The Five Acts

The Impulse

The flower tattoo is the first glimpse of my impulse. Standing behind her in line, my eyes draw down the black ink starting from the back of her ear, down her neck. It’s dainty and delicate…somehow that symbolizes her. I unlock my phone and research the bell shaped flowers and find they're called lily of the valley. They symbolize purity, humility, sweetness and joy. It says the flowers have a sweet fragrance to them…as does she. I can smell her even though I’m a few steps behind. I take a step closer, small enough that she doesn’t sense me as I inhale. Scents of lavender and a musky vanilla fill my passages and into my blood stream, my body warms. Her hair is styled in a slicked back ponytail, brown curls cascading out of the hair tie. The curls slide ever so slightly from shoulder bone to shoulder bone when she moves her head to check the status of the line we are standing in. My hand starts to shake as I drift my fingers up towards a curl, curious to know if it’s as soft as it appears. Just one touch.

The grinding sound of coffee beans snaps my hand back. I’m aware of my surroundings again. Standing in the middle of a coffee shop, trying to touch a total stranger. Idiot. I glance around the shop and noticed no one is watching me. Either the baristas are working away in their morning rush or the customers are glued to their phones. I got lucky, I’ll admit.

I turn my attention back to her, making sure that I keep a safe distance but still focused on her. Her outfit intrigues me. She’s wearing black pumps, elongating her perfectly smooth legs. My eyes draw up to her black skirt, flowing a few inches above her knees and stopping at her waist, a thin brown belt hugging her. A loose light denim shirt is tucked into her skit, the sleeves rolled above her wrists. She accented her wrists with gold jewelry and a black purse rests at her hip, the handles cradle inside her elbow. She reaches inside her purse and I notice her nails are polished soft pink, I like that color on her. She swings her other hand around when I see an oval shaped diamond ring resting on her third finger. It gives me pause, someone cares for her. Someone who will ask questions.

She steps forward, ordering her drink. An iced brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso and a small square of coffee cake. She pays, stepping aside and putting the wrapped coffee cake in her purse. I wasn’t able to catch her name. Maybe that's a sign, the ring being the other. Most of the women I’m with are unattached, available, lonely…people don’t ask questions about them. But she’s different. She’s certainly more elegant looking than any of the others. She dresses better, smells better, and holds herself together better. I wonder how she’d hold herself against someone like me.

I’ve ordered my drink, same as hers. I move towards her, she pays me no notice. Must be nice thinking she’s so safe she doesn’t have to pay attention to her surroundings. A consequence she may soon pay for. I’m contemplating, the impulse starts to waver. I could still do this…but it will require work and I’m trying to decide if she’s worth it. She looks elegant now but how will she look with I’m done?

“Noelle!” the barista rings out a name. She leans forward and grabs the drink off the counter. Turning around, she notices me standing there. Her doe-eyes drift up to mine, green with specks of yellow glisten back at me, a brown eyeshadow across her lid, deepening her eye color. My entire mouth runs dry. A small smile comes to her face, her lips plump but natural looking, covered in glossy shiny pink. Her shirt brushes up against my arm as she head out of the shop. Her heels clicking against the title as her ponytail swings behind her.

Well hello…Noelle.

That look took my wavering impulse into something I can’t stop. My drink comes merely seconds after hers. I grab it and follow after her. I keep a safe distance, following her for a few blocks. She walks into a building that holds multiple businesses. Walking past the guards she scans her ID card as she walks through a turnstile, meaning I can’t follow her past the lobby. She steps in the elevator and I notice above the doors are floor numbers. She’s the only one in the elevator and when she presses a button the number three lights up above her door. A smile creeps up on my face…I’ve worked with less.

Growing Tension

Researching the building takes little to no time at all. I find all the businesses on the third floor and then cross check the business names with her first name across social media. She works for an architect as an executive assistant in preparing contracts. She’s been working there for three years which means she has a routine by now, one that I can learn easily.

There she is in her profile picture, smiling and just as beautiful. Her social media is flooded with friends, drinking, vacations, parties, and weddings. I find her fiancé in many of her photos. He will require extra planning but it shouldn’t be impossible.

I track her and follow her for days. I take pictures and buy a notebook with a soft pink cover. Something about it reminds me of her. It takes a few weeks of watching her before I finally end up at her house. She likes to open her blinds when she gets home. She hasn’t noticed me in all this time, can she really be this oblivious? Perhaps she isn’t as street smart as I like to think. Turns me off a bit but she has other qualities that outweigh that. Her fiancé lives with her which means I’ll be learning his routine as well.

