GAUNTLET

With persuasive words she led him astray;

she seduced him with her smooth talk...

and all at once, he followed her.

-Proverbs 8: 7,21

A man sat in a car on the street, watching a woman as she went about her chores, spying on her through the gaps in the blinds that covered her windows. He held up a newspaper, pretending to read it, but he was really watching her with growing interest, trying to determine if she was alone or not. The man passed an hour doing that, sitting in his car and watching. As the minutes went by, the hour growing closer and closer to ten in the morning, he also grew surer and surer that she was indeed alone. And, at ten fifteen, he decided that she was. Leaving his car unlocked, the keys in it, he walked down the street, away from her house, making it seem to the casual observer that he was merely a man out for a stroll, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. He walked like this for two blocks, turned around, and headed up the street behind her house.

The sun was shining, peeking its head out from behind the clouds every once in a while, and the breeze was warm; it had rained the night before, and the wind carried to his nostrils the scent of loam and pleasant, mild decay. It was the smell of spring - even though it was still February - and it put a smile on the man's face. The sound of his footsteps echoed back to him, reminding him of his solitude. He picked up the pace, not sure how long the woman would be home, or home alone for that matter. Fingering the thin, coiled wire that was in the pocket of his jacket, the man suddenly considered the possibility that the woman might have another woman over for tea, the prospect of a two-for-one job exciting him greatly. He began to run.

Coming up to her fenced-in back yard, the man stood on his tiptoes and looked inside. The back yard, like all the yards around him, was wet and muddy, the grass yellow and dead; although the false spring had melted all the snow, it had not been long enough for new life to start, so all the seasonal plants remained dead and bare. In one corner of the yard there was a bright, colourful, plastic playground - the Fischer-Price kind that come in big, plastic pieces and can be assembled without using any tools - and in the other a more complicated, wooden affair, that had two swings and a slide. Both looked like they hadn't been used for quite some time.

Makes sense, the man thought, it is winter after-all. Beyond the playsets the lawn ended abruptly, replaced with a nice looking patio, and beyond that was the sliding-glass back door of the home. The man was just about to hop the fence, having quickly scanned the area for witnesses, when that very door abruptly opened - causing him to duck - and the woman stepped outside. He watched through a hole in the fence as the woman lit up a cigarette, and scanned the area. She was wearing old jeans that looked to be a little too tight around the waist, and a loose, baggy sweater, the kind of outfit a stay-at-home mom wears when she's all alone and doing housework; the kind of outfit she'd rather die than be seen wearing outside her house.

Oh, you bad momma, the man thought, feeling his legs go numb from crouching for so long. Finish up that cigarette, tsk tsk, you know that it's bad for you, that's right, good girl, go back in the house. He whispered the last bit out loud, hoping maybe that the vocalization of his wishes might spur her on. He laughed when it seemed that it did, as she took one last drag and then crushed the cigarette in an ashtray she held in her hand, before going back inside. The man waited until the door was closed and she was no longer in view, before hopping the fence, humming the Pink Panther theme under his breath as he did. Scurrying along as fast as he could, his feet squelching on the water-logged grass a lot louder than he liked, the man didn't let out a sigh of relief until he was safely hidden once more, behind the porch a few feet from where she'd stood seconds earlier.

The man had to take a deep breath to calm himself down, and when he did he smelled the last remnants of her cigarette. Take it easy, he thought, just take your time - when you rush you make mistakes, and when you make mistakes you get caught. He'd been caught once before, and he vowed he'd never let it happen again. Five murders later - soon to be six, he thought, smiling - it's yet to happen again. Once more the man found his hand seeking out the comfort of wire in his pocket. He really really hoped that he'd been wrong about her being alone - his bloodlust was screaming louder than ever, and he feared that soon he'd have to do two murders a day to quench it.

