Opening the door to her trailer, she saw rose petals scattered on the floor in front of her. Cindy knew what day it was. The day her would-be killer got out of prison. It had been 25 years, but still too soon.
Keeping her purse with her, she went through each room. Seeing if anyone else was there. All the rooms came up empty. It was only her in the tiny single-wide.
She chose to ignore the flowers, putting her purse down on the kitchen counter. Of course he had found her, he had made a promise and as he said, when she laid there, strapped down to the wooden-slab he called a table, ‘he doesn’t break his promises’. Going to the fridge, Cindy grabbed a tupperware bowl full of leftover spaghetti from a couple nights ago.
While her food was spinning in circles, she stood still. Grasping the counter edge behind her, listening for any noise. Hearing a car approach her spine straightened, it just went right past. Whoever was in it probably didn’t even know who she was waiting for. It happened so long ago no one does. Above all no one knows the fear of seeing his back turned, with him wondering which saw he was going to use.
The microwaved beeped and she jumped. Opening the microwave a gush of hot air blew out, putting the plastic bowl on the counter and she ate standing there, watching the door the whole time. Waiting for anything to happen.
Nothing did.
She broke her nightly routine. And still nothing happened. She dared not to clean up the roses, just in case he came in and wondered where they had gone. She quickly showered and still nothing, she even stayed up a couple hours later than usual. The door never opened. She was still alone.
Headlights shone through the blinds, waking Cindy up before she knew she was asleep. The lights just backed out again. Leaving.
She dragged her hands across her face, pulling the skin taut. It was still dark out. The roses were still on the ground. Maybe she should have called someone, her brother or the police. They would get there just as she was dying and call it just in time, like the last time. Forcing her to live more with the experience and to act like nothing happened.
She laid there, on the couch, just looking up at the ceiling. Then she got up. Moving to her purse, she looked for her phone. Sifting through she moved past her wallet, some empty health bar wrappers, and a small container of Advil, which she took out and shook by her ear and heard a few of the small pills rattling around. Putting the bottle on the counter, she started looking in her purse again. Finding her phone, somehow towards the bottom of her purse.
Turning her phone on, she saw the time. Not even four. She also saw her brother had called but didn’t leave a voicemail. Cindy already knew why he had called, to make sure she was fine and still alive. She shot him a quick text telling him everything was fine. Her texting so early proved that wrong but she hoped he took her response at face value.
Putting her phone on its charger, she laid down on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. Hoping he would just barge in and get it over with. Also wishing he had been able to finish that night. She was just beginning her life, at the time she didn’t know what she was going to do, but knew it would be drastically different from what she was used to. He had ruined it all. Now she has been stuck in this no nothing town with a job that only pays for everything because her brother helps out, not able to look at herself in the mirror. If only the police were just a couple seconds later. She had already kissed the other side and had been, is still, ready for it to take her completely.
She tossed and turned the rest of the night not able to get a consecutive ten minutes of sleep. Giving up on the prospect, she went to the kitchen and started her coffee. Watching the black liquid drip into her mug, “Just go on like normal,” she told herself. Unlike every other day she had a reason to be scared, it wasn’t just what if he escaped. He was out and knew where she was.
Sipping her coffee, she stared at the semi-closed blinds and the door. Wondering how he looked, and if she would recognize him at all. Maybe he had stopped into the convenience store yesterday to buy something and she didn’t even notice. Maybe he had just got gas, looked in through the windows and watched her a bit.
Cindy turned on the TV, it was already on the local news. She stayed in her spot, keeping as much of the place in view as she could. She did not know what she would do if he did come in. Realistically probably nothing but at least she would see it coming.
She was too overwhelmed to even hear what the news anchors were saying. It would not be what she wanted anyway. No one seemed to remember what had happened twenty-five years ago. She was just forgotten, forced to get over it and forget too. She couldn’t, it was her life. The TV was kept on anyways, giving her a sense of normalcy.
She ate her lunch at the pay counter, she usually ate in the backroom but today she wanted to see everyone who came in and the ones who just filled up their cars. Her lunch was only a ham and cheese sandwich that the store sold, that she didn’t pay for. They were never sold out anyways, no one would miss the one.
