Debra Newton loved being a journalism associate professor in the College of Communication Arts and Sciences at Addison University in the bustling college town of Rendall Cove, Michigan. In many ways, it was truly a dream come true for her, having graduated from the very school a decade earlier. Now she got to teach others, inspiring young minds for the formidable challenges of tomorrow. And with the summer session well underway, she was doing just that, putting her journalistic skills to the test with each and every passing day.
She only wished her love life could be nearly as thought-provoking and satisfying. Bradford Newton, her college sweetheart turned husband, had turned out to be a total jerk, with a roving eye that went after anyone wearing a skirt at his law office. After one time too many of being played for a fool, she finally kicked him to the curb five years ago, and Debra only wished she had done it sooner. Since her divorce, she had just dated occasionally, with most men seemingly less interested in her brain and sense of humor than her flaming long, wavy red hair, good looks and shapely physique. While these various sides to her were important in and of themselves, she wanted to be seen as the total package and wanted the same in a partner.
Which was why she had turned down a date with a handsome and persistent colleague who, though also single, was a little—make that a lot—too full of himself and a bit scary at times in his demeanor. Similarly, a former administrator, who on paper checked a lot of the boxes for what she was looking for in a potential mate, did not measure up in practice and real time, forcing her to reject his half-hearted advances.
As if that wasn’t almost enough to turn her off of romance for good, there was the fact that one of Debra’s students had become fixated on her to the point of stalking. Though she had made it abundantly clear that she would never even consider dating a student—not even one who was nearly her own age, having been a late bloomer as an undergrad—this one didn’t seem to take no for an answer. She had decided that enough was enough. She would bring it up to the director of the School of Journalism, as well as report it to the campus police, for the record.
After classes were over, Debra hopped into her black Audi S3 sedan and headed home. Peeking into the rearview mirror, she could have sworn that she was being followed by a dark SUV. Was her imagination playing tricks on her? Maybe she was getting paranoid for no reason, brought on by her musings.
This apparently was the case, as the vehicle in question veered off onto another street, the driver seemingly oblivious to her imaginative thoughts. Much less, out to get her. Relaxing, Debra drove to her apartment complex just outside the college campus on Frandor Lane, parked in her assigned spot and headed across the attractively landscaped grounds. She climbed the stairs to her building’s second-floor two-bedroom, two-bath unit. Inside, she put down her mini hobo bag with papers to grade, kicked off mule loafers and strode barefoot across the maple hardwood flooring to the galley kitchen. She took a bottle of red wine from the refrigerator, poured herself a glass and considered if she should eat in or go out for dinner.
While still contemplating, Debra bypassed the contemporary furnishings and took the wineglass with her to the main bedroom. Maybe I’ll just have a pizza delivered, she told herself, while removing the hairpin holding her bun in place, allowing her locks to fall free across her shoulders.
Then she heard the sound of a familiar voice say almost comically, “I was beginning to think you’d never get here, Deb.”
The unexpected visitor’s words gave Debra a start, causing her to drop the glass of wine, its contents spilling onto the brown carpeted floor. He was standing in her bedroom as if he owned the place. How did he get inside her apartment? What did he want?
“When I sensed that you might be on to me as I followed your car, I took a shortcut to beat you here, while giving you a false sense of security.”
She recalled the SUV that had been following her and then seemingly wasn’t. Why hadn’t she remembered the type of vehicle he drove?
“Sorry about the wine,” he said tonelessly, glancing at it and the glass on the floor. “At least you managed to have a sip or two. As for what’s probably foremost on your mind, honestly, it wasn’t all that difficult to break into your apartment. It has a relatively cheap lock that’s easy to pick for someone who knows what he’s doing.”
Debra froze like an ice sculpture while weighing her options, then asked him tentatively, “What do you want?” Was he actually going to rape her to get what he wanted? Then what? Leave her alone to forever remember what he did? Or report it to the police and have him arrested and charged with a sex crime?
Why couldn’t he have simply put the moves on someone else who may have been interested in his advances? Or did he get his kicks from power tripping by forcing the action? No matter how she sliced it, Debra didn’t like the outcome. Maybe she could outrun him and escape the apartment, wherein she could whip the cell phone out of the back pocket of her chino pants and call for help. Except for the fact that he was now standing between her and the exit from the room.
“It’s not good for you, I’m afraid.” His voice burst into her thoughts, while taking on an ominous octave. “You need to die, and I’m here to make sure it happens.”
As her heart skipped a few beats in digesting his harrowing words, this was when Debra knew she had to make her move before it was too late. What move should that be? The answer was obvious. Anything that could get her out of this alive. And, hopefully, not too badly injured.
HE ANTICIPATED THAT she would try to hit him where it hurt, easily blocking her futile efforts. He was also way ahead of her next instinct to try to somehow worm her way around his sturdy frame and escape what was to be a veritable death trap. He caught her narrow shoulders and tossed her toward the platform bed, expecting her to fall onto the comforter. But she somehow managed to stay on her feet and was about to scream her pretty head off, alerting neighbors. He couldn’t let that happen.
It only took one well-placed hard blow to her jaw to send Professor Debra Newton reeling backward and flat onto the bed, where she went out like a light. Now it was time for him to finish what he started. She had no one to blame but herself for the unfortunate predicament she was now in. They were all alike when it came right down to it. Believing they could screw guys like him over and not be held accountable. Wrong.
Dead wrong.
He lifted the decorative throw pillow off the bed and, just as she began to stir, placed it over her face, pressing down firmly. Though she struggled mightily to break free, he was stronger, far more determined and, as such, took away her means to breathe air before she lost her will to resist altogether and became deathly still. When he finally removed the pillow, he saw that her blue eyes were wide open, but any life in them had gone away for good.
He sucked in a deep breath and tossed the pillow back on the bed beside her corpse, pleased with what he had done to the professor and already looking ahead for an encore. After all, she wasn’t the only one who needed to be taught a lesson that only female educators could truly appreciate. He laughed at his own sick sense of humor before vacating the premises and making sure he was successful in avoiding detection while engineering his masterful escape.
IT WASN’T LONG before he picked up right where he’d left off. Again and again. Now yet another one bit the dust. Or, if not quite ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the good-looking professor was very much dead. He had seen to that, watching as the life drained out of her like soapy water in a tub. She had been expecting someone else, apparently. But got him instead. Her loss. His gain.
Like the ones that came before her, he did what he needed to do. What they forced him to do, more or less. Suffocation was such a tough way to die. Fighting for air and finding it in short supply when being cut off from the brain was challenging, to say the least. But that was their tough luck. He made no apologies for playing the villain, falling prey to his inner demons. The ones that drove him to kill and get a charge out of it when the deed was done.
He took one final look at the dead professor and imagined her looking back at him, had her eyes not been shut for good. Maybe she would meet up in the afterlife with the others and form a dead professors’ society or something to that effect. He nearly burst into laughter at the devious thought but suppressed this, so as not to alert anyone of his presence.
Leaving the scene of the crime, he made his way down the back stairs, and like a thief—make that murderer—in the night, he moved briskly away from the building without looking back. Only when he was in the safety of his car and on the road did he allow himself to suck in a deep and glorious breath, knowing that he had escaped successfully and could go on with his life as though he hadn’t just committed another cold-blooded murder that, like those before her, she never saw coming.
Not till it was much, much too late.
Copyright © 2024 by R. Barri Flowers