Left to Die

He left me to die. I was used, as most of us are. He had just finished killing a man, and probably even more men earlier that night, when he reached for me. The darkness that once enveloped me, almost comforting (almost), dissolved into a soft gray light. I trembled, though I’m still not sure if it was on account of my fragile fear or due to his nervous hands. He smiled. That menacing, poisonous smile is still etched into my mind, seeped through my being, still lurking nearby, ready to bite at any moment.

His aged, yellow teeth hung from his mouth like stalactites. They chattered every time he spoke. I’d known him for about a week personally, but I’d heard about this man long before that night. Everyone talked about him when they came into the store, and despite my being in the back, I always overheard the despicable things they said about him.

“He’s a killer. But no one can prove it. Think about it, why haven’t that little boy and his mother returned from vacation yet? He killed them, that’s why. Apparently she had an affair with him and her son caught them, so he killed them both and burned the bodies,” one middle-aged woman had gossiped one day.

“I heard he keeps some of his victims’ bones in his room. Under his bed,” replied Jan, the woman behind the counter. “You know, like trophies. He burns the bodies and buries the rest of the bones, but with every victim, he always keeps at least one. But of course the police can’t just barge in. They have no proof. No evidence. That’s how he’s getting away with it.”

There were countless stories about him, and there were two things that were always consistent in those stories: He always burned the victims in some way, and he always had a pack of Marlboro 100’s on him. The man was truly despicable, but no one could prove it. He’d lurk in the alley, and when he was confronted, he’d grin that wide, toothy grin, and move along, always maintaining eye contact. He’d slither through stores, stalking women and writing notes, but never approaching them. Just watching. Nothing harmful, until you were alone with him.

No one knew what he actually did to his victims; no one even knew if he was the one killing everyone, but I did. I knew from the beginning. And when he came for me in the store on that bright Tuesday afternoon, I knew that I would just be another one of his victims. When he opened his mouth and asked for me, I shrunk back, but it was impossible to avoid him. If he asked for something, he got it, no questions asked. His voice scratched my ears and sent pain throughout my body. We left the store and he took me to his house, where I saw how it all happened.

Certainly enough, his room was cluttered with papers, pictures, folders, and records. Names of people, dates, and locations were all scribbled on various papers scattered throughout his room. I was thrown onto the floor without a second glance. I had one chance to see if the rumour was true. I peered underneath the bed and saw a large wooden box with a lock on it. Holy. Shit.

As if he were reading my thoughts, he reached for it and unlocked it with a key. The contents inside were not the gruesome body parts I had expected, but it wasn’t any better than that. He pulled out a bloody knife, the blood still dripping, and wiped it on his shirt. After throwing the knife on the bed, he reached in and grabbed a spiked club, with what looked like to be flesh on it, and another knife (clean, thank God) and examined them, grinning all the while.

I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. Luckily, I didn’t have to. He picked me up without saying a word. Before I knew what was happening, we were out the door and walking down the street, headed to an unknown location.

“Brian, I’m on my way now. Make sure no one is around, okay? I’ll be there in five minutes, and I want it to be quick,” he said on the phone.

Before long, we faced an apartment building and made our way to the front door. He pushed the buzzer. “UPS,” he lied. “Got a package here for a Nancy White.”

The door clicked open and we stepped inside and into the elevator. Once we got to the third floor, we approached a very normal looking door labeled 3B. He knocked three times, with the other hand on the doorknob. When the door opened slightly, he used his brute force to slam it open, pushing the woman back.

I had no idea what was going on.

The woman inside let out a terrific scream, but he quickly muffled it, subduing her and throwing her on the couch. I had expected him to finish her off, but he tore through the apartment, down the hall, and into a room. I was tucked away, once again left only to my sense of hearing, which by now was impeccable.

A new voice—-a man’s—-suddenly filled the air.

“What the hell? Who are you?”

The tormentor didn’t say a word as he grabbed the other man’s neck, forcing coughs and sad breaths out of him. They suddenly became fewer as the man tightened his grip. Before long, they had ceased completely, and I knew the man had died.

On the way out, we passed the still unconscious woman, but didn’t give her a second glance save for the spit he sent her way as we slithered through the door. It was a silent walk home, though the silence was a proud one. I knew he had done exactly what he wanted.

We finally got back to his apartment, where my sense of uneasiness grew. I knew I was next. After seeing the despicable things that man did to someone without evening thinking, I couldn’t imagine what he’d done in the past, or what he’d do in the future. The thought of being around this man, and for his pleasure, was unbearable.

