The Secret Admirer

Her hair flowed down her back, silken and shimmering, and landed about her waist. With a face as pallid as hoarfrost, she was a beacon in the otherwise murky night. Except tonight her cheeks were aglow with a faint pink hue. Was it makeup? Or was it a natural flush brought on by the Tequila shots she drank earlier? She wore a beautiful pendant around her neck of glimmering emerald. A birthstone, perhaps? Her breasts moved ever so slightly with the rhythm of her inhalations and exhalations; it was mesmerizing. Her hands shook as she fumbled for the keys to her apartment. Was she nervous? After what seemed like minutes of fidgeting with her keys, she turned the lock and opened the door to her apartment. Light shone out from the hallway and onto the patio, warm and inviting. This was a window of opportunity. How easy it would be to leap through that door and take her. There was very little I would not do to feel her body pressed against mine. It took all my willpower, but I managed to restrain myself. I could not let my base animalistic urges rule me.

She stepped into the warmth of her home and left me alone in the cold outdoors. That was when my heart was crushed. The man greeted her in the hallway. Tall, strong, confident… But he did not deserve her. Was he her boyfriend? Husband? My breathing began to quicken and one of my shaking fits came over me. It felt as though I had a lump of cold iron in my chest. How could this man I had never met before this night affect me so? As my seductress and that lout embraced, I could not help but liken my situation to that of David when he encountered Bathsheba bathing. She was my Bathsheba. Beautiful, tantalizing… But with another man.

The door closed and I was left utterly alone. I would have liked to spend the night perched in my hiding spot"a tall oak"but I needed rest. I had already endured three sleepless days and I had no desire for a fourth. I resigned myself to return home. I descended from my perch quickly and hurried back to the road, lest I be seen. Across the street a woman enshrouded in an ill-fitting, patchwork dress shuffled along the sidewalk, masked in the shadows of an old cathedral. She clutched a black parasol tightly in her hands. As I marched determinedly along the side of the road, she turned to me and stared, provoking chills up my spine. Had she seen me in my misdeed? What business did this woman with a parasol have in the witching hour on a rainless night?

I hurried back home, anxious to escape the prying eyes of the people who were still out and about. I was careful not to look at anyone on the walk home. One glance at my countenance would tell any astute person all of the intimate details of my nighttime hobbies. Unfortunately for me, I was cursed with an honest face.

When I reached my home, I shut the door and retired to my room. I buried my face in the soft pillows of my bed, covered myself with the sheets, and waited for sleep to take me. An hour passed by and still I was awake.

Tap! I jumped off my bed in surprise. Tap. There it was again; a tapping at the window. I drew aside the drapes and peered out of the window into the night. There was nothing outside. I gulped down deep breaths of air to calm myself. It was nothing but a branch tapping the window. I laughed hoarsely. A grown man like myself, jumping at branches! I was often on edge on the nights I pursued my hobby. I returned to bed and shut my eyes.

Another hour passed… I cursed and begged for sleep, but it would not come. Anxious, I hopped out of bed and lumbered over to the kitchen to prepare a mug of warm milk. I hoped the drink would be soothing enough to coax me into a slumber. With the hot drink in hand, I began marching back down the hallway toward my bedroom.

Tap! I jumped in surprise. The milk spilled out of my mug and scalded my hand. With a curse, I dropped the mug. It fell to the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces. I cursed again and spun around. This tap had had a distinct timbre to it, like an object knocking against wood. I abruptly looked up to my oaken door. Carefully, I edged my way toward it. With trembling hands I opened the nearest drawer of the door-side hutch. I reached into the drawer and drew a long hunting knife.

I threw open the door and raised the knife menacingly. Once again, there was nothing to see. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the whispers of the wind. I wasted no time shutting the door. I withdrew to my bedroom, turned the light on and looked at the clock: “4:30 AM.” With a sigh I slouched down onto the bed. I knew it would be yet another sleepless night.

The next few days passed by with little occasion. I had not returned to visit my woman with the silken hair. Each night I had the urge, but each night I resisted. Instead I imagined myself with her. I often pictured her bathing, water streaming down her full figure. As much as I hated to admit it, I was a slave to her beauty. Ever since I had first met her, my nights have been consumed by her. My life revolved around her. As hard as I tried to concentrate on other aspects of my life, thoughts of her would always creep into my brain. When would I see her again? Though it shames me to say, I have spent many hours imagining the multitude of ways I could murder her lout of a husband. Naturally, as a godly man, I would never go through with any of my plans.

On the bright summer morning of the eleventh of July, I decided I would go and see her again. That morning I poured myself a mug of coffee"one of my many crutches, I’m afraid"and opened the newspaper. The headline jumped out at me: “Young woman found dead in grisly scene.” I flipped the page and nearly dropped my mug. A woman’s face stared up at me. An all too familiar face. My Bathsheba.