She threw the plastic container the sandwich came in away, pushing any crumbs left behind into the trash as well. While she was bent down, moving the trash can back to its spot under the counter, the bell above the door rang. She looked up to greet the person who had entered. He wore a hat and was looking down, she could not see his face. He walked straight to the counter.
“20 bucks on pump three,” he said, tapping his fingers on the counter.
She froze. She recognized that voice, it was the one she had heard in her head for the past 25 years. It was crazy she thought she wouldn’t recognize him. He had finally come for her. If she wasn’t certain earlier that she would die today, now she was.
“20 on three,” he repeated, looking directly into her eyes and smiled. He knew she remembered.
Punching the information into the kiosk. “Cash or card,” she asked.
“Cash,” already with the twenty in hand. She took it from him, making sure their hands kept as much distance as they could. Put it into the cash register. “You're not gonna say ‘have a nice day’.”
“Have a nice day.”
He smirked, enjoying his small level of control. “I’ll see you later, Cindy,” he said before he walked away, out the door, to his truck. She watched him leave, making sure he was completely gone before she continued her day.
Time seemed to slog by but not slow enough, as it was still moving forward. Every second that went by the idea of her death became more real. More real than it was that morning, or the night before, or even 25 years ago.
When four came around, she stuck around for a couple minutes making idle chat to her afternoon replacement. But she couldn’t stick around forever so she left. Thinking about what could be waiting for her when she got home. Maybe she wouldn’t even get into her house before he caught her. She wouldn’t fight it anyway. This, he, was inevitable.
Pulling into her driveway, there was no other car there. He wouldn’t be waiting for her when she entered, possibly. Putting the car in park she let her head fall back to the headrest, closing her eyes, breathing in then out again.
No one pulled up behind her, not that she expected him to be following her. But maybe he waited around the corner for her to pull up first.
Opening the door to the trailer, the roses were still scattered on the floor. Cindy saw no one on the couch. Which she had already assumed as much but it was a good confirmation. Slowly she went throughout the place, much like the day before, checking to see if she was truly alone. Besides the shadow of him that followed her, she was.
Sitting on the couch, she waited. Not knowing how long it would take but knowing she would not, could not, do anything within that time. Perking up with every car that went by, relaxing, as much as she could, as each engine faded into the distance.
Headlights peeked through the blinds. He was here, it was her time. There was the slam of his truck door. Then a knock at hers.
A knock was unexpected, she thought he would just force himself in. Given he had already let himself in before. He knocked again, this time louder. She got up this time.
“Are you going to open the door or am I…,” he was cut off by the squeak of her front door. Once the door was fully open, he walked passed. Not giving her any acknowledgement. “It’s nice,” he said like it was his first time inside.
“Probably better than the cell you’ve been in.” Should still be in.
“I mean there are walls dividing the room here, but you can’t ask for everything in prison,” he said, sitting on the couch she was just on. “These roses really bring everything together.”
"What do you want,” she asked, already knowing why he was here but wanting him to say it, to confirm her own hopes for the night.
“To talk,” he said, patting the cushion next to him.
She didn’t move at first but he kept doing it, so she went over. “That’s what you said last time.”
He smiled. “That’s not what you said though.”
“Talk about what.”
“About how I have changed. Prison truly works.” She knew that was a lie, if it was true they wouldn’t be here right now replaying their lives.
“That’s not what you said last time.”
“You’re right,” he put his hand on her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. She stayed as still as possible, giving him nothing to satisfy him. “About how I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day I saw you.” He moved closer. “You remember that.”
She nodded, always trying to keep that memory isolated from the rest. When they caught each other’s eye walking down Main street, thinking it was going to be the only time she saw him. Then him showing up at her doorstep a couple days later with a bouquet of roses in his hands was like a dream come true, at the time. She didn’t even question how he had found her. When she was at the hospital two days after the night, Dennis, who worked at the diner she frequented and would have just exited the day their eyes met, came in to apologize for his indiscretion.
He moved his face forward, almost touching her lips with his. “I know you feel the same,” finishing repeating what he had already said years before.