With his hand in one of the garrotte's loops, he stepped out from behind the porch and ascended it quickly, soon standing before the door and peering inside. The kitchen that he looked into was beautiful, filled with modern, stainless steel appliances, and was as spotlessly clean as only homes with stay-at-home moms could be. Nothing was out of place, not a dirty dish in the sink or a single food item out of place. The thought of how the kitchen would be in the weeks that followed, after the methodical, caring woman was removed, filled him with glee. He opened the door silently, thankful that the same methodical woman who kept such a tidy kitchen had also kept the door's sliding track oiled.

Inside, he smelled a smell that practically screamed homemaker: the smell of cooking food. He didn't know why he associated that particular cooking smell - the smell of sautéed onions - with home, he just did, and he found himself breathing deep, enjoying himself immensely. Following his nose, creeping around the kitchen's island, he thought he could detect just a faint hint of smoke; she was nearby. The fact that he couldn't hear her didn't bother him; he figured that she was upstairs, going about her business. Knowing that he would be able to hear her coming long before she could see him made him bold. He stood up and rummaged quietly about the perfect kitchen.

The first thing he noticed was the crock pot, standing alone on the countertop beside the fridge, clearly the origin of the delicious onion smell. Walking around the island, he found a purse sitting on a shelf, half-open, beckoning him. Reaching inside, he pulled out the wallet, which was heavy with change; opening it up, he sought out an ID, which he found amongst a credit card, a bank card, and a membership card for Roger's Video. He knew at once that it couldn't be her wallet or her purse - there simply just wasn't enough junk. Thinking back to his own mother's purse, he remembered it thick with credit cards, receipts, membership cards, pictures, all kinds of junk that this wallet was simply lacking. Looking at the ID, he was startled to find out that he was wrong, or so he thought at first.

The name on the ID - which was an Ontario Driver's License, G2 class - was Alice Tremblay, aged 19. He was looking at his girl, the one he'd been spying on all morning, but twenty years younger. He knew of course that this was the woman's daughter, but the resemblance was just uncanny. They had the same dirty blonde hair, the same brown eyes, and the same face. As he thought this through, a tremor of delight suddenly passed through him, so strong that he had to steady himself with a hand on the marble countertop. If this girl's purse is here then she's gotta be too, girls don't go anywhere without their purses or their wallets, he thought, smiling wickedly. Suddenly, the woman's actions all made sense. The girl, Alice, must be home from school sick and her mom was taking care of her. He was going to get his two-for-one after all.

A noise coming from upstairs startled him. The woman was talking to her daughter, saying something in French that he didn't understand. His instinct told him that she'd be coming downstairs soon, so he got up and hid behind the wall that half separated the dining room from the kitchen and half from the sitting room, which was one of those formal deals whose more comfortable counterpart he guessed was upstairs. Sure enough, not long after he'd hidden himself, carefully slipping his hand into the other knot of his wire, he heard her start down the stairs. It was a special wire, the kind used in bicycle brakes, coated with a very thin layer of rubber; he'd liked the look of it on the shelf in the hardware store, just thin enough that she wouldn't be able to get her fingers behind it, but not so thin that it'd cut her throat - or his hands - and kill her too soon.

With the footsteps drawing closer, he felt his heart rate increase dramatically. His breathing, which had been slow and steady moments before, was quick and short. His adrenalin was pumping furiously and he had to bite on his lower lip to keep from crying out in anticipation; her steps had entered the hallway, she was close. He always wondered, in these last few moments before he struck, if the woman he was about to kill could somehow sense that these were her last moments. With Mrs. Tremblay in particular, if she knew that she'd just seen her daughter's face for the last time - conversely, if little Alice knew she'd just seen her mother for the last time - and that she'd never see her husband again. Imagining his victim's frantic, final thought processes always excited him. In this case, however, he didn't have as much time as he'd have liked, as Mrs. Tremblay entered the kitchen.

