Tedious Business

And again with the singing...

 

This man; the abusive father, was by far, the hardest of my victims to track down. Every time I knew where he was, I was trapped at work, so I couldn’t follow him. The darkness prevented my looking at his license plates, and I never saw him anywhere apart from the store. It was unnervingly frustrating!

I found him though, with much planning. His smooth, beige, personality-lacking Honda sat quite still one day in full sunlight, and so I decided to take a break and run off to the Chinese place a few spaces away. I slipped one of the business cards from the counter into my apron pocket along with a pen and exited. When I was sure I wasn’t able to be seen, I backed against the wall of the shopping center and scribbled the number on the card, which I then placed in my wallet, not wanting to risk losing it. I then proceeded to pick up the orange chicken and cream cheese wontons I’d ordered a few minutes earlier.

A week later, when rain had paused, but heavy clouds and dropping temperature returned, I stood at his door. I was sure it was his door. His car was parked in the drive, and there were small crying sounds coming from within. I’d pulled the ski cap on at the end of the block, tucked my hair underneath, and made sure that I made a convincing man. I tested the handle and found it unlocked. Stupid man.

The strange house confused me at first, and then was assimilated into my brain. The layout was uncommon; I entered a kitchen rather than a living room or foyer. I listened. The television buzzed about fifteen feet away behind a closed door. The girl’s voice came from opposite the door behind which the idiot box played. I shut the door quietly as possible and fell to my hands and knees behind the counter, but I’m sure my heart would blow any cover I’d attained. I held my breath and slid into a corner.

A door opened, and little feet patted across the floor into another room; probably the bathroom. The door shut and locked, and water ran in the tub. I observed all of these things based solely on sounds. I moved swiftly into the girl’s room, prepared to seal myself in the closet. Dolls littered the floor, and worn pink bed sheets lay crumpled on the mattress. A box of crayons was spilled out onto a coffee table in the corner, which I guessed served as her desk. She’d scribbled pictures of four-legged animals. Dinosaurs I guessed, because they were green and had claws and long necks. Her walls were hung with posters and magazine cutouts of ballet dancers in tutus and leotards.

The bed in the other room squeaked and I rushed into the closet. I bit my lip as my heart pounded again. The bed continued to squeak, and the sounds built up into a rhythm, which was accompanied by an occasional “Ah” or “Oh”. I cleared my throat nervously, as quietly as possible, then pulled out the screwdrivers, tape and razor blades I’d brought along. I’d wait until the girlfriend or wife with the Toyota went home or fell asleep, then corner the father. With my weapons in hand, I emerged from the closet and scrambled back to the kitchen, then to the living room, where I curled up behind the plushy recliner in the corner. It was an excellent hiding place.

When the little girl finished her bath, the bed squeaking had stopped and bigger footsteps seemed to follow hers. “Did you take your shower sweetie?” her father asked.

“Mmhmm” the girl replied.

“Ok, I’ll be back in to tuck you into bed soon, all right?”

“K.”

Heels clicked down the hall and murmers began by the door, and I only caught a few words of the brief conversation. A kiss, and the deep-voiced woman was gone, jingling keys and unlocking her car. When the car pulled away, the father moved towards the little girl’s room.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” He said.

“Night Daddy” she replied.

He left her room, turned the light off, and closed the door softly. Then, he made his way into the kitchen and dug around in the cabinets. I heard glass hit the counter. He poured a drink of something and headed towards the small, dark living room. He sat in the recliner, just inches away from me, and flipped the television on.

I sat for an hour, hoping the whole time that nothing would go numb, and I’d be able to carry this out as I’d planned. Murder is such a tedious business.

He snored, and my heart skipped. I smiled and set to work, knowing that I had a precious few seconds to get this right. I stood, with the tape in my hands, working the edge of it free with my gloved hands, and then pulled the piece long and hard over his mouth from behind. He woke up and struggled, but I held firm and pressed my fingers into his throat. “Put your hands up.” I ordered in a deep tone; trying my best to sound male. He put his arms up in the surrender position, and I moved them so the wrists crossed, and taped them together. “Put them down.” He obeyed. I smiled to myself, knowing that this would be easy. He was so compliant. I held the butt of a screwdriver against his head, knowing that he would think it was a gun. “I’m going to remove the tape over your mouth, but if you scream, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

He nodded.

I peeled the duct tape from his mouth. “Now answer quietly. What is your daughter’s name?”

“Please don’t hurt her.” He blubbered.

“What is her name?”

“Courtney.”

“Do you hurt Courtney?”

“What?”

“Answer. Do you hurt her?”

“No.”

I shoved the end of the screwdriver into his head harder.

“Ok, yes, yes. But I didn’t mean it! I was drunk and stupid!”

I smoothed the tape back over his mouth and then plunged the small end of the screw driver into his throat. “Not anymore.” He screamed, but it was muffled. I pulled the blade from my pocket and slit his face from jaw to eye, spilling quarts of blood. He pushed himself forward and stumbled to his feet. A kick to the back had him sprawled on the floor. He was a small, chubby man with light brown hair and cold eyes. He continued efforts to scream, but the tape held.

I plunged the second screwdriver into his eye socket and left the room. I picked up the phone, dialed 911, and left through the back door at the other end of the kitchen after setting the phone on the counter without speaking into it. I hoped that Courtney wouldn’t have to see her father’s bloody corpse.

I reached a park and pulled out of the boots, gloves, mask, jeans and sweatshirt I’d stuffed myself into for this caper, and back down to just my own pants, long-sleeved shirt and tennis shoes behind the play structure. A communal grill for picnics served as my bleach-and-burn apparatus. The bleach/alcohol mixture ignited, and I set on my way home, singing under my breath: “Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.
It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out.
It doesn't matter much to me.
Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.
Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about.
Strawberry Fields forever.”

Reviews

[Brie]

Go Blair! That guy deserved to be killed. Poor Courtney. Still grrrrreat!
-Brie