“Can you get to the point,” she said, deviating from their script. Knowing what came next, eventually how it would end. How she would end.
“They ruined it last time. I, we, have to start over.” Pulling her chin towards him, forcing their lips together.
She didn’t pull away.
Separating their lips he said, “Let’s go to your bed. It has to be perfect, just like last time. You remember.” She didn’t answer. “‘Cause I do.” His eyes wandered down her body before he got up.
She let him guide them to her bedroom, not thinking. Only moving her feet. She was ready for this, and had been ready for this for a while now. It was now guaranteed, she was going to die.
When they made it to her room, he closed the door behind him, so he could have this moment in private.
He came up behind her. “You could at least pretend you are having fun,” he said, directly into her ear. Moving his lips onto her neck, slightly pushing her body into his. “It’ll all be over soon.” Putting a hand under her shirt. She felt every time he went over a scar. “I missed this.”
Pushing her towards the bed, she complied. Sitting, then lying down chest bare to him.
“I didn’t do all of these to you,” he said, sliding his hands up her torso and down her arms. “I would remember.” He allowed one hand to trace some of the scars, unbuttoning her pants with the other.
His fingers were all over her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to what he really wanted. Now they were in her. She bit her tongue then the inside of her cheek. She savored this part when it happened the first time. When she was ignorant of what would come next. When all he was to her was a pretty face and maybe a future something. It was the beginning of what she wanted to but could never forget from that night.
“I waited so long for this. I dreamed of it everyday I was away,” he said, hovering close to her face. “Of fucking you while you knew you were gonna die.”
He dug his nails into her thigh, then he was lying on top of her. She could feel everything dripping out of her. She didn’t know how long it had been since she let him in. If they had been in her bedroom for minutes or hours. The only thing she felt was the knowledge that soon she wouldn’t have to think about that night or this one ever again.
The weight lifted from her chest, he held himself over her. “You should shower,” he said, climbing off of her. “We’re gonna have a busy night ahead of us.”
She continued to lie there, nodding her head to what he said. Moving her arms to cover her chest. She listened to him get dressed and didn’t do anything until she heard him close the door and walk away. Cindy didn’t care what was going to do out there by himself. It didn’t really matter anyway. She wasn’t coming back here after tonight.
She got herself up, and turned the hot water for the shower on. Looking over at the towel covered mirror as she waited for the water to warm. She was tempted to uncover it, wondering what she looked like at that moment. To see her bare self looking back at her for the first time since that night. Turning the cold water on, she stepped inside. Letting the water wash his touch from her skin.
She felt tempted to stay there longer to see if he would react. Force her to hurry up. She got out a couple minutes after she went in. Only being able to feel her scars over so many times before she wanted to scratch and open them back up.
Getting dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and the jeans she was wearing earlier. She went out looking for him. He was in the kitchen, with his back turned towards her. Just like she knew it would be later tonight.
“You need to eat something before,” he said. Placed a sandwich on the small dining table she never used, usually opting to eat on the couch. “I don’t need you passing out before I’m done.” Gesturing for her to take a seat, while he sat down across.
Complying with his command. “Are you not going to eat anything,” she said.
“I did while you were showering,” he said, stretching a hand across the table. “Let me see your arm.” She did so. He lifted up her sleeve, rubbed a finger across her scars. Closing his eyes, tilting his head back some. Smiling. “I know you were thinking about me when you did this.”
She nodded, picking up her sandwich with her one hand. Her throat was closing up; she forced a bite down.
“It‘s a good thing you didn’t succeed,” he said. She had been so close at one point, lying on the bathroom floor, blood spilling out around her. Her vision started to blur, she had become acquainted with death for a second time. She got pulled back to the living a second time also. This time it was her brother standing over her. “To know someone else had killed you first.”
“It would’ve still been you who did it,” she said. Taking a second bite, slowly chewing that one before she had to force it down again.
“It wouldn’t be the same. You know that already, being under the knife of both.”
She didn’t say anything back. He took his hand off of her and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. She grabbed her sandwich with both hands, not picking up the pace she ate at.
“Hurry up,” he said eventually.
