One could safely say I was in pretty good spirits. Like a ghost I left the girl and her bed behind, soundlessly leaving the premises and going home. The streets were quiet, in a nice way. They didn't feel too empty or desolate, but just calm and rested. My car was undisturbed as well and the ride home about as eventful as breakfast on a business day. Bed was nice, Sunday was nicer. No complaints as I slept in and made some really nice snacks to fill both my stomach and the day. No, it was during the coming week that my mind gently but surely rolled into full gear again.
There was a little tail to the story of the groping man, by the way. Police came to the office to take statements from people, especially interested in my story as I'd used such an interesting way to unmask him. To my amazement, while it wasn't that odd as such, it was a female officer interviewing the women. She took great care in asking for details, using a calm and authoritative tone that didn't annoy. Neither did she flirt or stray much from her professional attitude, she was friendly, but not familiar. It made me wonder (and ask) if she often handled cases like these. It happened quite a lot in a big city like this, but she had rarely met someone as inventive as me with my defense. While it was not unheard of to protect oneself, for example by using cloth or paper in the buttocks area, actual offense didn't happen. Much, anyway.
Then of course there was the planning and plotting, oh I loved it so. If it wasn't needed for work, I found something else to hone my intellectual prowess. Most of all, I wanted to make a trap for the man, a situation I controlled. Considering what I knew so far, it would be possible to do it during a normal evening, the drive there short enough to go there after work with minimal time needed to prepare. But, it was important I didn't go to either his house or the gas-station before the execution of my plan. No contact or information gathering of any sort, no calling or looking it up, as it would only create a trail back to me. No, it would be simpler and more effective to actually go to his house directly, at a time he would likely be there. It required a bit of a gamble, but nothing too difficult. I already knew the closing time of the gas-station, assuming it was the same all through the week, so there was a strong likelihood he'd be at home not long afterwards. While not actually timed the previous time, a rough estimate of the walk itself taking ten minutes, with a few minutes spare for him to close up, get home and all, the time was clear.
The when and where.
Then there was the matter of getting inside. Just ringing his door would not be enough. I doubt he'd let me in with no reason, despite my good looks. Though it would be a very interesting experiment to see what his response would be to a woman coming at his door, asking for sex. But... It might be possible to do something similar, but just dress it up a little better. Something as simple as telling him it was a physical payment for a debt. Now, while he would still be quite suspicious, he'd be open to the idea. It would mean, for him, no payment or feeling obliged towards me in any way. It also meant it wasn't 'random', as such, but that he didn't have to know the full reason. He didn't look like the kind of guy who'd shy away from a gift like that. His reasoning would likely be along the lines of me just being in the wrong place, but why not go along with it for some great sex, for free. Little did he know that it was a payment for a debt, a very dangerous debt, but that the payment did not come from my end...
What about my reasons? Was it wrong to wreak revenge and choose him as a victim rather than a random person? Was it smart to possibly have a tie to him that would, however subtle, still be traceable? Even if they did get me for his murder and I would get away from it as he'd raped me, it would still rise the questions of me having done it before. At least, I hoped to do it somewhat practiced by now. Would he be missed? While he worked at the gas-station, it didn't exactly look like he was rich or influential. And the act of rape itself suggested he was lonely at some level, with little control over his own life, so the books tell me. But in my mind I already knew it had to be done, all of this was just dancing around the truth that was there. He'd taken what he shouldn't. It was hard to give a name to it, as I hadn't lost my dignity or my control, but he had still tried to take it. My reasoning had no loose ends anymore.
What about the actual event itself? Did I want to give him the same end I had done others, or did I want to make it special? Part of me wanted to make it unique in some way, even though I wasn't sure how yet. All of these things were thought during the week and, after a while, I actually knew what I would do. There was one knife, a fairly standard one, a type I had used before, but a particular one I hadn't. So, rather than bringing the knife back, it would stay, piercing his heart for all eternity. A knife that would only be used once, only for him. There was no particular reason why it was unstained, other than the simple fact that I owned more knives than I had used, so far. My intended rotation of them had not yet come into effect. Lucky me. Once this was decided, I took extra effort in making sure the knife was clean and separated from the rest.