I watch her fiancé come home and she kisses him hello in front of the living room window. The impulse to have her quickly shifts to the desire to want to kill him. The only thing stopping me is I haven’t had time to research the house, scope out for cameras or neighbor’s cameras. It’s too risky. And I’m not going through all this to get nothing out of it.

I watch her another week, every night. I’ve found a place to park my car that hides me from the neighbor’s cameras. She gets home two hours before he does. It gives me a small window but I have the seasons on my side as well. Autumn equals evenings being darker, faster. It gives me an advantage sneaking around in the dark. She has no pets which means it’s another barrier that doesn’t exist.

I write down my plans in the notebook. The pictures I’ve taken of her are glued throughout. I decide Thursday is the day. The thrill of it hits my chest and I can’t wait to feel the release when all this is done.

My phone rings to life as I see another missed called from my therapist. He’s been calling more frequently because I’ve been missing appointments to follow her. “Shit.” I close my notebook and take a deep breath answering the phone. “Dr. Collins.”

“Chris.” He sounds relieved. “You’ve missed out last two sessions, no shows. You aren’t responding to e-mails; I was almost going to do a wellness check.”

I close my eyes, thank God he didn’t or the police would have seen my wall dedicated to her. This is where I should tell him the truth. Tell him that I don’t struggle with drink but with hurting women. But if I tell him then he’ll make me stop. If he stops me…I don’t know how I’ll react. No one has stopped me before and I can’t even think about that right now. I move my hand to the back of my neck, rubbing it and looking up at my car visor. “Sorry about that Dr. Collins I’ve been—” Just tell him. No…I’m not ready, I have to know her now. “I’ve been sick with the flu and haven’t hardly got out of bed.”

“I’d like to schedule you soon.” He says. “I have an opening tomorrow at noon.”

Fuck. I can’t schedule next week, she’ll be with me then. I can’t put him off any longer either. “Tomorrow sounds great.”

----

I sit in the office, that annoying clock as it ticks. Tick, tick, tick, tick. Dr. Collins stares at me, his pen tapping on his notepad. Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap. I’ve always liked Dr. Collins, he’s soft spoken, feels safe and has a caring disposition about him.

“Chris.” Dr. Collins says sitting up in his chair a little more. “We’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes and every question I ask you is a one word answer.”

“Sorry.” I adjust in the chair uncomfortably. “I’m still not over my mono.”

“You mean the flu?”

I close my eyes, “Right.”

“I don’t care if you were sick or not Chris, but I can tell you aren’t sick now…but you look unwell.”

My legs starts to vibrate on the floor as he scribbles on his pad.

“This is a safe space.”

“Is it? I ask looking at him. “Because I think if I tell you my plans, you’ll stop me.” He can’t be a barrier.

He looks up from his notebook as he takes a deep breath. “And what kind of plans are those, Chris?”

I shake my head, I’ve been seeing Dr. Collins for years and he hasn’t helped. He gives me tools for alcoholics, not what I really do. He knows my first name but I use a fake last name, a phone number that’s not registered under any name and I always pay for these sessions in cash. If he stands in my way, he’s a link I can easily dispose of and no one will make the connection. “No notes for this.”

He sets the pad of paper down with the pen on top. He crosses his legs.

“I don’t have an impulse to drink.” Shit. I can’t believe I’m doing this, sharing my deepest, darkest desire and impulse. I’m stuck here now but at least I can take care of him if that moment comes, he’s my best confidant right now because he has no idea who I really am, I’m not connected to him.

He stays silent.

“I have an impulse to hurt women.” To kill them but I limit what I say…for now. I thought I’d feel relief sharing my secret, but instead I feel the same…enraged.

He takes a deep breath. “And when did this start?”

“When I was twenty-three.”

“Did something significant happen that at that age?”

I shrug. “I planned properly.”

“And how many women would you say you’ve hurt?”

“Ten.”

“You say that number awfully quick.” He sounds surprised.

“I remember them.”

“And you have a new woman you want to hurt?”

I nod.

“So what it is about her that triggers you to want to hurt her?”

“I don’t know, she’s not like the others.”

“It’s not her specifically or the ten women before wouldn’t have happened.” He says. “So what is it?”

I refuse to answer, mostly because I don’t know yet.

“Fine.” He sighs. “Have you been practicing your mindfulness?”

I scoff. “The only thing that keeps me calm is knowing that I’ll hurt her.”

