CHAPTER 38

 

Linda heard a soft knock at the door and took a deep breath before answering. Her full name was Linda Jean Vogel, and she was thirty-eight, divorced, and very lonely. She had been chatting with SexualGuy1 for a while now, and looked forward to meeting the man with the great sense of humor and overactive sex drive. If he was half as much fun in person as he was online, they should have a great evening together. She doubted that they would really have sex, but she didn’t really care. All that stuff on the Internet was just an act anyway. She was sure he would be a regular guy who liked to listen to music and loved to go bowling. Who knows, she thought, maybe we…

Why doesn’t she answer? thought the killer. He knocked softly again. This time the door opened, and there she was. Wow, he thought. She looks even better than I remembered.

“Surprised?” he asked.

“Wha—”

“So, you are surprised? Bet you never expected me, did you?”

“No, not exactly,” replied Linda. “I didn’t think you—”

“What? Fooled around? Sure, why wouldn’t I? I’m no different than any other guy. I thought you might enjoy the surprise.”

She didn’t look surprised as much as she looked horrified. He felt himself getting angry. Why did they always react this way?

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.

“Well, I…I mean, I didn’t expect—”

“You’re not interested, are you?” he said.

It was happening again, he thought. Once they knew who he “really” was, they didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Well, he would just have to show her just like he had shown the others. But, first he had to get inside.

“How about I just come in for a drink, and we can ‘chat’ in person for a few minutes. If you want me to leave, then I’ll just leave, okay?”

“Well, I guess—“

“Oh, come on. I only want to talk, anyway.” He pushed the door open and walked inside. “You really do have a nice place, Linda.” He walked into the shabby living room, thinking, what a dump.

She looked around, as if seeing her own apartment for the very first time. The walls were cracked and needed painting, the drapes were faded, and the carpets were stained from her cat.

“I didn’t really get a chance to straighten up like I should have. I hope you don’t mind.” She appeared very nervous. “I guess I didn’t really expect somebody to take me up on my invitation. And you know I didn’t expect it to be you.”

He waited until she had closed the door before moving closer to her. He could smell her perfume, and could feel himself growing hard already. He could hardly control himself.

“Would you like a beer?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t even know if you drink—”

“Sure,” he said.

“Look,” she said. “I’m sorry if I looked a little shocked, but, to be honest, you’re the last person in the world I expected to show up tonight.”

“Hey, no problem. It’s my own fault, anyway,” he said.

Certainly not a problem for me, he thought. But, it could be one for you.

She moved into the kitchen, and he followed her into its narrow confines. She turned toward the refrigerator, her back to him, and he made his move. He put an arm around her waist, and leaned over and kissed her on the neck.

“What the—” She turned around quickly, the fear showing in her eyes.

“It’s okay—really,” he said, quietly.

“But—” She was beginning to panic.

“Shhhhh...”

He pressed his mouth to hers and simultaneously brought his hands to her throat. Soon, she had lost consciousness, and he carried her limp form into the bedroom. The bed was small, with no posts or headboard, so he would have to tie her hands behind her, and bind her feet to the legs beneath the frame of the bed. He tore off her blouse and removed her brassiere. He turned her onto her stomach, and tied her hands with the bra. Then, using his penknife, he cut off her panties. He rolled her over onto her back again, and stuffed the wadded up undergarment into her mouth. It was easy, he thought, so easy…

Of course, when she had regained consciousness, she had resisted, struggling furiously. He’d had to beat her, and the sound of her nose breaking beneath his fist still reverberated inside his head. He never intended to hit them, but what else could he do? Later, he crouched over the body, and carefully used the little pearl-handled knife to precisely carve his trademark on her left breast. He whistled as he worked, being careful to blot any blood that ran outside the finely cut lines. Mustn’t make a mess, he thought, chuckling to himself. When he was finished, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. The heart was perfectly symmetrical, and the initials, “J.C.” and “L.V.” were perfectly centered within it.

Again, his attempt at a normal relationship had failed. Maybe next time, he thought, as he carefully closed the door behind him, and walked down the three flights to the street below. Perhaps he would stop for a nightcap before he went to bed. He smiled to himself, and began to whistle “Hey Jude.” Then, he changed from whistling to singing, substituting the name, Jack, for the name Jude. Much better, he thought—much better.