Confessions of a Sadist
by Laura Easter

       He hid around the corner of the building across the street, waiting for her to leave her apartment. He had been watching her for months. There weren’t any curtains in her kitchen, and she rarely closed the ones in the living room, so he could easily see inside as she cooked dinner and drank wine, talking on the phone. He studied her patterns and came to know  them intimately: when she rose in the morning, what time she left for work, when she came home in the evening, which days she had off, what types of visitors she’d have over, when she’d go to bed, whom she’d go to bed with. He was sly and stealthy. She had no clue she was being stalked every day, stupid, ignorant Bitch.
    
      He could have done it any number of times, but he liked to draw it out. It was the leading up to the attack which gave him the most pleasure. It was the planning, the secrecy, the foreplay. Every night as he watched her through the window, the way her long yellow hair cascaded down her bare slender neck, the way she would flip her head to keep it out of her face, his excitement would culminate in his pants. But if there was ever a passerby, they didn’t know it, for he always wore his Phoenix Falcon trench coat, the one he bought at Sak’s Fifth Avenue earlier in the season for a mere $905.90 rather than the original $1295.00. It worked perfectly for such an occasion. The Italian wool and cashmere blend kept him warm while the military-inspired design in black made him look sporty and stylish, all the while hiding his bulging weapon.
    
      This was it. He had enough of standing back and watching as she gave herself to others. Last night she had that bastard stay over again. Hot anger boiled in every cell of his being as he paced the street hour after hour, waiting for the man to leave. He must have smoked a whole pack of Camels while he waited. Usually, he allowed himself six a day, but his nerves were on fire, so he puffed away all night. And it was all night because that guy she had over didn’t leave her apartment until morning. So he passed the time on his Blackberry, reading the online Wall Street Journal and sending emails to his broker about which stocks to buy and sell.
    
      Now he was ready. He was ready to make his presence known to her, for she belonged to him not that bastard with the curly brown hair and dorky smile. It was time to enlighten her to her destiny, make her realize there was only one true love for her. And yet, he supposed she would react in the same way as the others. Why was it always the same with each one? They would scream with fright and struggle. They forced him to have to do it. He had no choice because they wouldn’t surrender willingly, they wouldn’t shut up, so he had to shut them up. Disgusted at the complete lack of obedience, he pulled out his Sharper Image Turbo Clipper and began to trim his nails.
    
      The door opened and she slipped out locking up behind her. The porch light was on. She trotted down the steps and turned right, heading east down the sidewalk. She was dressed in tweed slacks that flared at the ankle and a white angora sweater underneath her beige suede blazer. Her shiny yellow hair glistened as she strode under the street lamp. Her black boots lightly echoed on the pavement. She was savory, a delectable tender morsel of mercy. He casually followed her, starting down the opposite side of the street. Few people were out. A couple was heading the opposite direction arm in arm, and a lone elderly man walking a dog passed as he crossed the street. He stopped to help the elderly man step up the curb onto the corner, never taking his eyes off her. Things were looking good. He knew the route she would take: three blocks down, left on Central, two blocks north, down the subway stair to catch the train to Hillview. It was in Hillview they would finally meet. He had already picked the site, Washington park directly across from the subway station. He had gone there earlier in the day with a few stones in his pocket and thrown them at the street lamps in just the spot where it would happen. It would be dark. They would have the romance of only moonshine.
    
      He let her have a lead on him so as not to alarm her. When he approached the stairway leading to the subway, she had already gone down. But she’ll be there, he thought confidently. She’ll be waiting for me, and she doesn’t even know it. He shuffled down the stairs and through the turnstile. There she was, her glowing yellow hair smooth and shiny in the lamplight. She stood alone with her hands in her pockets watching for the approaching train. He felt the heat rise in his groin, and he began to breathe a staccato breath. Soon, it would be soon. The train drew closer blowing its whistle, its headlight a full moon growing fuller, brighter, closer. He stared at her now, hard, straight, penetrating. At that very moment, when her wondering eyes locked with his, he felt from behind a shoulder shove him menacingly off the landing onto the tracks. And the last thing he saw before the train sliced through him was her bright yellow hair as she flipped it from her face, and a slight knowing smile spread across her lips.