THE WONDERFUL THING about smokers is that no matter how secure their home is, they’ve got to step out for that cigarette. If she’s stressed, she steps out a little earlier. If it’s a typical day, she’ll come out of the house in about ten minutes. I slide into the dark shadows against her house and wait. She sneaks out the side door, into the darkness, probably because she hasn’t told family members she’s smoking.
As anticipated, she passes by me. She’s nine minutes ahead of schedule. She’s shivering, because it’s cold and she isn’t wearing a jacket—probably afraid it’ll smell like smoke and give her secret away.
The pretty young thing blocks the wind with her cupped hand to light her smoke, and then cautiously looks around. I’m right behind her, in the shadows, but she still hasn’t noticed me. She’s looking for movement, and I’m not moving. I can feel her fear. I love this game. I want her so bad, I’m prepared to defile her to her death. I need this, and she deserves it. It’s such a rush to stalk at night, because so much of the darkness is unknown.
Now, she’s cautiously craning her neck and looking around. She senses my presence, but hasn’t found me. She’s looking in every direction but mine. I’ll let her have most of her smoke. Bring her anxiety down a little before I engage her. But I do have to take hold of her before she turns back in my direction. She inhales a deep drag and closes her eyes while she exhales.
Perfect. I step in and wrap my hand around her mouth. I can feel her warm breath in my bare hand, and she can feel the gun in her back. “We’re going to go for a little walk.”
Rigid with fear, she mindlessly moves with me as I walk her to the darkness alongside her garage. She’s too afraid to make a decision. It’s funny how people can sense when it won’t faze you to take their lives. I whisper into her ear, “If you want to live through this, you’ll go along with everything I say. Remove your pants and underwear.”
I free her to let her undress, and she pleads, “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.” She kicks off her shoes and with trembling hands, does as she’s told.
I feel an endorphin rush as she complies. This is the best drug on earth. “Now bare your top.”
She turns her back to me to remove her shirt, and as she’s pulling it over her head, I knock her down and pin her to the ground, facedown. Her arms are tangled in her shirt, so without them to break her fall, she lands hard. She lies there lifeless, but she’s not fooling me. I shake her, say, “You’re not dead,” and then taunt her. “Don’t act like you are.”
Through her whimpers she softly pleads, “I’m not going to fight you.”
I grab a handful of hair and push her face into the cold, hard dirt. It has to feel like rough sandpaper against her body. I feel so strong. She coughs hard in response and tries to spit out the dirt she’s just inhaled.
I undo my pants and then grind hard into her. “I like it rough.”
She bites her hand as she tries to bear the pain, but true to her word, she doesn’t fight . . .
She slowly gets up and dresses, like this was simply a bad date she now regrets. She’s accepted humiliating defeat. She straightens her shirt and through her tears tells me, “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll kill your family if you do.”
With a blank stare, she concedes. “I know.”
“If anybody asks, tell them Jon Frederick did it.”
She glances down for a moment, and I sense despair when she tells me, “No one will ask.”
She’s right. I’m her master and her compliance makes her someone I can return to. A port in a storm. I was prepared to kill her if necessary, but I think I’ll keep her around for the time being.
Without another word between us, she limps back to the house.
A rush of power washes through me, and I feel good over granting her the right to live, for the time being.