The man held his breath and watched as she calmly walked into the kitchen, her hips swaying back and forth within their denim confines, and then as she stopped, stopped and stared at the purse and wallet lying open on the table. Clearly these innocuous items had startled her; they hadn't been there when she went upstairs just a few short minutes ago, and the man watched as this surprise quickly turned to alarm. Mrs Tremblay started for the stairs; he waited until he couldn't see her anymore, then he struck.

With his hands in opposite loops, he leapt out from behind cover - as silent and efficient as a cat - slipped the large loop over the woman's unsuspecting neck, and pulled. The cord abruptly halting her progress, and cutting off her air, Mrs. Tremblay tensed up and immediately began clawing at the thin wire. The man, not wanting to alarm the daughter, lifted the light woman off the ground, stopping her from making too much noise and taking away what little leverage she had. Her legs, suddenly lifted off the ground, began to kick wildly, but ineffectually in thin air. The man easily bore the light woman's weight, and carried her by his garrotte's grip on her throat, down the hallway and into the parlour, where there was a large mirror hanging on the wall.

In it he watched the fear come over her face as he choked the life from her. Her eyes - lovely, big brown eyes - widening in fear, seemingly bulging out of her face as he pulled tighter and tighter. The man felt her whole body writhe, and listened to the hoarse choking noises that were coming from her mouth. Being able to watch this all happen was an added luxury, and he mentally thanked the mirror for allowing him to see her face change colour from red, to blue, and her tongue protrude from the corner of her mouth, which was open in a wide "O" as she gasped for air.

Soon, her struggles weakened, her legs not kicking so often or so hard, and her arms pawing at his hands as weak as a kitten's paws. They both knew the end was near, he could see it on her face as much as feel it in her body; there was a tired, humiliated resignation in everything that she did. The man looked into her eyes, which were bloodshot and filled with tears, and watched as awareness slipped out of them - soft and easy as water from a glass; in her last second of conscious thought, he swore she looked right through him and saw his intentions towards her daughter, but she passed out before she could react.

He lowered her gently, so that her limp legs rested upon the ground - there was no danger of her making too much noise now. The man kept his garrotte pulled tight around Mrs. Tremblay's neck, until he felt her body shudder, and then spasm. The spasming lasted for several moments as her muscles expelled their last bit of stored energy, stopping abruptly, leaving her body completely empty of life. He first heard, then felt the dead woman's bladder release, soaking the faded denim of her jeans, leaving them darkened at the seat, crotch, and down the backs of both legs. He held her until she finished, lowering her to the ground only as he saw a bulge build in the seat of her pants, signalling the release of her bowels. The man left Mrs. Tremblay lying in the puddle made by her own urine, and headed upstairs to claim her daughter. On his way to the staircase, he looked back one more time and noted how her face had turned a beautiful shade of purplish blue. His favourite colour.

With his bloodlust awakened, the man knew that the girl's murder would be much more brutal than her mother's; climbing up the carpeted stairs, he also decided that he would get more out of it - with the mother out of the way nothing stood between him and a good, long killing. Standing at the top of the stairs, the man was confronted with a choice of going either left or right. Knowing from previous experience that the master bedroom tended to be at the back of the house - or, his right side - he chose left. Carefully creeping down the hallway, he was rewarded by strange noises coming from beyond a partially closed doorway. As he drew nearer, he recognized them as noise pollution from inefficient headphones. He smiled - it was almost too good to be true.

Now outside her door, he waited, catching his breath and calming himself down - he was fairly certain that she wouldn't hear him coming, but he didn't want to give himself away by opening the door too quickly; he needed to be calm and patient to do it right. Pushing the door open slowly, he stepped into the room and almost laughed at his good fortune: her bed was facing away from him. It was oddly placed in the centre of the room, facing the window, and the man could see her golden hair, illuminated by the bright sunlight, spilling over top of a pile of pillows. Judging by her posture, he guessed that she was reading a book and listening to her music. Perfect.

