A Chance Encounter

Choice 

“So, I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” 

It was a complicated answer to a simple question. Why was she here? 

“Please. You don’t have to do this.” You could hear the desperation dripping from every word. This caused his lips to curve into the most deliciously evil smile. 

“Of course I don’t have to do this. Does anyone have to do anything?” He implored, taking a moment to really take her in. It was her eyes that had first drawn him in. They had a certain fire in them, a certain yearning. It felt like she was begging him to come to her. Who was he to argue? He went more than willingly. 

He wasn’t proud that he picked her up at a bar. No, he was usually a lot higher class than that. But something struck him that night. He saw her, looking deep into her hazel eyes, and knew. He hadn’t gone looking to take someone but hey, when life gives you lemons, right?

“If you let me go, I won’t tell anybody anything” she said in a hushed tone. He couldn’t help himself; he roared with laughter. It was a laughter so deep it even surprised him. He shook his head, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. 

“Oh, dear me I’m sorry. Do you think I was born yesterday?” He asked her, shaking his head in disappointment. He didn’t bother to blindfold her; when he was finished she wouldn’t be able to identify him, anyway. There was no need to gag her, they were several miles away from any form of civilization. 

Out beyond the deeps woods, stood a large, brown barn. It had at one time been seeping with beauty, a farmhouse sitting next to it, the animals frolicking in the pastures. Now it stood, but barely. It was old, and not properly taken care of. The door barely latched together, making him come up with some redneck ways of keeping people out; not that it mattered. The farm wasn’t on any map that he knew of; and he was determined to keep it that way. 

The farmhouse, which once was a pride of his family, sat a burning pile of rubble. 

“I can tell you as a matter of fact, I wasn’t born yesterday” he mused, taking a chair and placing it just in front of hers. He sat down, close enough to taunt her, but far enough that she wouldn’t dare try anything. She was bound with zip ties around the wrists, mid arms and legs; she was going nowhere anytime soon. 

“I know this is usually the part where the villain  makes a long speech, just to give enough time for the hero to come bursting through the door, saving the day at just the right moment” he paused for dramatic effect. “I’m sorry to say that won’t be the case this time” 

“Please! Somebody help! Anyone!” She yelled, desperately trying to free herself from her chaired prison. 

He simply sat across from her, not saying a word nor moving a muscle. 

“You done?” Was all he asked once it appeared she had to gasp for more air. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, trying to plead for her life. He so loved when they did that. It made it all the more fun for him. 

“Well, since we’ve got the time and I can’t afford a therapist, maybe we should delve into why I’m doing this” he chuckled, stroking his chin. When she didn’t interject, he took it as a sign to begin his tale. 

“I was born right in this here barn. Thirty eight years ago yesterday. My momma died giving birth to me, I guess that’s where it started.” He paused, pretending to be deep in thought. 

“I was raised by my daddy for awhile, but he was a drunk. A screw up. My grand daddy kicked him out of the house before I was even 5. Imagine that?” He asked, as if she would offer some insight. 

“He worked me to the bone. From the time I was five until I finally made my move. I worked from dawn until dusk. Seven days a week. It didn’t matter if it was rain or shine, I had to work. And if I didn’t, or if I screwed up just like my daddy, well, let’s just say this here belt would come off” he pointed to the old, worn leather belt he had holding up his patched up jeans. Her eyes grew wide for a moment, as if wondering if that’s what he was planning on doing to her. 

“I was thirteen when I decided I’d had enough. It was one night, after a particularly bad beating, I waited until my grand daddy went to bed. My grand mama, well now she was a saint, it’s really too bad she had to marry such a monster.” Another pause. 

“I poured gasoline all over the house. In front of their bedroom door, and any other exits for that matter. I know what you’re thinking- thats sloppy work- he could easily escape through the window. Well now, don’t you worry. Even as a young boy I still was a sharp as a whip. I burned a ring all around the house, you see. Just incase my granddaddy was feeling brave” he bit his lip, remembering the night in such detail it was almost arousing. 

He remembered their screams. That’s what stood out. He remembered the smell of the burning wood and flesh, and he remembered the happiness he felt when he saw his granddaddy’s face. 

“I was the last thing he saw before he doesn’t see. It couldn’t have been planned out any better.” He grinned proudly. “Does that answer your question?” 

