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” Matter of life and death”

I do not know much about the evening news. Nor do I care about which soccer team bests who or when the next terrorist attack will happen. No, I share obsessions with no one in our God forsaken world, our meaningless existence. I have but one purpose in life, one thing that keeps me going and my one true desire is confirmed, as I look into your fearful eyes. You are too young to understand, why you are lying on the floor of this room. Too immature to comprehend the things I want to do to you, but fear not sweetie, for I will make you understand. Just as I have made Jessica, Ashley, Maria, Kate and Evelyn understand before you. My body was younger then and much more agile. Old age is sneaking up on me and that blasted cardiovascular disease, is the reason I cough as much as I do. I feel shivers down my spine, as I continuously look into your eyes. Yours are eying the blood in my palm and I can tell you are deeply frightened. Your horror makes me happy in so many ways you cannot imagine. It makes me smile. It makes my big hands tremble in excitement. It gives me an erection. As I approach you, I can tell you are noticing the object in one of my hands. I explain to you what is, put simply for you to understand and yet you do not know. I bet it is because of all those stories your mother told you about the birds and the bees. I lower the mug in my hand for you to see its contents and yes indeed, a mug full of my love seed it contains.

I have no idea what the scary man in front of me is offering, but I feel forced to look. Something white and sticky is floating about inside. I don’t know what it is. The creepy man talks to me again. I don’t like your hoarse voice. It reminds me of the boogeyman. I try to crawl away from you, but every time I look over my shoulder, you are right behind me. Suddenly I feel bad for Bambi’s mother, now that I understand what she must have felt like, when chased by all those bad men. I don’t know how to react and before you give me the chance to beg you slap me. It hurts and then it hurts more. I can feel tears run down my cheek and I start to cry. Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I forgot to thank you, for the candy you offered me at my school? I don’t understand. I can hear you talking to me as I weep. You are telling me to drink the contents of the mug.

I smile at you, as you carry the mug to your mouth and begin to drink the deposits, I had made within the coffee mug. I love the sound of your voice, as you shed tears. I love the eyes you give me in disbelief as you sample my drops of life. I demand you to undress yourself and I watch you, as you expose your fragile frame to my hungry eyes. The first thing I notice is the crack between your thin legs. You are not as young as Jessica, Ashley, Maria, Kate or Evelyn but not too old either. My mind is set on filling you with something you are not used to, to introduce you to a whole new world. I am suddenly reminded of Jessica, my favorite, and I picture her face, as I approach you and unzip my cameo-pants. I strip myself of my belongings and pieces of clothing: my underwear, pants, jacket, shirt, police badge and wallet. I leave them on the floor next to you. The look on your face, as your eyes notice my rather large erection is priceless. It gets me excited and hardens my manhood.

I get scared as you pull out your weapon and point it at me. I don’t know what to do. I start calling out for mommy, then daddy, but they won’t come to save me. I crawl to the corner of the room, as you walk toward me, but you are too fast and I kick out as you grab me. I kick and kick to the best of my ability, but you are too strong. My face is wet from tears and my mouth tastes salty. My eyes are red and I can feel my heart beating fast, as if it is trying to escape my chest. It is no use and before you give me the chance to beg, I can feel a sharp pain between my legs. Oh my God something is going in. I cry some more, but I cannot cry because it hurts too much. My cries become screams and I feel worn out, as I watch drops of my blood spilling from my lower body. I keep asking myself, why you are doing this to me inside my head, because it hurts too much to ask you using my voice. You keep going and I try to picture Cinderella, Snow White, Princess Aurora and other fairy tales in my head. In my thoughts I see myself getting rescued by a prince on a white horse. As my imaginings come to an end I hear you pant heavily behind me.

I get back up, after I am done with you. I start to dress myself and I do not bother cleaning you up and instead leave you there. I can tell you have lost a lot of blood, but I do not care. With my clothes on and my belongings back in their rightful places, I leave the isolated room without windows and return to my kitchen. Being with you has made me thirsty and I want to drink some bourbon, which I discover I am out of. I settle for the next best thing and pour down some rum. The beverage warms my body from within and I feel satisfied in every way.
The next day I visit you again, you refuse to expose yourself and I remove one of your fingers with a scissor. You quickly learn that all I feed you is my semen and only rarely actual food. You lose weight, become slimmer, eventually underweight and at last absurdly unhealthy and undernourished. I keep you in my guest room for a couple of years. Every month my doctor ordains me new heart medicine, since my condition is getting worse. I can tell from the look on Henry’s face, the doctor, that I don’t have long to live. He tells me the truth at long last, advices me to do the things, I have always wanted to do. I cannot help but to smile at his words.
One day when I get home from Henry’s clinic, I make a discovery. You are gone. I panic and search all the rooms of my house. You are nowhere to be found. I realize that I had forgotten to lock the door before I left home. To begin with I search for you every evening right after dinner, but I never find you again. Eventually I give up.

The man before me looks through my Curriculum vitae. He is impressed with the cases I have solved as a private detective. He makes a comment about me being female and how unusual it is to have my gender in their department. The truth is that the man, who abducted me, has taught me how to capture sex offenders. I learned how their minds work. The experience over 15 years ago did not go by without emotional scars however. I feel dead on the inside. Every night, after swallowing down a handful of antidepressants, I see his face in the darkness. I see his disturbing grin and his lustful eyes. Tonight is no different and at the stroke of midnight, I try to keep my eyes closed, but I give in and look to the corner of my room. I see visions of him again, only briefly though, for I have discovered a way to make him go away. I close my eyes shut and count to five before opening them again. He is still there and it is as if he is approaching me. In fact… Oh my God…

©Patrick Johansen 2010