Image by Brigitte Werner from Pixabay
(Every Sunday, I release a new short story in the ‘Sunday Story Time’ series! I write these stories the day they are published, usually within 2-3 hours. These stories could be about anything, but they will all be brief, 2-3 minute reads. Enjoy! )
A scream rang out on Alabaster Court. It seemed to be coming from the Moore’s house, but nobody noticed as it was the middle of the night and the neighbors within earshot were fast asleep. All except Alan, who was in his backyard working in his garden. Alan was not startled by the scream, though he did look up from what he was doing long enough to see a white flash come from the Moore’s bathroom window. “Finally”, he muttered to himself, before heading in for the night.
Terry and Nanette Moore had lived next door to Alan for 15 years. He was friendly with both of them, but especially fond of Nanette. A fact that was a constant source of conflict in the early years of his marriage to Tara. As a young couple, they would have intense yelling matches that sometimes spilled out of the house and into the front yard. These would usually end with Tara racing off down the street and Alan seated on the front porch, calmly working his way through a Stephen King novel. Over the years, the fights became less frequent. From Alan’s perspective, the relationship had ended long before Tara met hers.
Tara died suddenly from “a stroke brought on by a blood clot”, or at least that’s what Alan had told Terry Moore.
A large box truck showed up at the Moore’s house the day after the scream. Nanette was in her front yard, directing a crew who were clearing out her garage and what appeared to be a few things from inside the house.
“Can you two help with this?” she asked, gesturing to a large wooden chest sitting in her entryway, nearly blocking the door. It had a padlock on it.
“Where do you want it, ma’am?”, a worker asked.
“I’m not donating that, but could you place it on my neighbor’s porch? He’s going to refinish it for me,” she said, pointing at Alan’s house. They hoisted the chest between them and carried it the 80 yards or so to Alan’s front door.
Alan and Nanette never had an affair, though both his wife and her husband accused them of it. They did however spend a lot of time together. Their relationship was intimate, but not sexual. It resembled the relationship between soldiers who had seen combat, which isn’t far off from reality.
Alan and Nanette were both killers. They shared the bond of bloodlust.
Alan could sense it in Nanette the first time they met. He and Tara had gone over with a plate of cookies. A ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gesture that Tara had suggested. Alan had a sixth sense for spotting the like-afflicted, and when Nanette opened the door he knew she was a kindred taker of souls.
It’s something in the body language.
Predators have a certain way of moving through their environment. A cold confidence that regular people misinterpret as a calming presence.
Alan wanted to be sure about his new neighbor, so he invited Nanette over under the pretense of “touring the garden”, a small ruse that only worked because Nanette indicated she always had an interest. She complimented Alan’s “green thumb”. Besides, her hackles had been raised too and she wanted to investigate. She made it easy for Alan to manufacture a second date.
In the garden, walking through the beds and discussing the rate of decay for various mulching strategies, Alan and Nanette found it difficult to navigate their way into the subject. After all, on the chance that their assumptions about each other were wrong, they couldn’t simply come out and say “I murder people, do you?”.
Eventually, they found their way to it. Alan began discussing his affinity for “big game hunting”, the “thrill of the pursuit”, and “the feeling of release one gets in the moment an animal breathes its last breath.” Nanette started picking up what he was putting down.
They were both thrilled to have found a fellow hunter.
Alan wasn’t surprised by the scream that night because he knew it was coming. He helped Nanette with the plan. He even stood in as Terry during a trial run. The operation was scripted down to the very last step. It reminded him of the plan they came up with for Tara.
The plan hinged on Terry’s prostate. It was swollen and caused him to urinate 2-3 times a night, like clockwork. Each time, Terry would stumble out of bed and make his way to the bathroom where, without turning a light on, he would relieve himself from the standing position leaving droplets of urine all over the seat. This wasn’t the reason Nanette was going to kill him, but it didn’t help his case.
Alan and Nanette discussed many possible scenarios and this was the only one they could both agree on. Doing it in the middle of the night meant less chance of anyone hearing or seeing anything. The bathroom was good for cleanup. But most critically, this would be a time when Terry would have his back turned and sleep in his eyes. He would be the gazelle at a watering hole.
Vulnerable.
Unaware of the predator laying in wait.
Nanette went to bed as usual. She kissed Terry goodnight, a perfunctory nightly routine, and rolled over to turn out her light. She lay in silence as Terry fell asleep. He was usually up by 1 am for his first trip to the bathroom, but tonight he didn’t stir. So she waited.
Alan was waiting too. He was going to be in his garden while it went down, pulling lookout duties and ready to jump in if things got out of control for Nanette.
It wasn’t until nearly 2:30 am that Terry finally got up. He threw the covers off and walked to the bathroom.
Nanette waited until she could hear the sound of urine hitting the water in the toilet bowl. She removed a silenced Springfield 9mm from under the mattress and followed. Just as she reached the doorway of the bathroom Terry flipped the light switch.
“You choose tonight to turn on the fucking light?!”, said Nanette. This scared the piss right out of Terry, who swung around midstream to see Nanette standing in the lit doorway with a gun trained on his heart.
She let out a blood-curdling scream, a tactic she had used before. She found that it stunned victims for just long enough to get a clean shot off.
She fired one shot directly into his heart, and Terry bled out on the linoleum.
Alan went to his shop for a bucket, a mop, and a bottle of bleach.
MW 