“That was too easy,” he said in his raspy voice. “Too easy, and too fun. I wonder when I’ll have that much fun again.” A cackle filled the air; his hyena of a laugh echoed throughout the room and bounced off the walls. “Maybe tonight, hmm? We’ll see if I get that phone call. Until then, it’ll be you, me, and good old fashioned MTV, hmm? That sounds just delightful. Maybe we’ll even go for a walk!”

Was he talking to me? Or to himself? God knows his insanity had sky-rocketed; maybe he was talking to someone who wasn’t even there. Someone he was imagining. His lips came dangerously close, and I tried to slip away from him. He fumbled with me briefly, but he tightened his grasp and all of my means of escape had vanished, just like that. There was no question about it; the flame was already lit by the time I was able to acknowledge my fate. This would be it. All of my potential would be put to waste. I was a classic example of how we are all just a drop in the ocean. I didn’t mean anything myself. Maybe paired with others, with different combinations, whether it be with those similar to myself or those with just as lethal qualities, I would gain my full potential and do what I was created to do: kill. Kill and soothe. Crazy how similar those two can be.

The bright, dancing orange flame hissed as it neared my head. A stale, putrid smell lingered in the air and violated my senses, clouding my mind and infecting my pure, immaculate body. It didn’t take long for me to realize that that smell had come from my own burning flesh. My head seared with heat and I screamed in agony. The flame laughed and danced around me, covering my eyes in clouds of gray and orange. Infected smoke reached my tormentor’s lungs, making him cough. That cough, albeit only one small, passing choke, gave me a small sense of victory. Maybe my duty would be still be fulfilled.

Luckily for me, he wasn’t very smart. Once he was finished with me, he threw me aside. I lay there on his couch, still trembling from my near death experience, when he took once glance back at me. Sh#t. He walked back towards me, knowing I wasn’t dead. Of course he’d want me dead. If I lived through this, besides being a miracle, I’d be one of his most deadly enemies.

His long strides brought him to my side within seconds, and I remained still and lifeless while he looked around. Was he not going to finish me off? His meaty hand reached beside me, his fingers long and bruised. A ring shined on one of them, though I doubt it was a wedding ring. Next to me, those fingers wrapped around a small leather wallet and lifted up, sparing my life. He didn’t know I was still alive! That bastard was going to get it now.

A door opened down the hall, and out stepped a tall, blond woman in a robe and slippers. His girlfriend? Who knows. He went to meet her and they shared a hug and a kiss before he went into the room from which she just came out. I couldn’t see much from my point of view, and there was no way I was able to move, lest I got caught, so I relied on the noises coming from the kitchen, presumably from the woman foraging for food. Her light footsteps made their way to the couch on which I lay, but were interrupted by the man’s voice.

“Portia, did you move my keys? I need to run out,” he called from the room.

“Out? You were just out! Come on, James, stay for the night. For an hour!” Portia stepped toward the room, clearly aggravated. Possibly ignorant to James’ early evening activities that took place not an hour ago.

“I know, but listen, it’s important! I’ll be back before you know it,” he replied, frantic to find his keys.

Portia was clearly out of the living room, but her voice didn’t sound as far as James’. “I’ll give you your keys if you give me something,” she teased. The unmistakable sound of her robe falling to the floor gave me hope.

Perfect. This was my chance. The bedroom door shut and I went to work. With James occupied, and thinking I was taken care of, I saw my one and only opportunity to serve justice for all those whom he killed.

The couch on which I lay was made of a plush chenille—-very flammable. Lighting up the couch would be certain death. There would be no survivors, but this suicide mission would only mean justice for James. I squeezed my body into the cushions and felt the heat inside of me intensify. The warmth spread to the air around me and finally, the couch gave off a wisp of smoke.

It did not take long after that for the soft material to catch on fire, engulfing me and the surrounding area in a massive flame. I was dissolved and transformed from my long, skinny white self into one with the flame, aiding it in the destruction of the room, of the home, of the man who tried to kill me.

I laughed and danced throughout the house. I finally felt free, useful, and fulfilled. The temperature soared throughout the confined living area. James and his girlfriend had no idea what was going on, but I couldn’t wait for them to find out. I crawled along the walls and floor toward their room, imitating James’ scarring laugh.

The door was shut, but that was no challenge. I threw my body against the door until it melted away, and I filled the room with more smoke and fire than James would see in hell. His screams were accompanied by his girlfriend’s, though I decided to muffle them as he did to the woman in the apartment.

Knowing that my creation wouldn’t go to waste, and that my purpose would indeed be fulfilled, I greeted James and wrapped him in a fiery blaze. I was made to kill, and I would stop at nothing to kill James. The b##tard who killed so many innocent people would die because of one foolish mistake: he ignited a fire within me, and he forgot to put it out.

–END–