I was hit with one of my shaking fits. I began to cough and tremble, my face damp with sweat. What manner of cruelty would possess a man to draw the life out of such an angelic visage? And then it struck me. In part due to my spirituality, I did not believe in coincidences. The cruel perpetrator was a herald of God; this act was dictated by Him, in all his wisdom, for a purpose. I feared my nighttime deeds would not go unpunished.

In all of my years of watching them in their beauty, I had never forced myself upon a woman. Though holding myself back became more and more difficult as the years passed. I feared that one day I would become one of the beasts my God and I condemned to Hell. Now, with the death of the woman with the silken hair, I would end my nefarious habits. As her eyes shut"my beautiful martyr"my own opened, and I knew I had to make amends.

I passed the weeks in utter torment, but I did not succumb to my urges. Whenever the old, familiar itch came upon me, I closed my eyes and thought of Her face, cold and dead, staring up at me from the paper. I still dreamt of her, but these dreams were not pleasant. It was as if I was a prisoner of my own mind; for even it tormented me. The dreams it conjured up were cruel, disturbing things. They would always end with her undying corpse pointing at me and shouting: “You did this to me!” What was I to make of it?

I was confined by my own consciousness and there was no escape… Save one. And this route would damn me for all time. My hand was forced; I would have to endure the torment. I was a fool to think I could endure such pain. Two months after Her death, I woke up to the familiar itch. It hit me harder than it ever had before. And that morning I chose to relapse"to go back to my old ways. My will was too weak.

That morning I went to an old diner across the street for breakfast. The waitress greeted me with a heartwarming a smile. I had not seen such a striking smile grace a woman’s face since my Bathsheba.

“Good morning, Sir. For one?” she lilted, with a bright chirrupy voice.

I licked my lips nervously and nodded. Her smile wavered for a moment and then she gestured me onwards toward a small table in the corner of the room. Had I made her uncomfortable? I often provoked such reactions, though I had no idea why. I thought I had been perfectly civil and polite.

“How is your day going so far?” I asked, conscious of my stiff awkwardness.

“Good, honey,” she sang with her dulcet voice. “I just started my shift, but I’m hoping they’ll let me out early so I can get out there and enjoy the weather. Here you go, Hun. I’ll be right back to take your order.”

She sat me down at the table in the corner. I settled myself in and took a scan around the room. Not a busy place. A group of students sat at a table in the centre of the room laughing loudly and monopolizing the room, leaving me unable to hear myself think. A lone middle-aged woman sat across the room from me, sipping from a mug of coffee and looking down at the table sadly. Another lone soul, like myself. She glanced up and caught my eye. I quickly turned away, embarrassed for staring. Before I turned away I had seen something in her expression. Recognition? Or maybe fondness or desire? No, it couldn’t have been. She had just smiled; it was simply a polite gesture.

“What can I get ya?” came a sweet voice, pulling me away from my musings. I hadn’t even noticed the waitress return.

“C-Coffee would be great,” I said with a faint stutter. As she turned around, I glanced at her name tag: “Helen”. I’ve always loved that name.

When she returned with my coffee I decided to make small talk. As much as I hated it, it was a necessary evil.

“S-so what time do you have to work until?” I asked carefully. She frowned. Damn it, I had made her uncomfortable again.

“Well I’m off at five, but if I’m lucky they’ll let me off a couple of hours early. So, know what you want?”

I desperately wanted to ask her for dinner after her shift, but I knew that it was pointless. Instead I asked for the bacon and eggs breakfast and kept my pride. She was about to walk away when I spoke up again.

“Y-you have a l-lovely name,” I said. “Helen. A war has been started over that name. Well, over a w-woman with that name.”

I supposed I caught her off-guard because her reaction was not what I had hoped for nor anticipated. She just blushed and muttered a soft thanks before leaving to the kitchen to place my order. As she left I noticed a ring on her finger; it was diamond with a blue jewel encrusted in its centre. I cursed under my breath. How had I not noticed it before?

I spent the rest of that breakfast all too aware of my loneliness. I glanced up across the room to where the sad woman had been sitting, eager to see another as lost and forlorn as myself, but she was no longer there. I was truly alone.

What I did that night was shameful, but I had little control over my actions. I returned to the diner at four and waited in my car. Waited for Helen. My heart raced wildly and I felt that familiar rush again as I waited. Finally, at five o’clock, I saw her. Right on time. She jumped in her car and drove off. I had to stay covert, so I waited a moment before following after her.

She lived out in the country, surrounded by trees and bushes and countless spots where I could conceal myself. When she pulled into her driveway, I drove right past but took note of the house. If I kept driving she would not suspect a thing. I parked about a mile down the road. When I jumped out of the car I took in a deep breath of air; it had been so long since I’d felt this rush! It was a cold night so I threw my scarf around my neck before leaving.

