On To the Next

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic


Sometimes, the past comes back for you.

Submitted: May 02, 2018

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Submitted: May 02, 2018

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He opened the refrigerator and peered in. He’d barely registered that nothing looked good when the lights went out, plunging him into total darkness with an abruptness that made him jump. Primal fear was immediately replaced with angry irritation and he slammed the refrigerator door closed, muttering some eloquent curses under his breath. He took a cautious step, trying to remember where the fuse box was, but then he heard a floorboard creek. His heart leaped into his throat, thundering in his ears as he froze, straining to hear.

He held his breath, and he heard something soft, whispery, barely anything at all, but he knew there was definitely something in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, pulling his penlight out of his pocket with a shaking hand. Its light was harsh and glaring, and he realized his mistake immediately. He could see nothing beyond its beam, and now the intruder could see him easily. “What do you want?”

“What do you think I want?” a voice responded. It was female, sultry, and vaguely familiar.

“If I knew, would I be asking?” Frustrated, he realized his voice was trembling, giving away his fear.

“Of course you would,” she said from behind him. “You’re a man,” she went on, to his left. “You never know why a woman does anything,” she continued, to his right now. “Even when the reasons are right under your nose,” she finished, behind him again.

“Who are you?” he demanded again, dizzy from spinning around, trying to follow her voice with the flashlight. He never got a good look at her, catching a glance of a slim form, the flash of dark hair.

“Oh, you know who I am.”

“Refresh my memory,” he growled, getting angry now.

She laughed, throaty, sexy, and his skin crawled as he realized she was playing with him. She was in complete control of the situation, and she knew it. The beam of the flashlight shook and he tried to steady it, to hide the telltale sign.

She was on him then, a slender arm around his neck, the cold blade of a dagger at his throat. “Does this sound familiar?” she purred in his ear, her breath warm on his skin. “Don’t fight it, baby, I swear, this won’t hurt—much.”

A chill skittered down his spine. “You’re supposed to be dead!” he managed, panic edging into his voice. “I saw you die!”

“Did you?” she breathed. “You were lost in the throes of ecstasy when you cut me. Can you really be sure?”

“Please—”

She didn’t give him time to beg and offered no mercy. She simply slit his throat. He slumped and she let him go, watching dispassionately as he fell to the floor, the penlight clattering to the linoleum. She stood over him, listening as his breathing slowed and stopped. Then she turned her back on him, dismissing him from her thoughts. One less rapist in the world.

On to the next.


© Copyright 2018 Katrina LaFond. All rights reserved.

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