowly, steadily from the very end. It felt as though it were an extension of myself, as though the blow had been delivered from my bare hand. It was a feeling like no other, that initial contact bringing a rush of power with it.

Looking down at her prone body, I take a deep breath in through my nose, savoring the moment. The smell of copper fills my nostrils. Blood began to pool around her, the extent of the blow that I'd delivered making itself known. The life had seemingly left her the moment the pipe made contact, the cracking of her skull ringing through my ears. It would be a sound that would live in my memory. I couldn't help a small grin.

I savored the moment a little longer before taking the black pack off of my back. Unzipping it and removing my hunting knife, I gaze at it, admiring the way it gleams in the light. Its serrated edges lined one edge, razor sharp teeth ready for a meal.

A huge smile creeps over my face as I stare down at Kimberly Sweeney's prone body. She looks so perfect in the moment, so still and beautiful. And all mine.

It was time to go to work.