To Catch A Predator* (621 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.72 on 12 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by r0fl (View user info) at 2007-07-16 16:22:09 EDT
*As to the terrible an unoriginal title, after watching a mini-marathon of this the other day, a tin of Berry Blend Skoal and numerous dark, delicious beers, I present this to you. My apologies in advance.
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These are lonely drives, that's for sure. The yellow dashed lines stripe past my right as I speed in the left lane. The cool Massachusetts air blows through my Civic's open windows. The asphalt grips the rubber tires, a familiar noise to millions of commuters everywhere.
Sport's Talk radio on 105.5 FM drones lightly in the background, but I'm more interested in the noises of this journey. There's not much you can hear in an old '97 Honda besides the rattling old fan-belts and shaking exterior when you don't have power steering.
You can't hear the moans of the night's creatures - looking for prey and mate, food and shelter. You can't here the creeping of insects, the thumbing of webs from the spiders of the Pioneer Valley.
You can't hear the rising of the near-full moon, the blinking of distant stars and celestial bodies. You can't hear the conversation of the trucker passing me, on his CB radio seeing "who's out there" to break the monotony of a night-long drive South from southern Vermont to Connecticut. He passes me, his rig barreling past in the right lane, thumb depressed on his transmitter.
You can here my hand beating on the steering wheel, wearing away the same distinct point from habit as I rehearse a distant beat, from a distant song, playing in my head.
God, I wish I had a CD player or some shit. All I can do is rehearse the conversation tonight over and over. I bank around a curve of I-91, passing exit 15 and the Holyoke Mall at Ingleside.
My parents are gone in Vegas for a few days. I'm bored.
The gas-tank reads half-full, the seat belt indicator bleeding crimson and reminding me of the infamous "Click it or Ticket" campaign being waged upon the public on seemingly ever other advertisement over the airwaves.
The air blows my hair under my Pawtucket Sox hat as I descend down a bend, watching my speed. No law enforcement tonight. If any night, not tonight. I thumb the wheel some more, and spit tobacco-filled excess into an empty Miller Lite bottle and keep driving.
The road is so empty, a reflection of how I feel. My friend's waiting, probably typing away on the computer, doing what they do.
The gradient dug deep in the pavement in the right lane shatters my coupe's frame as I press the red triangular button on my dash - the infamous Hazard lights - as I pull into the breakdown lane and slow to a stop. No breaks are needed, I wonder how long I can coast before Newtonian physics kick in along with friction and the car slows to a stop.
"Is this what your really want to do" I ask myself, knowing there's no turning back after I travel down this theoretical, as well as actual, road.
Yes, I reply to myself. Too long have I not felt the touch of someone else - that desire for contact with others. The Internet and cyberspace can only give one so much, before we just want, well, more I guess.
The Civic slows a rest, idling. The steering wheel vibrates as the engine's RPM's increase. I should get the checked out I suppose as I vomit on the side of the road. Two eyes catch mine in the bushes, no doubt an Owl up in the trees, pissed off that I've interrupted his or her slumber to clear my head (and stomach) before we meet.
Boredom does strange things.
I climb back in and peer through my rear-view mirrors. Everyone's sleeping but us, I suppose. I'm driving. They're staring at the computer screen, no doubt reflecting and casting doubts on this whole episode as well.
I put the car back into first briefly and gain speed. Exit 12 is approaching, the Connecticut River is beneath me now for a brief moment, my blinker illuminating the right side of the road every two seconds. The exit is a 270 degree turn and an overpass, connecting now to 391-South. Exit 2 passes and quickly I turn right at exit 4, take a quick right and then a left on Rolf St.
I'm lonely. Are you?
The cities and towns in this area are completely different at night, the night creatures hide, undetectable. I've been through this, but it really is remarkable when you drive like this once in awhile - it seems I make this sort of trek almost monthly now. Humans hide in alleys and in driveways, dancing the sick dance of the night.
I check my pockets to ensure everything is there, the radio drones on about the Olde Towne Team's shortstop's woes and I can't help but laugh. Can there be anything more irrelevant to me, to now, to what I'm about to do?
