Wednesday, December 17, 2014
A Page Straight from Ginger Simpson #APageStraightFrom
Cynthia Freitas moved from the midwest to San Francisco, seeking some excitement in her life. She didn't realize her salary would only support her living in a rundown tenement building, nor did she expect the newspaper to reveal a serial killer preying on victims...and they're all petite blondes...just like her.
Lucky for her, she lives next door to a handsome police officer, but Cynthia is in for yet another shocking jolt. This one really changes her life! She must solve the case before her new love interest becomes the next victim.
He sat alone in his dim apartment and thought about what he'd done. The tattered draperies blocked out society and created the perfect ambiance for his dark mood. His curtains were never open; instead he kept the floor lamp in the corner turned down low.
In his mind, he tightened the electrical cord over and over, choking the last breath from each of his victims. Momentarily, he warmed at the thought. In a flash of sanity he supposed he should feel bad—but he didn't. His lips curled in the feral smile he'd seen so often in the mirror, and a feeling of power swept over him. For now, his hunger for death was sated.
His memory replayed the crimes. His victims all had it coming—every one of them.
They shouldn't have fought. He only wanted to show them love, but they wouldn't let him. He scowled. Filthy women—playing with a man's emotions and eventually destroying his ego and breaking his heart--and for what? He snorted. To move on and do the same to someone else?
His fist tightened, reveling in his quest to end man's suffering. Each of his victims had begged for mercy, but he had none to spare.
The red tip of his cigarette glowed brighter as he inhaled. Safe in his comfort zone, he relaxed. No one would ever suspect him.
He passed potential victims every day—coming and going as he pleased. Whether they lived or died all depended on how he felt at the moment. He emptied his lungs, filling the air with acrid smoke.
Meeting women had always been problematic. He either wasn't tall enough, rich enough or didn't have the good looks they preferred. But, things seemed right when he had first met her. She acted unlike the others, or so he'd thought. Memories caused his calloused fingers to ache, wanting to splay through her soft, blonde hair as he had when they'd made love in the past. His lips still hungered for her kisses. She'd been very convincing—accepting him, welcoming his attentions, and sharing his bed. But, her actions had all been a farce.
The ancient wood beneath the chair's upholstered arm splintered beneath the pounding of his fist.
Some days, he put the memories behind him, forcing the hurt and anger from his mind and trying to live a normal life. He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but there were days; dark haunting days when her mocking laughter taunted him, and visions of her cold, blue eyes burned a hole in his heart. Her downfall had been hurting him.
If he couldn't have her, no man would. He started to rise, but his simmering anger boiled. His fingernails painfully embedded themselves in his palms and he dropped back into the seat.
Didn't she know he had feelings? Wasn't his heart supposed to ache when she told him she had no further need of him? She had discarded him like yesterday's garbage. Her words still resounded in his head. "I don't want to be with you anymore, and I certainly don't want to bear your children. You turn my stomach."
A loud whoosh of air rumbled past his lips. He'd willingly planned to devote his life to her, and she dashed his dreams. How could she vow to love him 'til death parted them, and then change her mind?
Death parted them all right. He saw to that.
He curved his mouth into a smile when he remembered how she had pleaded for another chance and vowed to love him again. But it had been far too late for that. She'd already proven she was a liar and a cheat. He made sure she never hurt anyone again.
Her last gasping breath numbed his pain for a little while, but now doing away with her wasn't enough! The others who looked like her, reminded him of her, called out to him. They were the same; never giving him the time of day unless they wanted or needed something. Users, all of them. He was making sure to get rid of as many as possible.
With the help of the media, people would soon recognize his calling card as the mark of someone doing the world a huge favor. It might take time, but folks would know him as the hero he was.
The already dim room went totally dark for a moment as the lamp across the way flickered, died then came back to light. Unfazed, he pondered what had just happened. Another electrical surge. Living in such an old building, he'd grown rather used to them.
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