Oct 112013
 

A Four part collaboration by Pierre C Arseneault, Sarah Butland and Angella Jacob.
All rights reserved.

Part 3.
Such a Lovely Face
By Angella Jacob

The traffic on the corner of MacBeth and Willshire was heavier than usual, so I was lucky to find a parking spot near the coffee shop where I knew too well I’d find the bastard. Turning off my car, I glanced across the street catching the reflection of my blue sports car in the flower shop storefront panel windows. No doubt the same store where he’d bought me the three long-stemmed roses only a few short weeks ago. Pulling my purse onto my lap, I dug out my sunglasses from their case and replaced them with my prescription glasses. Undercover as I could be, I slipped on a black ball cap and tucked my long brown hair through the back, a cascade of flowing curls descending down my back.

Not long after, my eyes caught a young blonde woman walking barefoot on the sidewalk. No doubt she was the next one. Her plump hips and chunky build along with the frightened look on her face as she limped away from the coffee shop was a dead giveaway. As I turned to look down the street behind her, I spotted him immediately. I recognized his strawberry blonde hair and his shuffling feet right away. He was stalking this one now too. How lucky had I been to escape this deranged man’s clutches when I did. I should have known something was off when at thirty-three he was still living with his mother.

The young woman stopped at the restaurant past the coffee shop and glanced inside. She soon began her nervous walk onward. My attention turned back onto the handsome but psychotic man that was closing in on her. He walked faster now, his red shirt easy to spot amidst the busy sidewalk. His eyes had been so captivating. Clearly they had only been a decoy for his chilling grip on my throat that night. His hands squeezing hard had chased away every lust-filled thought that had played in my daydreams of him. Luckily, an older woman that looked like Kathy Bates had stumbled upon us in the park that night. He had released his grip instantly and stared at the old woman, his eyes wide and pale-faced. I ran away as fast as I could and never looked back. That is until I made the connection. The news and social media sites were bursting with reports of a serial killer in the area. I knew I had to confirm my suspicions before I went to the police, for fear he’d come back to finish me off if the cops couldn’t arrest him. I only knew his name anyways, which turned out to be of no use when I Googled it and did a Facebook search for him.

His new target was now crossing the street in her bare feet, darting between a parked car and a white van up ahead. Sticking my key into the ignition, the radio blared “Hotel California” in my ears and the cool air conditioned breeze made the wisps of hair that weren’t inside my ball cap to play around my head. They danced in unison with the mad rush that my thoughts created by the adrenaline as my instincts kicked into full gear. My right foot hit the gas as soon as I shifted into drive. My eyes transfixed on the red-clad shirt that was stepping onto MacBeth Avenue, following his terrified damsel who was now safely on the other side of the street. She watched her stalker with a look of anguish.

My timing was perfect. As the man bent over to pick something up in the middle of the street, I floored it until I felt the impact of his body on my front bumper. His eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, but as they did, I grinned wide. The last thing his lying eyes would see were those of the damsel who’d have proven to him that not all of us are in distress.

I never stopped my car, even with the windshield cracked and the bloody body sprawled out in my rear-view mirror. I just kept driving and left the past where it belonged. My heart rate returning to normal, I turned off from MacBeth and onto Clivesdale Drive, singing along with the Eagles, about a lovely place and a lovely face.

Be sure to come back next week for Part 4, and the conclusion, by a half of Mysterious Ink – Pierre Arseneault! 🙂

Thanks for reading,

Sarah Butland
author of Sending You Sammy, Brain Tales – Volume One and Arm Farm

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