She walked into her dark home, leaving the lights off. Meandering around furniture with a practised ease, she went into a room and with a flick, light came on. The bulb faltered for a moment, reminding her that it was nearing its life’s end. It managed to reveal her room, its effort at chivalry. A sparsely furnished bedroom with a simple oak drawer, beside the bed. No fancy table with books piled to show her interests. No framed pictures lovingly placed on the drawer, to show a heart-throb or a family. A room devoid of life. Neat as it was, she had an odd choice of a wallpaper. Plastered on the walls were newspaper clippings, dated recently about homicide cases. She went to a section on the wall and ripped out pasted on news, making a space ready. “Tomorrow’s front pages would fit in here I hope” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. On the far end of the wall, directly above the bed post, were pictures of five men in what seemed to be graduation gowns. Poor quality pictures printed off the internet from a website listed in blurry letters at the bottom. She dropped her bag on the bed. Pushing her hand into her shirt, a ripping sound was heard as she revealed carefully moulded pads. She flattened the suddenly big shirt over her real frame, sighing in relief. Fishing a red magic marker from the drawer, she went back to bed and gazed unthinkingly at the five pictures. Three of them had been crossed out with a red marker.

Placing her lips softly on the fourth photo, she kissed the image of the man softly. “Mark. Dr Mark” she whispered to the photo as if addressing a lover. With great care she drew two diagonal lines on the paper bearing his image. She sniffed at the smell of alcohol that wafted from the marker as she admired her work fondly. Her gaze went to the first paper-images of the bunch. “John” she whispered seductively. “The joker of the group”. With a little sigh, she moved to the next images. “Clive, the smart ass.”  “Tony, the quiet demon.” “Mark. Oh Mark, my latest addition. Hope you remembered me?” She cackled loudly to herself. The bedroom light illuminated her face as she threw back her head and laughed at the private joke in her head. Dark, long lashes fanned her almost colourless gray eyes, deep-set in pale skin glowing sickly yellow. Her a pert nose sat prettily above slightly fleshy red lips exposing yellowed teeth which testified to her fondness for cigarettes. She fell on the bed, driven to fits of giggles that bordered on the maniacal, curling herself on the plain white sheets till she modelled a foetus. Coughing fits. Her body shook as she got off the bed, rushing out of the room. She came in with a half full glass of clear liquid to her lips, walking over to the spot where the fifth unmarked picture sat. “Jerry, the mastermind. Jerry the prick. Jerry the asshole. Jerry the FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Her chest heaved. She drained the glass and placed it on the drawer. ‘Calm as the sea, baby. Calm as the Dead Sea. ‘ Suddenly, thoughts gathered into he mind, each striking her with the force of a slap from a body builder. She sat down on the bed, cradling her head. Would there be more? What next after Jerry? She couldn’t deceive herself. She did enjoy killing. The smell of fear mingled in their sweat. The look of terror blazing in their eyes. Was it just the sweet taste of revenge she was relishing? Was there more to the orgasms she had at night, masturbating to the thoughts of that dark, dripping liquid called blood? Then again, killing another after Jerry would make her a murderer! She wasn’t a murderer. An avenger, yes. Did she want to be a murderer? She rocked back and forth on the bed. If she killed more, she would become a serial killer…wouldn’t she? The most notorious since Jack the Ripper perhaps?  She rocked faster, the thoughts driving her into a frenzied ball of excitement.

She paused. “No. I am a good person. I pay my taxes. I obey the laws. I am not a murderer. Avenger, yes. Criminal, no!” She sighed, spent. Her rocking stopped. Above her bowed head, the light bulb flickered. Its dying breath, a bright flash of light, a bow to ‘Her Majesty’ before it died, plunging the room into darkness. Seconds late, the springs of the bed groaned in pleasure, welcome the weight of its owner, glad it could finally get the warmth it rightly deserved.

…to be continued…

Advertisements