Strategically, like a master go-player, all the pieces were in place and the opponent had no idea of the impending attack. Just a few more turns, and it would be terminally clear who would be the victor... Or would it? The most dangerous factor in the whole thing was the man himself. He had already proved to be in good shape, strong. I could of course bring hand-cuffs with me and just offer to constrain him in some way, but he didn't exactly look like the type. Getting him drunk was not really an option either, a lot of men can still hit quite hard when drunk. All things considered, it would require finesse and an almost perfect timing to sink the knife in his chest. Was I up to the challenge? I would at the very least try.
Thursday night approached without shame. Work had been work, minutes and hours had passed like they always did. My mind registered, acted, but otherwise ignored. The kit was ready, so was I. Some effort was put into looking nicer, compared to the last time I saw him, with a modern, almost professional style. It would give off the perfect vibe of being there for a good reason that, even if he didn't know, made sense. Even if it only made sense to someone else. It was intriguing for me to see how he would respond.
A question soon answered.
I felt elated as I got into my car. Ready, more than ever, to feel the life fade from a man's body as his semen flowed into me. All a matter of timing, a culmination of so many things, for that final explosive moment. The drive was slightly eventful, with an accidental vista about halfway. Two drivers had apparently both thought that they had the right of way while physics, however, had decided otherwise. The cars had not given as much way as their owners might have wanted and instead crumpled up in the front. With the size difference between the cars, one was definitely worse off, the owner of whom looked rather agitated as the traffic went by. Police officers at the scene looked like they were nothing but bored, probably waiting for the volcano of vanity inspired anger to wear off. Mildly interesting, if only for the poetic inspiration caused by the disjointed uncaring of passers by, contrasted by the apparent importance for the people involved.
It passes the time.
Finding a parking place nearby but out of sight was easy. As was finding my way back to the house he lived in. It was about half past ten now and, as expected, his light was on. Fortune favors the bold, it is said. Those who say it, however, often forget about the bold driving into each others cars thinking that the other will abide. Still, I accepted the amount of luck involved in the timing. The first two parts completed. The doorbell appeared to sound shrill in the room upstairs, and there was a hesitant pause before the call was answered. By intercom, of course. Here is where the third part came into play, spinning a simple tale of being a payment for a longer debt, and if I was allowed up. There were no questions though, just the electronic buzz of a magnetic lock releasing. Into the belly of the beast.
A dirty one...
The apartment building was surprisingly unclean. Not just because it was poor or in bad shape, or because it was in dire need of maintenance. But because there literally was a nasty smell and stains everywhere. The ground was covered in what I could only hope was a layer of mud and grime, offering a terribly brown sheen to the otherwise boring patterned tiles. The stairs creaked ominously, with every step, but didn't feel as if they were on the verge of collapse. Mostly it just looked very, very old. Here, my attire was terribly out of place and as such I felt seriously overdressed. The third floor was marginally better smelling, a slight relief, but still covered mostly in what probably was an eternity of neglect. One might wonder why the interior of this building was in such serious state. But, fortunately, it didn't seem to stick beneath my shoes too much.
He was waiting impatiently in the doorway, curious to see who had rang his doorbell, not all too convinced by the strange explanation I had given so far. Once he saw that I was alone, and good looking, his features changed. The expression of distrust reformed to one of wanton lust, wonder becoming possibilities. He looked, in this light, strangely enough, exactly like he did the night he took me. If a little less comfortable, this being his home. He welcomed the suddenly proffered sex, his desire growing visibly, with an eagerness I found slightly terrifying. It reaffirmed the why, the memories of what he took. But I played my part, acted nice and kind, willing and professional. He expressed his curiosity to my presence but I merely responded reassuringly, that he should leave it all up to me. It was clear, he thought, that I was a paid for prostitute. This, while it would never actually happen for real, suited me fine for now.
He let me inside.