the meeting was over. dave was left alone with his lonely miserable thoughts.
he had thought before the meeting of offering to walk some of the women back to the subway because of the abduction scare but after annabelle's and brenda's declarations of empowerment he lost his nerve. linda, who sometimes hung around to talk, had left in a hurry. at least frankie had also left quickly.
his thoughts returned to the abductions. he had read everything he could about them in the newspapers although he was careful never to read about such things online.
how we wished he could offer his services to the police as an expert!
dave had a secret, one he wasn't about to "share" at any anonymous or twelve step meeting. about fifteen years ago when he had a job as a sociology instructor at a junior college in michigan, he had murdered five young women over a period of eleven months. he thought of himself as a "former" serial killer but realized the concept would be lost on the police. after his fifth victim had turned out not to be a prostitute but a girl from a moderately wealthy home, he had become terrified but not so panicked as to leave the area immediately or otherwise call attention to himself.
although he was tempted, he knew from his reading that the absolute worst thing he could do would be to show any interest or try to be "helpful" to the police. over the years he had remained super careful , never looking up anything related to the case, or any similar case, on line. he didn't buy or read books about serial killers, not even the serial killer novels that half the people on the subway read. his appearance had changed. his insatiable lust for pepperoni pizzas and meatball subs had added over a hundred pounds to his medium size frame. he lost a lot of hair. and he grew his big beard, which he was fully aware most people, especially women, found ridiculous.
so after fifteen years who would look at fat, balding, bushy bearded dave and shout: "that's him! the guy outside morty's cafe that night!"
he thought about it all the time and realized he always would. he would probably start babbling about it in a nursing home (not that he had anybody to put him in one) and the attendants would just ignore him. most of the time he wished it had never happened so that he wouldn't have to think about it all the time. at other times he felt proud, like a soldier back from a war. he'd been to the mountain and seen and done things too terrible to tell. these morons going to the office every morning with their laptops, what did they know about anything?
and these stupid bitches and faggots at the meetings ... most of the time dave sincerely wanted the people at the meetings to like him. and at other times... well, he had his moods. he had to admit linda was nice. if only she was twenty-five years younger and sixty pounds lighter - but then she probably wouldn't be so nice, would she?
suddenly bitchy, foxy, totally superhot brenda jumped back into his thoughts like a wolf jumping off a rock on to a passing cowboy. oh, brenda, brenda, couldn't you look at me just once with real ... something, just for one millisecond out of all the trillions of seconds in the universe ...
he needed a pill. and the pills were home in his medicine cabinet. a cleaning woman came into the classroom. she was short and had big boobs and what dave thought of as the "easy, natural" sexiness of latin women.
he got up to leave. he would pick up a couple of meatball subs at an all night place, go home, take a pill and a shower, fantasize about brenda and pull his pumpkin.
he'd feel better in the morning.
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