He crept up to her and stood, noose ready, waiting for her to become aware of his presence. It didn't take long. Seconds after he stopped behind her, the sound stopped. "Mom?" the girl questioned, starting to rise; he struck before she could fully turn, wrapping his wire of death around her soft, young throat - pulling her back so that she was forced to remain looking forward, her eyes seeing nothing more than his chin. He held the wire tight, and lifted the girl off the bed, laughing a little when he noticed the way she was kicking was exactly the same as her mother. Like mother, like daughter, he thought. The girl struggled hard for a long time, but she couldn't last forever, and gradually he felt her weaken until she went limp.

The man loosened the garrotte and carried her around to her bed. Flopping her down onto it, liking the way her hair bounced and then settled over her face. Once she was there, he set about stripping her, removing the pyjamas that covered her delicious body. Underneath the pjs, she had on a pair of plain jane panties, and an old white bra. He admired her pale body like that for a while, smiling as her breasts rose and fell, safely hidden from view by a thin layer of fabric. So young, he thought, running his hand over a smooth, hairless leg. It was then that he realized how horny he actually was, how hard his cock was straining against his pants; with a laugh, he began to strip. "You're in for a real treat, girl," he said to her unconscious body. After he'd removed all his clothes he took hers off too, leaving her in nothing but her birthday suit; "whore," he muttered, gazing down upon her shaved sex.

As he waited and stroked himself, she gradually came awake. Moaning, she clutched her throat, which was already starting to bruise; awareness was slow in returning, much slower than he would've guessed. Eventually, though, she sat up straight in bed, looking down at her own nudity, and then at his, attempting to cover herself with her hands. The man didn't move - he was waiting for the right moment, waiting for her to scream. She looked at him - her eyes widening, her lips peeling back to reveal brilliantly white teeth - and she took in a deep breath; he knew it was time.

Before she could let out that breath in a scream, he jumped on her, landing with his knees on either side of her slender torso, trapping her between them; his cock slapped into her body, its tip landing at the bottom of the crevice between her breasts, his palm covering the wet surface of her mouth. She finally did let out the scream, but it was muffled to nothing but a hot, wet expulsion around his palm. She tried to do it again but he pinched her nose shut with his fingers, cutting off the necessary air. Helpless, she looked upon his face with horror, trembling with fear between his legs.

"Listen to me, Alice," he said, noting the way her eyes opened even wider when he addressed her by name, "listen to me very carefully." She stopped moving. "You're probably wondering how I know your name, and let me tell you right off the bat, it's because your mother told me --" he held her tight as mention of her mom elicited a brief bout of struggling. "--Your mother told me before I tied her up. Yes, that's right, I didn't harm your mother at all, Alice. Are you listening to me, Alice?" he kept repeating her name in the hope that it would get through her terror-addled brain. "If you cooperate with me, and that means no screaming, no biting, no struggling - your mother will be left alone. When we're finished, I'll leave and you can go and untie her. However, if you do any of those things, any one at all, I will kill her, do you understand? I'll kill her and I'll kill you - I might even stick around and kill your dad when he comes home, just because you've caused me trouble. You don't want that to happen do you?" She shook her head as best she could. "Good, now I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, and you're not going to scream, are you?" She shook her head again. "Perfect." He removed his hand.

Immediately, she took in a very deep breath. He watched her, his right eyebrow cocked, as she let it out shudderingly, trying but not succeeding in suppressing a sob. She started to cry quietly, her little body wracked with her tears. "There there," he said soothingly, running his hand tenderly along her cheek, "I'm not so bad, I promise I'll be gentle." This seemed to quiet her down a little, as she stopped shaking. "Tell you what, I'll let you decide when you're ready - then I'll do it, how's that sound?" She didn't say anything, so he took that as a yes. Keeping one hand loosely about her throat, he used his other to guide his throbbing sex between her legs, positioning it just beyond her cleft; she winced as she felt their bodies meet, then seemed to mentally steel herself for what she knew was to come.