I slunk through the shadowy streets back toward her house. As always, I was careful not to be seen. When I arrived, I posted myself in a bush in her front yard and searched for her bedroom window. Damn it, the blinds were shut. I could see the light from her room, and I could make out her silhouette, but that wasn’t enough for me. One particularly dark corner of my mind tried to goad me into finding an open window or door so I could invite myself inside, but I resisted this temptation.

After an hour or two my waiting paid off. Light filled her kitchen and her delicate figure came into view; she wore loose-fitting pajamas. She was alone, no husband in sight. She plunked down on her couch and turned on the television. My breathing quickened. I could watch her for hours, and I planned on it.

There was a scuffle from down the street which almost made me jump and give away my hiding spot. I looked down the road for the source of the noise. I could see the shadow of a figure on the road! Here, in the country, with so few houses around! I stiffened with fear and kept myself still. Soon the shadow began moving away until it was out of sight and I relaxed.

I decided I had been compromised; I couldn’t stay where I was for much longer. I hurried back down the road toward my car, keeping to the shadows. That was when I noticed the cold wind biting against my neck. My eyes widened in panic. Where was my scarf? I scanned the road but there was no sight of it. I decided my scarf was not worth being discovered by someone, so I continued down the road toward my car, quickening my pace.

As soon as I reached the car I hopped in and drove off down the road, back toward my house. At home, I locked my door and jumped into bed right away. Perhaps not surprisingly, I had very little sleep that night. Eerie noises from outside and creaks from inside my house kept me awake. I passed the time lying down in my bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about Helen.

I rose the next morning in good spirits, but they were soon broken. As I stepped outside my door, planning on returning to the diner for coffee and to see my Helen, I was startled by an unexpected gift on my front porch.

A lone red rose sat on the porch. And what lay next to it"as harmless an object as it might have been"was enough to send cold shudders through my body and to provoke another of my shaking fits. It was my scarf. Though it was a plain black scarf, of which there are millions, I knew that this was not just any scarf. Somehow I knew that it was mine. I left the rose and the scarf where they were, afraid even to be in their presence, and I left for the diner.

At the diner I received a second surprise. My Helen was not there. Dejected, I went back home and shut myself in my bedroom. A week passed and I stayed in my home. I did not go to work or even outside for fresh air. I stayed inside, wallowing in gloom and desolation.

That next week was when I received my third surprise. I was lying on the couch in my living room with the blinds shut and the lights turned off when there came a knock upon my door. This was an odd occasion. I never had visitors. Filled with curiosity I opened the door… And gasped.

Four police officers stood on my front porch, all with fiery expressions. They walked in, uninvited, spun me around and pushed me against the wall. I could feel the cold iron lock around my wrists.

“You are under arrest for the murders of Helen Moore and Melissa Trembal,” they shouted accusingly. “You have the right to…”

It went on and on, but I wasn’t paying attention. Murder? How could they accuse me of that? Helen… And Melissa. My woman with the silken hair. I had loved them! They spouted nonsense about finding my DNA at both murder scenes. They were aggressive, battering me until I felt numb. I barely registered what they were telling me. All I could think of were the faces of the women I had loved. They told me they had both been mutilated in the same way"too horribly for me to describe. As the officers beat me they told me the women had been nearly unrecognizable in their final state. That was not how I wanted to remember them. What was happening to me? Was this some cruel joke? Or was it the final revenge of God"in all his spiteful, sadistic glory"for my defying him?

The next thing I knew, I was lying in a rigid bed in a prison cell. Despite the uncomfortable surroundings, the first night I spent in the cell I managed to fall asleep"which I had been unable to do for my last few nights at home. The next morning I woke and looked around sadly. That was when I noticed the package sitting in the corner of the cell. A letter?

I picked up the envelope and ripped it open. It was slightly heavy"it felt like more than just paper. I pulled out the letter first and scanned it.

Dear Stranger,

I have been watching you for a long time. Did you notice me? The moment I laid my eyes on you I knew we were meant to be. Do you feel the same way about me? You didn’t take the gift I left for you. Didn’t you like it? I hope you did. I’ve tried to talk you before, but I was always too afraid. You know what that’s like, don’t you? I hope you noticed me.

Lots of love,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. They were not good enough for you.

The letter was signed with a red lip print. My own lips quivered and I almost broke down. This was a woman after my own heart. And only now, in prison with no escape, did I notice her.

There was more in the envelope. I frowned and turned it over, dumping its contents onto the cold, stone floor. What I saw caused me to drop to my knees and cry out loud.

The objects which lay on the floor would be meaningless to most, but they meant everything to me: a beautiful emerald pendant and a diamond ring adorned with a blue jewel.