Forever Yours
“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”― Ted Bundy
At last.
There she was.
That same blonde hair, soft as ever, despite all the times she threatened to cut it off and dye it some dark, untouchable shade. Empty promises. Tonight, it was twisted into a loose braid, damp from the rain, her bangs plastered against her cheeks as she struggled with the tie on her umbrella.
A low, velvety voice murmured from the radio, announcing, “Black Orpheus by Freddie Hubbard,” before the song’s slow, aching melody filled the rental car. The man in the driver’s seat tapped his fingers against the wheel, matching the rhythm, his touch featherlight, as if keeping time with the very pulse of her existence.
The rain cast shifting patterns of gold and shadow across the windshield, a mirage in the neon-lit night. The scent of leather cleaner clung to the car’s interior, mingling with the salt and grease of forgotten fries in the passenger seat. He twisted the volume knob, slick with oil from his fingertips, and let the music swell.
She moved now, stepping off the stoop, black umbrella unfurling above her like the wings of some dark bird. The wind caught the edges of her coat, lifting it just slightly as she raised a hand to hail a cab. And, of course, it stopped for her immediately. How could it not?
Beautiful things never had to wait.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the cab door swung open, swallowing her whole. But it was fine. He knew how this went. He had done this before, after all. Many times.
She never noticed him, just beyond the edges of her world, following in the silence, watching from the shadows.
The window slid down with a low hum, and the cold New York air rushed in, damp and electric. He let it fill his lungs, let the night sink into his skin.
One more good night.
Because tomorrow, everything would change.
