The Perfect Prey

Thirty-two

John Stallings thought about how his father ambushed him in the restaurant and was curious what he had meant when he said to stop by and talk to him sometime. It was Sunday evening, and he’d wrestled with his emotions all afternoon. He went from angry that the old man thought he could just show back up in his life, to sad that he had lost so many years. But that didn’t compare to the years he’d spent being scared of the tyrant and wishing someone else was raising him. Now he was just tired enough to confront the old man without fear of getting physical or even too vocal.

He was on North Liberty Street looking for the address his father had given him. It turned out to be a boardinghouse that had ten rooms for rent. It was west of the stadium where the Jacksonville Jaguars played in an odd part of town with houses, businesses, industrial buildings, and apartment buildings all mixed together. It was, in fact, the kind of area where he would’ve expected to find his father.

He parked in the front of the old two-story Spanish-style house, and paused after he got out of his car. He looked up at the mostly dark windows and tried to think of reasons to wait until tomorrow. Or next week. It’d been so long since he talked to the old man. So long since he even thought about him-or at least that’s what he told himself-that he wondered if this was even worth the effort. There was also the issue of bothering the other residents. He eased up the uneven walkway toward the porch, which held an old couch and three unmatched chairs. As he was about to climb the four wooden stairs, the porch light came on and the front door started to open.

A heavyset elderly woman in a thick bathrobe leaned out of the door and said, “Who you looking for, officer?”

Stallings froze, looked at her in surprise, and said, “How did you know I was a cop?”

“Son, you run a place like this for long enough and you can spot a cop and a social worker from a mile away. Something tells me you’re no social worker. Who you looking for?”

“James Stallings.”

“Now, what did Jimmy do that would attract the attention of the police?”

Stallings was about to make up some story, something he would feel guilty about later. He didn’t want to lie to an old lady. Then the woman clapped her hands and let out a short squeal of laughter.

“You’re Johnny, his son, aren’t you?”

Stallings had no idea his father had ever mentioned him to anyone.

The woman said, “You look just like your photo in the newspaper. Your father has made me read stories about you for hours on end. How’re Lauren and Charlie doing?”

“They are, um, fine.” He gazed at her for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. Then he said, “So my dad is here?”

“Not right this second. I think he went down the street to help one of the boys who had too much to drink. He might be a while. He likes to avoid confrontation with the drunks and let them wear out before he drives them back here.”

He wondered if somehow she had gotten his father confused with someone else.

He liked the feel of her strong legs wrapped around him. Even the short, awkward pause to slip on a condom had not ruined the moment. He was also glad Lester was not in the front house because, if nothing else, this chick was loud. It may have been just that her mouth was so close to his ear, as she screamed and grunted and squealed to every thrust that he made. This was almost as hard a workout as his run had been that morning.

Even as he grasped her and kissed her and felt himself deep inside her, his eyes kept looking down into the open drawer with the long, sharp letter opener. He could picture it in his hand, driving into her neck or her chest. The image of her shocked face while he was still inside her was thrilling. It was almost as if the letter opener had its own personality and was forcing him to pick it up and use it.

She started to kiss his neck, then nibble, until she finally bit him.

He jerked back. “What the fuck?” Reaching up with his right hand, he felt the blood running from his neck. He was bleeding. She was the prey. The prey didn’t bite the predator. He looked at her face, a smear of blood above her upper lip, sweat running down her forehead, still swaying to every thrust he made. She liked it. So he pretended to like it too. He rubbed more blood off his neck and then smeared it across her breasts. She grinned, the light from outside making her teeth glow an eerie shade of white. He started to thrust harder and faster.

“Oh yes,” she gasped, three times in a row.

Now all he could think about was the letter opener in the drawer. It screamed at him. It taunted him. His right hand slipped off the desk and into the drawer as Lisa continued to pull him tighter and tighter to her naked body.

But somewhere in his brain, a rational thought popped out. How would he ever clean up the mess made by a sharp implement stuck in this girl’s throat? The blood and pieces of flesh. It was too much like leaving food around the house. It bothered him. He pulled his hand from the drawer and felt like he was about to come. He still wanted to be the hunter. He leaned back slightly, letting Lisa look up in his eyes. His left hand came up to caress her chin, and his right hand held the back of her head as he felt himself about to explode, his intensity pulling her along with him. She took quick, shallow breaths, trying to keep up with the energy she was expending.

He said in a soft voice, “Just relax. Let everything go for a moment.” He felt her shoulders and neck relax, but her legs were still wrapped around him. He tightened his grip on her chin and her hair, then twisted his hands in opposite directions. He used all of his strength and leverage to make the motion quick, violent and exact. A crackling sound rippled up from her back and neck, and she went limp as he exploded inside her.

He was good for a few more thrusts as her legs slowly slipped off him and dangled from the desk. Even with the condom on, he could feel her warmth. She slumped against the wall, her head bumping the framed cork-board collage of all the other prey. He slipped out of her and let her slide right off the desk and onto the floor with a thump.

His skin tingled from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Stars appeared in front of his eyes as the room started to sway. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. It was so impulsive and unplanned. So unlike anything he’d ever done before. He’d had no idea it would even work. But now he’d claimed another victim in a new way, in his own house. This was too exciting.

He kneeled down next to her and carefully placed two fingers along her neck. He was shocked to feel a strong, steady pulse. He’d had no idea what damage he had caused, but it appeared that he had only knocked her unconscious. Perhaps breaking her neck or back, but not killing her. So he simply wrapped his big hand over her mouth and nose and clamped shut. There was no thrashing, no twitching, and there was no oxygen getting into her bloodstream.

A minute later he released his hand and checked her pulse again. Nothing. He’d brought down another antelope.