Van Man
“Oh, God, please help me.”
A smile stretches across my face. There’s nothing better than when one of my victims asks for God to help them, because he never does.
“Please, God… now?”
The girl’s voice sounds like a jittery mouse in between her sobs. I grab my handsaw, which is still wet from her boyfriend’s blood. She glances up at me with wide-eyed terror.
“No…”
She begins to kick and thrash to try to free her hands and feet, but they are bound tightly with duct tape and medical gauze.
“Stay away from me!”
Her shriek turns me on, but there’s no time for play. My van can’t stay parked under this bridge for too long. Eventually some other couple is going to show up to make out here, and two mutilated bodies might be a mood killer for them. With the saw in my hand I fall to all fours. The saw bangs against the metal floor as I crawl towards her. She squishes up into a ball and I give a crooked grin. With an explosion from her legs she tries to kick out the few teeth I have remaining in my mouth, but it’s a pathetic attempt. I laugh and my eyes lurk to the back doors.
“Isn’t it horrible, sweetie? So close to safety, but so far away. If you weren’t so tied up you could burst out of here and cry out, hoping that someone hears you. Someone other than God, that is.”
I give a little chuckle but she doesn’t laugh. That’s okay, though. I don’t need her to laugh. I need her to scream.