Everyone knows her. There is a girl like her in every neighborhood. She’s the one hanging in the park after dark, drinking a forty ounce of malt liquor, smoking a blunt, talking loud about nothing with the extra short skirt on. She’s the chick girls love to hate and the boys love to be with, just not in the daytime. The girl people talk about in that smug way when they are feeling superior.
Everyone thought she was a dumb slut. She didn’t finish high school or have a job. Her only occupation in life was a different man every day and night of the week. Not quite good enough for the local boys to bring home to mama, but good enough to have screw. Not good enough for the stuck up little broad in the ‘hood to be friends with, but good enough to call over to someone’s porch to find out some gossip. Yeah, everyone thought she was stupid. But she had them all fooled. No one suspected she was leading a double life.
Normally, she would play the role of the ignorant hood-rat with nothing on her mind but a high and a new man. However, for the last two weeks, it had been different. She had put on her longest dress, pulled her hair back in a neat bun, and she went to church. Each week, a different church. The first week it was bible study, this particular week, revival time. While there, she would allow herself be swept up into the drama of it all, and would stand up to declare her sinfulness to the world, begging for someone to rescue her from her this life of depravity. Ironically, it would be some allegedly righteous man, who saw that beneath the long dress was a body that was full, and voluptuous, and would pretend that he wanted to help this poor, misguided young woman. There would be the conversation, the
“Everything is going to be okay. Now that you are here in the house of the Lord, He will make it better. All you need is the love of a good man and everything will be just fine.”
She would smile sweetly and look up at him as if he was her reason for being alive. Still looking at him, she would say, “I walked here because I didn’t have any money for carfare; could you give me a ride?” Naturally, he said yes.
How could he resist such a young tender girl with eyes that were so beseeching and yet so inviting? Of course she would have to meet him on the next block, couldn’t have the hens of the church clucking. Always the same behavior, just dressed a little bit nicer. She used the same routine last week. Amazing how gullible men could be.
On the ride home, she would act like it so hot to her. She needed some air and would ask oh so politely could they go to the beach. It was so emotionally draining, telling all her sordid secrets to all those people and some fresh air would feel good. Naturally, he was down with that. It was in the fall and not too many people would be there.
At the beach, she would talk about the series of disappointments that had been her short life. The mother who showered her with love and affection, until she reached an age where her mother saw her as a predator looking for the same prey, men. The father who was gone so long she could not remember his face. Her mother’s husband who took away her innocence and left her with a loathing for self and knowledge too much for her to understand.
She would also talk about the men who made her feel like a queen at night, but would not speak to her in the daytime. The girls with the fake cheerleader smiles and serpent-like personalities. The school system which had no time for disturbed little girls who need nurturing, not more emphasis on state wide test scores. Then the tears would pour, real tears of pain, over the half-life she had been leading on this planet.
Always the arm going around her shoulder, the accidental/on purpose brushing of her breast, the awkward first kiss. She would let the kiss deepen to get things going. Slowly they would fall into the sand, and by careful maneuvering, she would end up on top. She would make him feel so good, so great for that moment. Then, with a quick, savage movement, she would slash his throat deeply. There wouldn’t be time for a struggle, his basic instinct for survival being thwarted by his sexual need. He never saw the tiny switchblade that she hid in her hair, the hair she had loosened from the bun she wore earlier. He never saw the look of calculation in her eyes because he was too busy looking at other things.
Silently, she would watch him for a few minutes, making sure he was dead. Then she would drag his body towards the car she had hid near the area where she would make her kill. She deliberately went to this part of the beach because it was very secluded. She would take the towels and blanket out of the car, and with clinical care, cleaned the blood from his body.
Unruffled by the night, she rolled his body into the blanket. With a strength most people had grossly underestimated, she put the body in the trunk of her car, closed it, rinsed her hands, got in her car and drove away. She went to the outskirts of town, and dumped his body into a shallow grave she dug earlier. The other time, she used the city dump.
Last week was the first time she had killed someone. She did it the first time just to see if she could actually kill someone in cold blood. Everyone thought she was such a dumb, pathetic, excuse for a human with the intelligence of a slug. To kill, one had to be cold-blooded, methodological, concise, and cunning. No one knew about the deep-rooted resentment and hatred lurking in her. No one cared.
Of course, her heart was cold. Her own mother pretended to love her until her natural jealousy of other women turned her against her own flesh and blood. She knew dude was screwing her daughter. She just didn’t care; she was too busy getting drunk and trying to hang on to her trifling husband. She felt the girl brought it on herself, walking around with her breasts bouncing everywhere.
The girls in the neighborhood felt the same way. The girl was the first to develop, with a cute face – they hated her for that. The boys were always skinning and grinning in her face, although they talked about her like a dog to them. What was so special about her anyway? Bitch.
And men! From the moment she developed, they wouldn’t leave her alone. Her perverted stepfather who had warped her sexuality before she even had the chance to warp it herself. He even had the audacity to be a deacon at a church! The boys in the ‘hood who pretended they liked her but only wanted some sex, and wouldn’t even acknowledge her if it was daytime.
Especially, these last two self-righteous, horny men she found in the church. Going around pretending as if they really gave a damn about her. Just like her stepfather. Ha! What a joke. They deserved to die just like her stepfather. Going to church with their wives and families, pretending they were so much holier than thou and then using the church as a trick service. It made the decision to kill so much easier.
The ability to kill had given her a thrill and a thirst. Next time, she would have to change her routine. People might catch on. No, of course not. Everyone thought she was so stupid. She had killed twice and hadn’t been caught. They had better watch out. She was out there.