He waited, she didn't say anything. "Alice," he whispered, drawing her name, extending the 'c' until it dissolved into a hiss. "Okay," she finally whispered, her voice cracked with emotion, "I'm ready." The man smiled down at her, an evil, disgusting smile. "There's my girl," he grinned, and thrust himself brutally inside of her. When his cock parted her, sliding deep inside of her body, Alice let out a gasp, surging forward, pressing her throat into his ready hand. "God, you're tight," he groaned and started pumping. Alice lay still, her eyes closed, as he thrust his cock in and out of her body, his tempo gradually increasing. "Open your eyes," the man commanded, and she did. "I want to see into your soul," he added, punctuating his words with a thrust.

While he was fucking the daughter, the man couldn't help his mind from wandering back to the mother. He thought about her purplish-blue face, her piss and shit stained panties, and then he thought about doing the same to the girl, Alice; thinking about her again suddenly made him aware of how wet she'd become - the little slut was enjoying herself! The man felt his bloodlust returning rapidly, and knew he wouldn't be able to control himself soon. The poor girl seemed to see that in his cold, blue eyes, as the look of fear on her face deepened. He closed his eyes and thrust into her hard, imagining himself breaking through her cervix and stabbing into her intestines. She let out a strange sounding gargle, and he opened his eyes to find that he was now choking her.

His fingers were curled so tightly around the girl's neck that they were turning white. This excited him greatly and he surrendered to his excitement, slapping her face with his free hand as he fucked her. Alice's eyes were full of tears and her mouth was opened in a grimace, little wheezy sounds emitting from within as she tried to draw in air. The man fucked harder as he felt her start to slip away, her body contracting wildly around him as she shook in the throes of her own orgasm, passing out at the same moment she climaxed; he had to exercise a large amount of self control to keep from coming when she did, the double stimulus of her body attempting to steal his seed and the sight of her slipping into unconsciousness once more, almost enough to drive him over the edge.

Withdrawing from her, slick with her sex's moisture, he dropped to his knees. He waited until his breathing went back to normal before he brought his eyes back onto his young prey's helpless form, which, at his current level, meant that he was staring at her cunt. He was struck by a sudden need to taste her, so he did. Running his tongue over her thigh, he followed her body until he got to her wet, swollen sex, probing the depths of her body, tasting her arousal. He slurped at her pussy absurdly, exaggerating the noise until he started to laugh. Standing up, the man spread her legs further and planted his mouth on her pubic mound; his tongue then made a journey to the centre of her arousal, her little love button, which stood out, practically calling for his touch. He ran his tongue over it and she shuddered - he swore she came again.

The man, knowing his lust would return again soon and that he would not be able to resist its call for blood, decided that he'd better explore the rest of her nubile body before that happened. Abandoning her sex - a little reluctantly - he climbed back onto the bed and started playing with her breasts. Taking one in the palm of each of his strong hands, he squeezed them, enjoying the feel of her erect nipples; he pinched them, pulling back roughly, knowing that if she were awake, this would cause her to scream in pain. He slapped them gently, watching the skin turn red, and he took the nipples into his mouth, suckling on them one at a time. She started to stir. He knew he didn't have much time left.

Flipping her over, he pulled her legs apart, momentarily lifting her again so he could slide a pillow under her stomach, causing her back to arch, thrusting her ass up at him. This is where I'll finish it, he thought, spreading her cheeks to reveal the puckered orifice. Pressing his cock against her untaken hole, he thrust himself brutally inside of her. This brought her back immediately, and she let out an involuntary scream of pain, which he muffled by shoving her face into the remainder of her pillows. She struggled violently - he actually had to hold her down - as he plundered her body. He tried to imagine what it felt like for her, the pain of being split in two, as well as the psychological trauma of being raped in every orifice except her mouth, but that kind of thinking was beyond him.

