“This Time it was a Blonde” by Chloe Riggs

Bump. Bump. Bump. Potholes line the dirt road the blue truck glides across. I bounce in my seat every time a tire lands in them. The thumping in  the back of the truck from the previous victim banging against its metal walls urges me to slow my speed, trying to quiet the noises in case anyone is nearby. 

It has been two hours since I met the victim in the back of the truck. An hour and a half since I made my plan of attack. Only an hour after my hand was latched around a gun, my index finger putting pressure on the trigger. 

I glance in the rearview mirror, checking the tarp that is tightly stretched over the frail body. 

It was a blonde this time. I saw her at the bar in town, standing in the corner of the room. She was swaying her body to the obnoxious music blaring through the speakers. Most guys would say that the short, form-fitting, hot pink dress she wore was what caught their eye. They would say that the sight of cleavage that nearly exploded out of the top of her dress is why they went to talk to her. Some guys would even give the “her personality is why I went home with her” lie. I, however, was struck by the curious look shining in her eyes. 

I raised the glass of alcohol to my lips, leaning against the bar, as I met her eyes. After diverting her gaze to and from me a few times, she sent me a smile. Smirking, I placed the drink back down, not a drop missing from the glass. My feet moved towards her, allowing me to saunter in an alluring way. 

This could be it, I think to myself. She could be the one.

“Hey,” I greeted her, not bothering to glance at the friends she had huddled around her. 

She looked down shyly.

“I couldn’t help but notice how thirsty you looked. Do you want me to buy you a drink?”

It was a stupid line that wouldn’t work on most sober girls, but from how empty the glass she held was, I guessed it didn’t matter how terrible the statement was.

Her friends pushed her towards me, her face turning redder, ushering her to take me up on my offer. “Um…Sure, that would be nice,” she stuttered. 

“I’ll be right back,” I gave her a wink, not allowing her to give me her order, nor allowing her to give me her empty glass, and head back towards the bar. 

I leaned against the bar, facing the alcohol bottles lined up on the wall to create the illusion of me buying a drink. Instead of a fresh one, I grabbed the drink I had in my hand earlier, feeling no need to get a new one when this one was barely touched. I reached into my coat pocket, my fingers latching around the leather wallet. After checking for any staring eyes, I pull the small baggie out of a fold in the wallet. I dropped the tablets into the glass, a plop sounded out. 

I waited for the tablets to disintegrate, which didn’t take long before I walked back towards the girl in pink. She glanced my way, giving me a less shy smile than earlier as I returned it with a smirk. 

“That was fast,” she notes.

It took longer than it should have, I told myself, knowing that it should have been done in a snap.

“You didn’t even let me order.” She seemed more confident than before.

“I just wanted to surprise you,” I informed her, passing the drink over, “Was that a bad move?” 

She took the glass, taking a quick sip, before she answered, “Not bad at all.”

The corners of my mouth stretched up in satisfaction.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I’m Brittney.”

“Jacob,” I lied. There is no point in giving out a name that she had yet to earn.

She studied my face, made a quick decision, and chugged the rest of the drink. She placed the glass on the nearest table, still in the process of swallowing what was left in her mouth. After grabbing my hand, Brittney pulled me to where a collection bodies were grinding against each other. When her small hand unclasped my calloused fingers, she began to move more freely to the music. 

“Come on, dance,” she encouraged me after realizing that I wasn’t moving with her.

Instead, I was watching her slim figure sway back and forth. Her arms were raised above her head, elbows bending as she moved them from side to side. She had a loose smile on her face, which made me believe the drink had loosened her up. 

I didn’t get to watch for long, though, because she decided to bring me into her dance. Lacing her fingers through mine, she raised our arms up, continuing her previous dance with me as a partner. I involuntarily moved my hips with her, slowly dancing my way closer to her. She smiled up at me when I moved my hands to her hips. After leaning her head on my shoulder, I pull the rest of her weight on top of me.

“How are you feeling?” I mumbled in her hear, knowing that the Rohypnol should be kicking in soon. 

“You’re so warm,” she answered as she patted my chest.

“Perfect,” I said to myself more than I did to her. 

I looked around us, checking for anyone who might see me drag her outside. I needed to get her out before she grew limp. Her friends were scattered around the bar, each with a different guy. 

I wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her, but not too much to make it look as though it was against her will. It’s all about the timing. If you go too early, she still has a chance of escape, even if the odds are slim. If you go too late, it looks as if you’re already carrying her dead body. However, if you pick just the right time, you can get her out before she loses total consciousness. 

“Where are we going?” she manages to voice out. 

“We’re just going somewhere a little…cozier.”

Another bump in the road snaps me out of my current daze, the truck raising an inch off the ground. My foot slowly eases a little off the gas, realizing how white my knuckles had turned from gripping the steering wheel. 

I really thought that she would be the one. That all of this suffering would be over. I guess love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I chuckle at this thought, knowing person I am meant to be with for the rest of my life is worth any amount of blood on my hands. 

Pulling into the driveway only illuminated by the dim porch light and the temporary glow of my headlights, I shift the gear into park. I take the key out of the ignition, the low roaring of the truck coming to an end. I slide out of my seat, slam the door, and head for the beautiful corpse in the back. I rip the blue tarp off of her, noticing her pale skin, blue lips, and the bullet wound in her chest. Stepping onto the tire, I climb into the bed of the truck, pulling Brittney to the tailgate. 

When she is out of the truck and over my shoulder, I carry her into my childhood home. I make my way to the basement, a thump echoed through the room when I accidentally hit her head off the wall. I trudge down the steps, flipping the switch on the side of the stairs as the familiar smell of bleach fills my nose. 

When I throw Brittney on the decaying pile of bodies in the corner of the room, I hear a rumbling sound behind me. I hesitate, deciding what move to make. If I turn around, I’m more than likely going to be face to face with someone who knows my secret. If I make a run for the door, my secret will be out in the world. 

“I see you’ve let yourself in,” I call out, deciding to take an ambitious approach.

“Put your hands up where I can see them!” a familiar female voice demands.

I search my memory, the familiarity confusing me. Every girl I have met, I’ve murdered. Every single one of them. Except-


“I said, ‘put your hands up’!”

I raise my arms, waiting for a plan to make itself known in my brain. Nothing comes up, though. For some reason, I’m too startled by knowing my childhood best friend knows my secret. 

“I have the suspect at gunpoint. Send in backup,” she orders to what I’m guessing would be her walkie talkie.

“Copy,” a muffled voice comes through the static filled radio. 

I don’t get much service down here, so I’m surprised they could even hear her. 

“I want you to slowly back up to the sound of my voice.”

Perfect getaway, I think. I follow her instructions, preparing myself to turn around and attack her. In one swift motion, I turn to face her, hear a gunshot, and reach for my shoulder. It takes only a minute for what happened to sink in. 

She shot the wall behind me. Without hesitation.

Too stunned to say anything, I stand frozen. Katherine stares straight into my eyes, not one sign of regret, with a gun aimed at my chest. 

I couldn’t hurt her. I had the perfect chance, and it still didn’t happen. This is it; she’s the one. 

“It’s you,” I state aloud. “It’s been you this whole time.”

For the slightest second her stern face falters. “You’re insane,” she says, almost as if it was a new discovery.

“Don’t you understand? I can’t hurt you. And you didn’t hurt me. Instead you shot the wall. Yes, the shot was very close to me, but it didn’t make me its target. We’re supposed to be together,” I make a move towards her, my arms outstretched as I plan to hug her,  when a shot sounds out, and a bullet pierces my skin.

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