Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Perfect timing.
The delivery crew is leaving now after some small talk. The two men were quite impressed that I was able to move all of those items by myself throughout the store. I gave them some tips on how I keep myself in the shape that I’m in.
I kept them there after the delivery because I just felt the need for some company I could talk to and not kill.
They were very kind.
John and Raymond they’re called, and they’ve been doing their job for five and ten years, respectively. Before they leave, they tell me that if I need help with my “project” that they would be glad to return at no cost and assist me.
I assure them I can handle it just fine and shake their hands when they leave. The smile on my face is due to Abigail arriving. I see her driving up the driveway as John and Raymond are leaving and motion to her where she can park.
Has it already been three hours? It’s possible; as I’ve said, I have no need to know time frames. I’m just assuming that she’s arrived at the appointed time.
She gets out of her car—a small burgundy thing with a hatchback—and waits behind her still open door.
“Glad you could come,” I greet her warmly.
She nods but stays behind her door. I know what she’s doing; I’m not a fool. If she perceives me as a threat, it would take nothing but a few swift movements to get back into the safety of her vehicle.
So, I’ll charm her.
“It’s nice to see you again, Abigail,” I say, stopping short of the front of the car and digging my hands into my pockets. “I apologize for how I behaved earlier on the phone, I just really wanted to see you again.”
I can see her muscles relaxing, and her jaw isn’t quite as tight as it was when she first stepped out of her car.
I decide to go in for the proverbial kill.
“I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know it may seem inappropriate, but the thought of possibly having your hands on me again has moved something inside of me that I can’t quite place. I hope this isn’t too forward, or a hazy dream of a man that’s yearning for that touch again, but I just had to let you know.”
Her eyes; they tell me that I’ve won her over. I do much better with words than I do with touch because I can control what I say. I can lather my words in a sultry, low tone and pretty much hypnotize whomever I speak to. My touch is not quite as controlled, but I’m sure you’ve gathered that.
“Doing some home repairs?” she asks, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. The basic human instinct to survive is starting to show in her standoffish pose and I smile kindly.
“I will be soon enough. It’s nice to have the supplies on hand ahead of time,” I reply with a chuckle.
Her eyes lower to the ground for a moment. She’s wondering if she should stay, and I understand, however, she’s come this far, and I won’t let her leave just yet.
“Would you like to come inside?” I ask brightly. “We can have a glass of wine and talk.”
I don’t wait for her answer; I turn away from her and begin to walk toward the back of my home. My movements are similar to subliminal advertising in when we see something grandiose, without realizing it, our minds decide we want it, and the rest falls into place.
My smile widens when I hear her car door close, followed by the sound of her setting the alarm via her car remote, then the quick shuffle of her footsteps as she attempts to catch up to me.
I won’t leave her behind, but I don’t tell her that as I turn the corner of my home and wait patiently by the back door. I force my eyes to fill with a kindness I could never feel as I open the door and step back, letting her walk in.
“Ladies first,” I say in the most gentlemanly tone I can muster.
She steals a glance at me as she walks by, but her steps are no longer hesitant. She’s confident in the fact that I most likely want her here for sex.
But sex is never the point. It’s purely coincidental, if and when it happens, and I feel nothing each and every time. She’s here for a greater purpose. I follow her into the kitchen and silently crack my neck.
“Red or white wine?” I ask her.
It’s merely a distraction.
I won’t pour wine for someone who’s so easily ensnared in a net of simple words. I wait patiently for her to set her bag down on the kitchen counter and when she turns to look at me, I’m a mere few feet away from her.
Watching her.
Silent eyes telling her what’s to come.
And as she opens her mouth to reply, I step forward and grab her around the throat pressing down tightly until she goes limp in my arms.