The Executioner

Hundred and Fourteen

Mollie had spent the day in a cloud of worry. Something wasn’t adding up. She kept having residual flashes, but they were getting stranger and more confusing. It looked like everything was doubling up, as if there were two killers, two sets of victims. She couldn’t make sense of anything anymore, and it was scaring her like never before.

She’d woken up in the middle of the night feeling claustrophobic. Her room was spacious enough, but the air inside felt stale. As she opened her window and allowed the cold and humid Los Angeles winter breeze to caress her face, an uncomfortable feeling made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She felt as if she was being watched. Craning her upper body out of the window, she allowed her eyes to scan the portion of the street she could see from her room. The street was deserted.

Mollie went back to bed, but her mind kept playing tricks on her, keeping her awake for the rest of the night. The sun rose at 6:53 a.m. and finally Mollie was able to relax a little. Nighttime was always harder. For some reason the images came stronger then – more real, more painful.

She finally left her room as the afternoon was coming to an end. Hunger was stinging at her growling stomach. Just down the road, Mollie found a sandwich shop which also sold cakes, sweets and creamed-topped coffees. She ordered a salami and cheese sandwich, a slice of apple pie with ice cream and a hot chocolate before taking a seat at a table close to the shop’s front window.

Hunter had told her that maybe tonight he’d be moving her to another location – a friend’s house, he said, but he still hadn’t called. She finished her pie and was distracted by a short and stout man standing across the road dressed in a Santa Claus outfit. He enthusiastically dangled his oversized golden bell, trying to collect money for some charity. Mollie watched him for at least five minutes. No passerby made a contribution.

‘No one seems to care these days, do they?’ A tall man sitting on the next table commented, noticing Mollie’s attention on Santa Claus.

‘Not really,’ she replied with a sad head shake.

The man was wearing a long black overcoat and a dark, old-fashioned mobster hat. ‘It’s a sad world when people have no heart for charity anymore,’ he said before running his tongue over his cracked lips.

Mollie didn’t know how to reply, so she just smiled and had a sip of her hot chocolate.

‘You’re not from LA, are you?’

She looked at him intrigued.

‘I can spot a Los Angeles smile a mile away. It has a fake edge to it, but not yours. Yours is-’ he paused, searching for the right word ‘-kind, sincere.’

‘Thank you.’ She blushed slightly.

The man noticed her uneasiness and stood up, gathering his things. ‘I hope you enjoy Los Angeles,’ he said, offering his hand.

Mollie shook it with the most delicate of touches. The man’s hand felt strong and powerful.

‘My name’s Ryan, Ryan Turner.’

A new smile blossomed on her lips. ‘I’m Monica.’

‘Enjoy LA, Monica,’ he said again before exiting the shop, approaching Santa Claus and depositing some money into his bucket.

Back at the hotel her bad night’s sleep caught up with her and Mollie kept on dozing off in front of the TV. She wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep when the vision came, but it hit her like a knuckleduster punch to the face.

When she opened her eyes she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, naked and bleeding.