“That’s the growing tension wanting you to act on the impulse. We talked about that in our sessions. The five acts of impulse: the impulse, growing tension, pleasure on acting, relief from the urge and finally guilt. What about taking a step away from her, waiting a few days before making any decision?”

“It’s been weeks.” I say. “I’ve been watching her, following her, trying to find a way out of hurting her.”

His body tenses before I see him talking a breath and calming, taking a long pause. “This is weeks of you stalking her, not taking a break from her.”

I stand from my seat.

“Do you know this woman personally?”

“I know her, she doesn’t know me.” I say. “I prefer it that way.”

“What about problem-solving skills we’ve been working on?”

“What about them?” This isn’t helping or working, I need to leave.

“The consequences of you stalking her? What about finding alternatives?”

“Like?”

“Getting to know her person to person. Walking up to her and saying ‘hello’ maybe?”

Her smile comes back to me as she brushed by me in the shop, her cheeks flush. That’s the moment I’m living on.

“Chris.”

“I’ve already done dark things.” I say looking at him. “It’s the long quiet days that are the hardest.” The days that scream at me to go get her, gain relief.

“You said she’s not like the others, what did you mean?”

“She has people who care about her, people that will—” Notice her missing but I don’t continue. “The other women didn’t have people that cared.”

“They were disposable to you?”

“They were available.” I say honestly.

“You need to think about the long-term effects of your actions, not just for yourself but for her.” He says. “Let me help you.”

“You haven’t helped me so far, just realize I’m a dark individual.”

“You haven’t been transparent with me, Chris…until now.”

“And what does happen now Dr. Collins?”

I see the fear enter his body, it’s clear I’m terrifying to everyone in some type of way, not just to women. He clears his throat. “As long as you don’t plan on fulfilling that impulse, then I don’t have a duty to warn. But you are already on tricky ground here Chris, you’re stalking her.”

“She doesn’t even know I’m there.” I explain. “And if I plan on acting on this?”

“I won’t have a choice.”

Neither will I. “Good thing they are just thoughts right now.” I look at my watch. “I need to get back to work.”

“Can you meet me for another session?” He asks. “I feel like we need to speak more.”

“Tomorrow at six?”

“Six.” I say standing and heading for the door.

“Chris.”

I turn.

“It was hard telling me, but you have to let this process work now that I know the truth, give yourself some time.”

I walk out of his office, tossing my phone he contacts me on in the trash outside his building. There is no more time.

Pleasure on Acting

I enjoy this part, waiting for them to come home and finding me there. Some women act calmer then I expect. Thinking that not showing me how scared they are will somehow stop me. Some are hysterical and begging. Others do what I say as I say it and their emotions are somewhere in between calm and hysterical. What they feel makes no difference to me, it’s all about what I feel and the pleasure I get from it.

I hear her pull in and my eyes are on the window I came in at. This is the point where I can leave but as soon as I hear her enter the doorway euphoria starts to fill my body. I close my eyes as I hear her lock the door behind her, I can visualize her dropping her keys in the blue bowl like she always does, her purse next to it. She hums as she moves around the house and into the bathroom. While she’s in the shower I go into the living room and close the curtains she’s opened. I hear the shower turn off, the weeks of planning and watching have finally come to this moment. This is the moment I live for. When she exits the bathroom, I charge at her from behind.

Relief

I’m driving back home as she lies in the back of my car, drugged. I’m still pumped with the adrenaline running through me but a sense of relief has come over me too. She’s mine. Dr. Collins told me that I should feel guilt soon, the stages of acting on impulse but that’s the problem. I don’t ever feel guilt. I abduct women, hurt them until I feel relief, then host them hostage until I get the impulse again. Then I dispose of them when I’m done and start again.

But Noelle feels like a long term woman. I haven’t had many. The thought of that is driving up my excitement when I get home with her. She was a good hostage, doing what I said as I said it, crying but not loudly. I dump her in the room that I’ve dumped all ten other women. There is no way out of that room. I have metal over the windows, small holes just to let some light in. She’d have to bust through the door and with her small frame, I feel safe knowing she won’t.

Guilt…well…maybe

She wakes in the bed. I look over at her. Fear comes across her when she sees me. I’ve seen that look before. The realization that she sees my face, meaning she can identify me if I let her go, meaning that I won’t. She backs up against the wall as I stand next to her. “Noelle.”

“Please just let me go.” She won’t even look at me, her body shaking.

“You’re already home.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

I take my knife and point it at her, I walk up to her and run the tip against her tattoo. The thing that fueled my impulse. “That depends entirely on you.” I take a deep breath as my impulses return, I close my eyes, digging the knife in as she screams.