Take Me With You(10)

They finish. They go about their business. It's the boring, monotonous stuff of living. Getting dressed. Going to the bathroom. The type of stuff I can watch mindlessly for hours if I allow myself. It lulls me into a hypnotic state. It's like watching a moving Norman Rockwell painting, except now everyone's got beards, long hair, and bell bottoms.

The guy turns on a lamp, so I can get a clearer view. I have to be careful, but as long as I stay low and make no sudden moves, they won't know I'm out here. It looks like they're talking about something serious. It's intimate. I've never really known intimacy. Watching it makes me ache, and then it makes me angry. I'd rather be angry than feel longing.

Suddenly, Mr. Perfect gets up. Then he's on his knees. This can't be fucking happening. This cannot be fucking real. The ache burns. It's like being punched in the stomach over and over again. It's like someone reaching in and clenching my heart with a handful of hot, shattered glass.

As I have trained myself to do, I convert the longing into fury. And this time, there is so much of it that I boil into a blind rage. I need to expel this fire building in me. My instinct is to tear the bush in front of me to shreds. I tighten my fists as the lovebirds embrace, trying to contain the wrath that ascends in me like a flash flood.

Patience.

Fuck patience.

They mock me. They taunt me. Their white smiles and flawless faces show me the life I will never have. It's like they know I'm here and want to shove it in my face.

You can't trust them. Did you think you ever had a chance with her?

Fuck plans. I'm going to steal their joy just like they have so harshly snatched mine. He can't have her. I'm going to put my mark on her. I'm going to make Vesper mine. I'm going to be with them when they walk down the aisle. I'll be laced in every memory, every milestone.

I'm going in tonight.





I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It takes a while for Vesper to finally settle into bed. From what I could tell, she noticed that the necklace was missing. That's rare. Most people don't notice the things I have taken until after I've hit. I can tell what I took is important; it's nice to know the token I have of hers has so much emotional capital. That I'll always have an important part of her to relive what will happen tonight.

I'm not prepared. At least not as much as I would be if I came here tonight with the intentions of going in. But it's enough. I know the house. I left a roll of twine. The boy is there, but the parents are gone, so that's good enough. Mr. Perfect is there. That's great news. He won't be so perfect when I'm through with him.

My point of entry into the house is through her parent's bedroom. I cut the screen to access the window and pried it open when they were last out of town. I patched the screen up when I left, and they were none the wiser. So today, all it takes is a little yank on the seams of where I cut last to expose the window. And the window is unlocked just as I left it. I crawl in sideways, making sure that I am soundless. My heart races, but it's not nerves, it's being so close to something—someone—I have wanted more than anything ever before. It's the thought that this insatiable need will be fed.

But deep inside, I lament the thought of when this will end. It's always on to the next house, the next target. But she's the ultimate. The crown jewel. I'll have her once and then…what next? I don't let the thought steal my focus though. I've always managed and I'll manage after this.

My boots softly contact the burnt-orange carpet with each step. I pass the boy's room. He is sound asleep. I think about tying him up, but if he makes any noise resisting, I risk Vesper waking up. Then they'll have the jump on me. I'll make sure to keep them quiet so he doesn't wake. I'll use their protectiveness as a tool to control them. Despite what you may think of me, I don't want to scare the kid if I don't have to. He's had it tough enough. So instead, I reach in and close the door without a sound.

I pass their bedroom, the door ajar, and peek in. Doctor Handsome is shirtless and in track shorts. Vesper is wearing this white cotton baby doll thing. The way the pale blue moonlight hits her body, it's almost see through. I want to pounce her right there, but I have to keep to the script. It's what's allowed me to do this in dozens of homes without the cops having an inkling of who I am.

I head to the living room to take in the scene. One last time before the madness. When all is quiet and unharmed. Just before their untouched lives are sullied by my fingerprints. There are many pictures of her mother Joan, and her stepfather, Dr. Peter Reynolds. Spain. France. Thailand. Mexico. There's only one of Vesper and Johnny. It's just them. He's sitting on her lap and she's squeezing him, tickling him. He's laughing, his body misshapen from writhing and his condition. She's looking at him with a smile. Is she smiling at him? Or laughing at him?

I don't understand. I don't understand how a pretty, smart girl like that could love that boy unconditionally. She must remind him how he's different. She must make him feel left out sometimes. He's not like them. And those of us who are different, they always find ways to remind us. Even if they are your brother or sister. Even if they say they love you.

As soon as you open your mouth, they'll think you're a joke.

The lurking doesn't last long. I'm jittery with the urge to finally touch Vesper.