“So you killed your grandparents, so what? What does that have to do with me?” She spat, feeling an overwhelming sense of bravery. This lasted just for a second though, when she saw the look on his face. 

“I spent a few years here, living off the land and what was left. There wasn’t much. But I called this barn home. I knew eventually I’d have to venture into the real world, but I couldn’t acting like I was. I had to look authentic. I had to look like I belonged.” He spoke in such a low whisper, she could barely make out what he was saying. 

“I latched onto a family in the next town over. The Dewars. Decent folks, but they were in the way” he sneered. Just thinking about them caused his blood to boil. 

“They kicked me out when their pet dog went missing, see. They thought I did it. They thought I was some sort of evil.” He shook his head at the memory. 

“Well, did you?” She managed to squeak out. A smile broke across his face; the answer, written all over it. 

“Yup. Even went back to finish them all off too. Had to finish the job, you know.” Her eyes went wide; she knew who he was. There wasn’t a soul around who wasn’t looking for Timothy O’Connell. Everyone in town knew he had murdered his adoptive family in cold blood, leaving no traces behind. Nobody even knew what he looked like; he had blended in. 

“Ah, I sense you know who I am. Good, this is good” he said with a smile, finally getting up from the chair. He threw it to the side, it landing on some hay that sat at the foot of his makeshift bed. 

“Everybody thought you died” she told him, beginning to shiver. “Nobody believed that a sixteen year old was capable of so much violence” she was chilled to her very core. 

Yes, he thought with a smile. He remembered that day clearly, too. Again, he waited until the family was asleep. Having experimented on the family dog, and a few months studying books at the local library, he was fairly certain he could make this as painful as possible. 

He slit her throat first. His “mother”. She was stern, but could be loving. She obviously favoured her two biological children more, something Timothy never forgot. Her eyes were wide, as her hands shot up to the newly formed wound on her neck. He thinks she whispered “why…” right before her death, but he couldn’t be sure; he had already moved on to dad. 

And his siblings, bless their hearts. He didn’t really have much hatred towards them, they rarely spoke. He was fairly certain they were afraid of him; rightfully so. Their deaths, he had determined, he would make as quick as possible. But Casey struggled. Yes, she put up such a vicious fight he had ended up stabbing her twenty times in the chest, making sure to go back to her brother and gave him nineteen more stab wounds to match. 

“And yet here I am, very much alive.” His smile was so wholeheartedly evil it sent another shiver down her spine. 

“I guess that brings us to now. After that taste of blood, I couldn’t stop, see? I had a taste for murder. I couldn’t stop. I can’t stop, you see?” He was beginning to repeat himself; he was beginning to feel on edge. 

“What are you going to do to me?” She managed to ask him, tears rolling town her cheeks, her mascara running down frivolously. 

“Oh now dear, let’s not get ahead of ourselves” he snickered, heading over to where he kept all his tools.  They sat neatly organized on the workbench his grand daddy had made what seemed like a lifetime ago. Though he resented all that he stood for, he sure knew how to keep his workbench orderly, something Timothy was always certain to keep up on. 

“Just do it. Get it over with. If you’re going to kill me get on with it” she screamed, her tears flowing faster. She struggled against her restraints once more, gasping for air after another intense struggle. Regardless of her efforts, they wouldn’t budge. This was it; she was going to die here. 

“Now, now. I don’t like to rush” he insisted, picking up his favourite tool; the knife. Sure, death by fire had a certain smell he loved; but he only ever duplicated that once more after his grandparents. His weapon of choice was the knife. The good, almighty knife. More people were compliant when you held a knife to their throat, than a gun to their head. It made no sense to him, but no matter. 

He didn’t like to rush but he knew it was time. He couldn’t control his urges any longer. 

“I’d warn you and say this is gonna hurt, but I think you already know the answer to that” he said, before smiling and inching closer to her. 

He woke up, the bloody knife still in his hand. He didn’t remember passing out or wanting to go to sleep, much less making his way to his bed, but here he was. 

He didn’t remember that was, until he looked over to see the body, or rather, what was left of the body of the young woman he had picked up from the bar. Rachel? Rebecca? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the bloody mess that laid before his eyes. Fifty times. That’s how many he was up to now. He added an extra wound with each kill he made since murdering his adopted siblings. 

Smiling contently, he tossed the knife to the side and closing his eyes once more. The cleanup would come later, he thought to himself, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.