A Deeper Shade of Red

a stranger sees a deeper shade of red

9

Shortly before four in the morning she bundled up her condoms, put it into her handbag

with deep pockets. She had worked almost the entire night trying to make some extra cash.

Sadly, she had only made less than two hundred dollars. She was hoping the other girls would

not work because of the killer. Nevertheless, they were working just as hard as she was. She had

to stay later because she wasn’t that attractive, and she didn’t have a gimmick.

The stranger rose quietly from behind the park bench at Wentfield Park. He chose to

follow her because she was indeed the last girl working. He had murdered the first girl on, and

it was fitting to actually murder the last girl. He ran silently toward her, but did not make his

move. Not just yet.

He followed her to a row of apartment buildings on Wordin Avenue. She took the stairs

that made a curve to the rear of the building. Those stairs led right to her front door. The

stranger had to duck because of the fire escape that led to an inner driveway. On the far side of

the building there was a hollow square of buildings leading to Buena Way. It was penetrated

by a narrow covered alley way leading towards Lee Avenue.

The woman fumbled with her keys, but she was able to open her door on the very first

try. She entered quickly and tossed the keys onto a small kitchen table and placed her handbag

on the counter near her white stove.

"Damn I can really use a drink," she whispered.

The stranger slipped in and closed the door quietly, replaced the safety bar, and quietly sat

down at the kitchen table.

There were two doors in her small kitchen. One leading to a small living room, and the

other leading into a small bedroom. The stranger had to kill her quickly, because the walls just

looked paper thin. A scream would most certainly bring someone to the door. The stranger

thought about that for a moment. Then he just brushed it out of his thoughts. He simply didn’t

care.

"Who the hell are you?" she half-screamed.

The stranger smiled.

"My god, what happened to your face?"

The stranger just glared.

"Are you hurt?"

He looked confused.

"Anyhow, how the hell did you get in here?"

"You didn’t lock the door," he replied.

"Get out!"

"Busy night?"

"Are you going to rob me?"

"No."

"Were you following me?"

He nodded.

"What for?"

He smiled.

"Oh my God, are you that..."

He nodded.

The woman put her hands to her face and fell to her knees.

"Aren’t you going to run, scream, do something?" he asked.

"Don’t kill me, I have a child."

I have a child.

I have a child.

I have a child.

He kept hearing those words playing back in his head for a few minutes. It had to shake

himself back to reality.

"A boy?"

She nodded empathically.

"How old?"

"Ten."

"Tell me about him."

She didn’t know how to answer him so she answered in only three words. "I love him."

His eyes fluttered as if he didn’t understand any of the three words.

"Did you hear me? I love him!"

The stranger walked toward her, but in the most submissive manner he began lifting her

face toward him with his hand. He was trying to be as gentle as possible. "You love him?"

"Yes very much," she wept.

He nodded slowly, and deliberate.

The woman knew that the man in her kitchen was a very dangerous man. He had no

regard for life. His face was so disfigured that she had to rely on his gestures and

expressions to figure out his next course of action.

"Am I going to die?" she asked nervously as he released the grip on her face.

"I will not kill you today," the stranger replied.

The word kill sunk into the woman’s mind, and when the word was heard continuously playing back in her head, she felt a warning cry rush through her body. It felt like a

bolt of electricity racing through her veins without logic, or reason.

"Why do you kill?" she asked without even realizing it.

"Cursed."

"Cursed?"

"Yes, and that curse feeds my madness," he started as he stood upright. " When I kill,

something odd takes place. The blood that spills has a deeper shade of red."

"A deeper shade of red?"

"That means that the spirit or soul of the victim is also cursed," he explained. "They die

with two strikes against them. Selling of their flesh, and a cursed spirit."

She nodded.

The stranger walked to the door and removed the safety bar. He placed it on the floor and

then looked back at the woman. She hadn’t moved an inch as she remained on the floor in the

same position.

"Love your child," he said.

She just stared.

"Don’t ever curse him."

She nodded ever so slightly.

He walked out and closed the door behind him.

"Thank you God," she whispered.

She then thought about his curse. He was a sick man that needed help, but that night

he did not kill. He had to be a very sick man, or actually cursed.

A deeper shade of red?