Only one more
Bridgewater
to go he thought as he looked
around the hallway. By now his heart was pounding like a jackhammer in his
chest, it echoed in his ears and he imagined the whole hallway throbbing
with its percussive rhythm. Head back, he leaned against the wall.
Consciously he strove to calm and slow his heart rate. Slow and easy, he
thought refusing to allow his growing elation to overwhelm his caution.
Again a delightful sense of power enveloped the shooter and he had to bite
his bottom lip to keep from bursting into giggles. Step by step he inched
his way toward the light from the last room in the hallway.
Using the back of his hand he
lightly nudged the door more fully open, pleased with its silent response.
He was momentarily startled when his eyes met the mirrored image of
himself in the glass over her dresser. He clutched at the gun and forced
himself to take a deep breath. His eyes raked her room, noting the way her
frothy lace curtains fluttered in the breeze of the open window.
She, a young beauty he’d
fantasized about a few times, was seated on the edge of her lace-canopied
bed. Her carrot-colored hair, shoulder length and straight draped the side
of her face, hiding her eyes from his view. She was writing in a small
book that lay across her lap. She brushed the hair away from her face,
tucking the loose strands behind her ear before she returned to her
task.
He raised the gun and took careful aim. Suddenly she raised her
head and caught his image reflected in her mirror. Silence hung in the
air. Time seemed to be suspended and then she turned to capture his gaze.
Recognition registered slowly in her eyes, startling both of them.
He watched the fear creep up her tiny frame and burst into bloom in
her jade-green eyes and his desire blossomed.
She read his intent.
He pulled the trigger.
(At the scene of the crime)
Bethany
and the police had been through every room downstairs and found nothing.
Dread welled, like acid, up her chest creating an uncomfortable tightness.
It threatened to choke off her air. This is fear I’m experiencing, she
thought, eyeing the steps leading up to the second floor. Air seemed thick
as gelatin all around her and that gave her a sense of moving in slow
motion. She seized the rail, grasping for a means of support to give her
feet momentum. Fingers of ice clawed up her spine freezing her foot midway
to the first step.
“Beth...Beth.”
His voice penetrated the miasma of fright and she turned her head toward
his voice. “Adam?” The concern she detected in his eyes shattered the
ice and freed her breathing.
‘I’ll do this with
you,’ his eyes promised. He mingled his warm fingers with her cold
ones and they started up. He matched his pace to hers with no attempt to
lead. Three steps from the top she raised her eyes to the splash of color
snared by her peripheral vision. It was a handprint, a bloody handprint.
It startled her foggy state and marred the hall’s pristine white
surface.
Suddenly the maze of ice surrounding her shattered and anger
enveloped her. Someone had destroyed her family, some evil entity had
stolen a precious part of her and suddenly Bethany understood what it felt
like to hate. Understood the urge to choke the very breath from the
culprit. Steel replaced the rod of ice that had held her erect. Her inner
strength and resolve united with the anger and she vowed to do her best to
help the police.
