I'm not prepared. At least not as much as I would be if I came here tonight with the intentions of going in. But it's enough. I know the house. I left a roll of twine. The boy is there, but the parents are gone, so that's good enough. Mr. Perfect is there. That's great news. He won't be so perfect when I'm through with him.
My point of entry into the house is through her parent's bedroom. I cut the screen to access the window and pried it open when they were last out of town. I patched the screen up when I left, and they were none the wiser. So today, all it takes is a little yank on the seams of where I cut last to expose the window. And the window is unlocked just as I left it. I crawl in sideways, making sure that I am soundless. My heart races, but it's not nerves, it's being so close to something—someone—I have wanted more than anything ever before. It's the thought that this insatiable need will be fed.
But deep inside, I lament the thought of when this will end. It's always on to the next house, the next target. But she's the ultimate. The crown jewel. I'll have her once and then…what next? I don't let the thought steal my focus though. I've always managed and I'll manage after this.
My boots softly contact the burnt-orange carpet with each step. I pass the boy's room. He is sound asleep. I think about tying him up, but if he makes any noise resisting, I risk Vesper waking up. Then they'll have the jump on me. I'll make sure to keep them quiet so he doesn't wake. I'll use their protectiveness as a tool to control them. Despite what you may think of me, I don't want to scare the kid if I don't have to. He's had it tough enough. So instead, I reach in and close the door without a sound.
I pass their bedroom, the door ajar, and peek in. Doctor Handsome is shirtless and in track shorts. Vesper is wearing this white cotton baby doll thing. The way the pale blue moonlight hits her body, it's almost see through. I want to pounce her right there, but I have to keep to the script. It's what's allowed me to do this in dozens of homes without the cops having an inkling of who I am.
I head to the living room to take in the scene. One last time before the madness. When all is quiet and unharmed. Just before their untouched lives are sullied by my fingerprints. There are many pictures of her mother Joan, and her stepfather, Dr. Peter Reynolds. Spain. France. Thailand. Mexico. There's only one of Vesper and Johnny. It's just them. He's sitting on her lap and she's squeezing him, tickling him. He's laughing, his body misshapen from writhing and his condition. She's looking at him with a smile. Is she smiling at him? Or laughing at him?
I don't understand. I don't understand how a pretty, smart girl like that could love that boy unconditionally. She must remind him how he's different. She must make him feel left out sometimes. He's not like them. And those of us who are different, they always find ways to remind us. Even if they are your brother or sister. Even if they say they love you.
As soon as you open your mouth, they'll think you're a joke.
The lurking doesn't last long. I'm jittery with the urge to finally touch Vesper.
I didn't bring a gun. Didn't think I'd need it tonight. So I'm forced to improvise. I go to the kitchen and pull the biggest, sharpest knife from the knife block. I hold it up and slowly twist it back and forth, admiring the way the moonlight flickers off of it. It excites me, holding this power in my hands. I walk to the massive picture window that looks out to the neighborhood. Just dark houses. Quiet. Stillness. I am the king of the night. They all lie with their necks exposed. Any one of them can be mine. But tonight—tonight is Vesper's turn to learn what it’s like when the sun has hidden and cannot save you with its light. I pull the curtains closed over the shades and it feels like nothing exists out there. Like the world is everything within these walls.
I’m not prepared as I usually am, so I wander about, looking for items I can use as bindings. Dr. Peter keeps a tidy garage, so I access it from the mudroom, just off the kitchen. He has a few climbing ropes perfectly coiled, hanging off a few hooks just to the side of the door. I lift them and slide them over my shoulder.
It's time.
I walk into the bedroom. Her closet door is open, overflowing with dresses and shirts and scarves. I grab a couple of the scarves and drop them on the bed at their feet. The fabric catches air and falls to the bed like a weeping woman. I gently place the rope beside it so as not to disturb them. I secure the knife with an overhand grip.
Click.
The flashlight shines at her face.
I study her as she opens her eyes, but shuts them at the sting of the blinding light. She tries to make sense of it all as she opens them again and rubs them. But she won't be able to. None of this makes sense.
It happens so fast. I'm dreaming of sunsets at Lake Tahoe and then the sun, once kissing my skin, is burning my eyes. No, it's not the sun. I'm not dreaming. This is real. Is that Carter? No, it's…I don't know. I open my mouth to call Carter's name.
“Don't scream,” a gritty voice whispers. I can't see what's behind the bright light. I don't have time to think or rationalize. I just sit there, stunned. But it only lasts a second before I rebel.