The Serial Killer

  • 25 Aug - 31 Aug, 2018
  • Ayesha Adil
  • Fiction

There was a bag of food inside. It had a double whopper from Burger King, fried chicken, a Pepsi without ice and a bottle of water. I froze. Exactly what I would order whenever I went to Burger King. Who was this person?

I began eating my food slowly all the while thinking of a game plan.

As I finished my meal, I hid the straw in my clothing. I needed something to fight this man. I know a straw hardly counted but I had to get together some ammunition and at this time it was only this straw. The rest was paper and the food that I had devoured.

After that I exercised, prayed and went to sleep.

Day 4:

I woke up with the sadist pulling me from my hair, dragging me from the room along the passage into the restroom.

He practically flung me inside and slammed the door. I stood inside sobbing. I wanted to scream but I knew that it would be in vain. He would find harsher ways to control me so I stayed put. I washed my hands and walked out.

I opened the door and there he was. I looked him straight in the eyes. He was taunting me with a grin. He had dragged me by my hair to insult me, to show me who’s the boss. Now as I looked at him directly face to face I could see how much he reveled in this game. How thrilled he was imagining the ways in which he would make me suffer.

He hated the world, he probably hated himself more and this was the only way he could get back at all the people he hated, despised, wanted to torture.

I brought up enough courage to say something. I didn’t know whether I should or not but I had to.

“Who are you?” I asked him.

“You don’t need to know who I am. You just need to know that one of these days I will be more famous than Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy put together.”

With that he pushed me into the dark room.

Once inside and somewhat composed I began to consider my options. To be honest I had only a few.

I could continue with this bravado, it had worked so far. He was taunting me and trying to instill fear in me. If I expressed fear, he would begin his torture again. I was sure of that because that would be like a green light telling him that he was winning. But how long could I survive on this false perception of control.

The day went by without food or water. I had to act fast. I knew this for sure. I exercised and prayed. I asked God for forgiveness of all my sins. I asked for His mercy. I needed to figure out a way to hurt this man and get out of here.

There was nothing in the restroom that could help me. I tried pulling and loosening all the fittings but nothing gave way. I had even tried the parts of the flush but there was nothing that I could use. I only had the straw.

Day 5:

The door opened and a tray was shoved inside. Scrambled eggs and toast with tea. The toasts were buttered, so no knife. But he put a fork in there for the eggs.

How could I hide this fork? I began eating the meal, while calculating how to hide that fork.

And I got it! I finished all the food in large gulps. Then I washed it down with some of the tea. After that I hid the fork.

I began to cough and retch and with my finger at the back of the throat I vomited all over the empty plates and the tray. I kept on vomiting till I couldn’t.

This man had neat habits, the bathroom was evidence of this and so was his appearance. I doubt that he would look through all that vomit in search of a missing fork. Besides I was going to attack him tonight with the fork and this vomit would be a definitive distraction.

I swallowed the remainder of the tea in the cup and waited.

I was feeling weak after that vomiting. The room smelt.

No sign of the perp.

But I was ready. I was hoping the smell and the sight of the mess would perturb him enough and make him sidetracked. I would have to strike fast. I only had a fork while he probably had a gun. But if I hit him hard I would buy me just enough time to run outside and bolt him inside. I didn’t know what was there on the outside. He may even have an accomplice there. But I had to take my chances.

I positioned myself at the opening of the door.

Then the bolt was pulled out and he walked in.

“What is this?” he yelled as he walked in.

I quickly plunged the fork to his face and hit him above the eye. He pushed me into the room and lunged at me.

I quickly got up and made a run for it but he grabbed my foot. I couldn’t let him over power me. If I didn’t get away now I would never get away. He dragged me towards him and pinned me down. I kicked him hard and took the fork and struck it in the groin as hard as I could.

He yelped in pain.

I turned around, stepped out of the door and shut it as fast as I could. Not fast enough. He pushed his foot at the doorway jamming it so that I couldn’t close it. I was consumed by a supernatural strength. I yelled in anger and pulled the door away shutting it on his foot with a might that I didn’t know I had. I could see my ex-husband’s face kicking me, torturing me, picking me up and throwing me across the room while my helpless body lay in a mess; he walked away like nothing had happened. I had had enough.

The man yelled in anger and pain and I kept blasting the door on his foot till he pulled it in and then I shut and bolted the door.

After that I collapsed on the floor.

I don’t know how long I was out. There was no noise from behind the door. For a while I wasn’t sure what had happened. But soon I was collected enough to realise that I had done the impossible. I picked myself up and went along the passage, away from that dreaded hell.

I found my way out of the house and onto the street. I looked around to make a mental note of my whereabouts to bring the police here later and then robotically hailed a rickshaw and told him where I wanted to go. Inside the rickshaw I began to cry, incessantly sobbing with relief and joy. The driver turned around to ask if I was ok and I told him that now I was. Now I was safe.

“Please take me home,” I mumbled to him. •