Shadowed Intentions

Three women missing, so far. Three women in just six months. The daily news has become obsessed with the narrative, smothering us in stories from every angle. It’s all anyone is talking about, since everyone has an opinion.

“It’s always the husband,” the shopkeeper says matter-of-factly, crossing her arms.

“Did you hear that she turned down a colleague for a date? Sounds like he was bitter about it,” murmurs the waitress at the local café.

“Maybe if she didn’t sleep around so much, she wouldn’t have gotten herself into trouble,” says the barkeep, waggling a knowing eyebrow my way as I pretend to nod in agreement.

Plenty of leads, a few arrests, but still no dice. One missing woman is a tragedy. Two is cause for panic. Three? There’s near hysteria. Businesses are closing their doors well before dusk and schools have moved to home learning via video calls. By the time night falls, an unenforced curfew has rendered the streets deserted. No one walks home alone anymore.

Except for me. I don’t have a choice.

I’ve been following the same path through the city for three months. I’m taking care I keep to the well-lit routes. Always looking over my shoulder, making sure I’m fully aware of my surroundings and paying close attention to the few people who dare to walk along the main road with me. I try not to look too nervous as I clutch my handbag tightly to my side and walk quicker than usual.

Before I left, I set my smart watch to monitor my heart rate rather than show the time. The beat is faster than usual, as it has been every time I’ve stepped out into the night for the past three months. There’s something different about this evening, though. I can feel it in the crisp air.

Tension courses through my veins, settling uneasily in my stomach. The darkness is almost suffocating, weighing down upon me as I walk away from the centre, the distant hum of traffic fading as I turn down a quieter road. A lamplight flickers above me, highlighting the cracked pavement in a strobe effect. Not that I would wear anything else given the circumstances, but I’m glad I’m wearing flats tonight, considering the amount of rain we’ve been having. Imagine twisting my ankle because my heels caught on a dodgy bit of tarmac hidden by a puddle.

And there it is, a footstep.

I spin around, facing the danger behind me head on. Am I sure? The night remains almost perfectly still, aside from the flicker of movement from leaves still clinging to the almost empty branches in the trees above. Tilting my head, I listen, focusing all my energy into honing in on that specific sound. Ten seconds pass. I hear nothing out of the ordinary. On the contrary, it’s deathly quiet.

Slowly, I turn around and continue my journey, sneaking a quick glance down at my watch. 110 beats per minute. Getting faster now. The slap of my boots against the wet pavement echoes down the narrow street, the only sound aside from my hot breath escaping my lips, forming plumes of smoke as I pick up the pace towards my destination. So close, but yet miles away somehow. Shadows claw at my heels, casting alien shapes that don’t appear to be from this plane. The endless walls of the brick terraces on either side of me reach long into the sky and beyond, leaving nowhere for me to go but ahead or back the way I came.

My head snaps up. This time, I’m sure.

I hear him.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps. Rhythmic and deliberate. I reckon he’s about ten metres behind me. Far enough that I could outrun him for the moment, I’m confident in that. I quicken my pace, shivering from a potent mix of cold and adrenaline. Everything hinges on my next few decisions and I fight to keep my wits about me.

The metal gates of Terrier’s Park loom tall to my left, and I follow where the path splits into the yawning gateway, away from the streetlights, away from the city, into silence and ink-black shadows. The moonlight illuminates the slick path, the earthy scent of rotting leaves filling the dead air. There’s no wind anymore. Maybe it’s holding its breath, waiting anxiously to see how things pan out for me. As my mysterious companion and I distance ourselves from society, his footsteps close the gap between us.

Finally, I’m aware of my heart pounding against my chest, the beat thundering in my ears. My eyes, wide and wild, flit down to my watch. The numbers are as high as I’ve ever seen them. It’s interesting how difficult it is to distinguish excitement from fear, don’t you think? In fact, in a lot of ways they are remarkably similar. Both can heighten your awareness and focus. Senses sharpen, energy surges, thrill and threat merge and blur. My heart rate is the same when I experience both emotions, as if they’re interchangeable.

He’s closing in. I feel his menacing aura maybe three metres behind me, just as we reach an area with bushes. We’re alone. Completely alone.

Perfect.

Bag already unzipped in anticipation, I slide my hand in and wrap my fingers around the handle of my gun.

Three months it’s taken me to catch his attention. Three months to make sure the cat would become the mouse.

Finger tight on the trigger, I slow my pace, welcoming his breath on my neck. Before he can raise the hammer above his head though, I whirl around like a dust devil, eager to look into his eyes. I watch as it dawns upon him that, in his arrogance, he’s neglected to account for the fact that there’s more than one serial killer in the area. I inhale the cold sweat of fear that pinpricks his brow as he realises that after tonight, only one of us will be left standing, and it isn’t going to be him.

Blind panic sets in and he runs.

I make sure he doesn’t get far.