He held her, face down, in the pillow until she was weak again, and by that time he was ready to finish her. Withdrawing from her ass, causing her to break wind, he turned her over so that he was staring into her tear-stained face. Her breathing was shallow, but there was awareness in her terrified brown eyes. "Open!" he hissed, slapping her face to indicated he meant her mouth. She did so automatically; he didn't really think she would have done it of her own volition. Seizing her head with his free hand, he forced his cock into her mouth; at first, she started to lick it with her tongue, unknowingly cleaning her own waste from it, but as she realized what she was doing she began struggle. It didn't bother him, he was finished anyways. Pulling his cock from her mouth he came all over her face, semen spilling into her eyes, nose, mouth, and hair - he covered her with his come.

Then, before she had a chance to recover from that, the man grabbed Alice's throat once more, cutting her air off abruptly. She gasped, coughed, and tried to breathe, panic setting in when she discovered that air would still not enter her body. "You've been a bad little girl, Alice, you cunt," he snarled, feeling the bloodlust take over. "You screamed, struggled, and bit!" He used his second hand to put even more pressure on Alice's throat, making her eyes bulge. She was writhing madly beneath him, struggling for all she was worth, but it was all for naught - he was much bigger, stronger, and heavier than she was; she didn't stand a chance. "You've been a bad bad girl, and now you're both going to die," he emphasized his words by varying the pressure on her throat. "Oh, that's right," he added, "you're mother is already dead. Sorry, forgot to mention that!"

That took the fight out of her - the man knew that Alice somehow felt responsible for what was happening to her, and for what happened to her mother; he decided to make her last moments filled with even more mental anguish. "You did this, you know. Your sluttish nature, flaunting your body to all the men you see on the street - shaking your hips, wiggling your ass! - you did this!" She was turning blue now, not long of this world; her eyes tried to follow him, but the effort proved beyond her capability. "You're going to die, whore!" he spat. Alice was gagging, a reflex action that would end, he knew, in her death. Feeling her slipping away, the man applied pressure with everything he had, crushing Alice's windpipe beneath his powerful fingers.

She started spasming, shaking faster and faster, her eyes rolling back in her head, before abruptly stopping, her last breath exiting her mouth in a sigh. Alice was dead. The man sat back, staring at his destroyed prey; on cue, he felt her urine warm his body as her bladder released it in a quick stream, soaking the bed. He got up quickly; not wanting to be around when her bowels gave out, which he knew could be at any minute. The man took one last glimpse at her purple face with its protruding tongue, covered with his rapidly drying semen. "You were good, bitch," he said softly, gathered up his clothes and left the room; on his way out, the man looked inside Alice's laundry hamper, and selected a few pairs of her worn panties. "I'll just take these for later," he said to her corpse, holding up the baby-blue thong, pink cotton granny-panties, and the yellow boyshorts.

The man dressed himself in the hallway. He double checked that he had everything, especially his garrotte, before heading downstairs on his way out. As soon as he reached the bottom, he knew his choice to leave the girl upstairs - he'd already forgotten the cunt's name - before she shit herself was a wise one; he had to cover his nose against the pungent odour emanating from Mrs. Tremblay's corpse, on his way out the door. The crock-pot took some of the smell away, and he left the house with that smell in his memory, rather than the more unpleasant one. Women are such dirty things, he though, breathing deeply in the outside air. His lust sated once more, the strangler left the Tremblay home the same way he came in.

Walking over the lawn, climbing over the fence and into the back alley. Once out in the open, he had to button his jacket against a cold gust of wind; it felt as if the fake spring was over, giving way to winter's cold, deathly grasp yet again. The man walked down this back street much further than he needed to, crossed the street out of view of the Tremblay house, and walked up on the other side. Giving the house where he'd just savagely murdered two women nothing more than a brief glance, the strangler got into his car, signalled, and pulled away from the street as calmly as if he'd just been out for a walk.

He was a calm man, for now.

Only time would tell for how long that would last.