Kinda... Are you sure you want me to come over?
I park two houses away, the streetlights in their periodical period of darkness. At this stage in the night, this avenue apparently needs no light, and I cannot complain.
A cat, completely black except for one white or gray front paw, shrieks as I stumble passed. I walk carefully on the sidewalk, one step at a time, my heels clicking on the broken pavement, in distinctive disrepair and ignored.
My stomach empties again along with my last doubts. Shaking the last shivers and reservation out of me, I go around the back.
Use the back door. I have watchful neighbors. I'll turn the sensor lights off.
The door's unlocked, and I step in to a sensible home, lit by few candles, the television and a computer monitor. I suppose I look as young as I said I was.
"So nice to see you," a voice booms from a shape on the couch, and I can hear wine pour in two glasses, as promised.
"I'd say the same, but I can't see you," I reply, chuckling, and almost shut the door. Some doors lock when you shut them, and I need to be careful. Just in case.
"I need to freshen up," I say matter-of-factly, and ask where the bathroom exists.
My footsteps echo to the high ceilings, tough to be quiet in this house. I'm glad we're alone.
I can't come to see you. Can you come here? My house is empty tonight.
The water runs from the faucet as I wash my face, trying to remain calm. From the other side of the thick, Oak door, a request:
"There's a robe on the hook. Why don't you get more.... Comfortable?"
I oblige, and check my back pocket again. "Sure," I respond, "I'll meet you on the couch. Close your eyes."
"OK..." the voice counters, and footsteps slowly proceed away from me. "I'll be waiting."
The bathroom smells of vanilla, clean and up kept. A woman's presence is hard to mask, I must say. I grasp the cold, brass knob of the door, praying I counted the footsteps correctly.
You sure you want me over? I've never been with anyone older before.
Yes, definitely. My wife's away on business, and I would love to teach you how to love someone.
OK.
My heels are in my left hand now, and slowly tip-toe toward the living room and the man on the couch. The robe, clean and soft, is draped over my shoulders, my hair back in a quick knot. Picture frames - no doubt reminders of the wife, the anniversary, the kids, vacation in Acapulco - are turned down on their respective faces as I pass toward the couch.
He smells heavily of cologne, and through the Technicolor of the television it's tough to tell what color the couch is.
He asks me to take off the robe and show him my body.
"We've got all night," I respond, reaching for my back-right pocket.
"Close your eyes and turn around, hun,"
He does.
You're not the first one to agree to come over.
That last line - the last line in our online chat, still haunts me sometimes. I don't know how many younger girls he convinced to come over in the dead of night.
And as the knife, once concealed in my pocket, sliced through his neck causing his bleeding on that precious robe - no doubt belonging to his wife's - and onto his couch and living room carpet, I can't help but laugh. His fridge is empty, and I'm fucking starving.
User Reviews
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-07-17 15:30:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
s'all good
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2007-07-17 09:31:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I thought this was pretty bad until I saw the pic at the end...
I lost my shit.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-07-17 09:12:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
WOOH!! Irrelevant picture!!
i can't spell and I don't care.
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-07-17 07:31:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Huh...
+1 for effort but, honestly, I saw the ending from a mile away.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-07-17 00:13:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
A little obvious, this time round.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-07-16 18:20:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, I have one more thing to tell you.
I'm Chris Hansen of NBC's Dateline, and we're doing a show on people who use the internet to meet underage girls for sex.
Do you have anything you'd like to say?
OK, you're free to go.
Submitted by Void_Where_Prohibited (user info) at 2007-07-16 17:52:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by i_can_get_you_a_toe (user info) at 2007-07-16 17:23:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I aint got time to bleed.
Submitted by URNVUS (user info) at 2007-07-16 17:08:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
(Y) Excellent
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2007-07-16 16:42:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-07-16 16:37:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
r0fl
--
Yes?
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2007-07-16 16:37:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
r0fl
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2007-07-16 16:26:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
oh shit...