“I’m done,” she said, placing her half-eaten sandwich on the plate. Pushing it towards him.
“At least it’s something.” Rolling his eyes as he got up. Grabbing her arm as he went past her, pulling her out of her seat. “If you die before I want you to-” he didn’t finish the threat. She would be dead before the end of the threat would become relevant.
Slipping into her sneakers, he stood by the door, watching. Holding her arms out in front of her. “I’m ready,” she said.
“I’m not going to tie them together unless you make me.”
Her arms fell to her sides. “You’re doing a lot of things different than last time,” she said, meeting him by the door.
“It’s also about making things perfect.” Tucking some hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek as his hand left her face. “Maybe it’s good that they found us before, now you want it. It’ll be perfect,” trailing off towards the end. More talking to himself, than to her.
He opened the door, let her through first. She got into the passenger side of his truck, him behind the wheel. It was similar to the one he had before but not exactly the same. That one was probably rotting away in some junkyard.
He pulled out of the driveway and went right. There was not really anything out there besides fields. Eventually you would hit the town they had met in, where her entire life was before.
They did not speak in the entirety of the drive. She looked out the window, watching the buildings slowly become more familiar. He focused on the road, occasionally glancing over at her.
Then the buildings got less familiar. When she lived there she had no reason to go out that far. She had only seen them that one time. It was a relief to see them again, but not one that calmed the racing of her heart. The fear still ate at her, even though she knew what was going to happen. Even though this is what she wanted. If he succeeded there would be no more pain.
He turned off onto a dirt road. The sun had set, it was now pitch black out. No street lights lined the road to light their way, they only had the cars headlights for light.
Not far down the dirt road, a barn came into view. One she knew the inside of better than the outside. What she didn’t get familiarized with that night, she saw on the news broadcasts the days afterward, when everyone cared about what happened. When everyone believed it affected her well-being and she wasn’t just being dramatic. The truck came to a stop, he took the keys out of the ignition. Then got out himself. Slamming the door shut behind him. She followed suit.
“My parents seemed to keep everything intact after I was imprisoned. When they died they gave it to me,” he said, walking to the barn’s side door. He yanked it open. Grabbed her arm and pushed her inside.
“There’s no power,” he said, closing the door as he entered behind her. “I won’t be able to see as your life slips away,” putting a hand around her neck, angling her face to look at his. She let him do what he wanted, dragging her to the wooden plank table. When they got there, he picked her up and laid her down on it. Pushing her hair out of her face, his hand trailed down her cheek and jaw. “You’re still as beautiful as you were when I first saw you. Maybe even more.”
He walked around the table, back turned towards her looking at the wall of weapons he had. She laid still, no restraints, only watching him.
He turned around, machete in hand. He used it to cut open her shirt, revealing her chest to him. He dragged the blade against her skin, not hard enough for it to cut through. Sometimes it would drag her skin, blood trickled out of the wound. He lodged the machete into the wood by her head, so it was sticking up right next to her.
He turned his back again, she felt tears start to well up in her eyes. Letting a couple escape. They fell across her skin the same way the blood was going along her torso.
He turned back towards her, a small knife in hand. He put it against one of her scars, opening it up. Blood rushed out, pooling on the wood beside her. He did it to another. Her blood dripped onto the floor. Tears were falling from her eyes. She bit her tongue then her cheek to not make a sound. Grabbing the sides of the table she was on, the wood cut into her hands. She only whimpered from the pain.
Placing the knife against her skin but not pushing down he said, “It’s ok, no one will hear you.” Wiping some of the wetness on her face away.
He went back to work, opening scar after scar. Her crying turned into screaming, screaming back into crying, then her voice gave out. She didn’t beg for her life, as she did last time. She would have been quiet if pain wasn’t continually pulsing through her body. Blood covered the wood around her. She started to black out. At first for seconds at a time but the intervals got longer as the night continued.
One time she felt the cold of metal against her torso and a hand on her bare thigh. Later she awoke to him cutting new wounds onto her legs.
As her eyes were closing again, she thought she heard sirens off in the distance. They would not get to her in time. She would make sure of it, feeling the pull of death for a third time. She let it take her. Finally she was free.