The Hunt

Light brown liquid filled the tiny porcelain cup. A Rosette pattern was visible on the top layer of the foam made by the barista. He took a sip of his second caramel latte of the day and looked at the bus stop across the street. Outside, the sky was already grey, leaves have turned, painting the branches with orange, yellow and red. Puddles of water were visible on the grainy asphalt due to the rain that afternoon. He glanced around him: businessmen on their phones, college students having study sessions, gossiping mothers; looking at their attire, he did not belong. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt and baggy jeans, his beard as coarse as ryegrass, and he looked like he has been awake for three straight days. While he took the second sip of latte, his gaze searched for the red-headed girl at the bus stop. He glanced at his watch, 02:13pm. She should board the 315 bus to her house in 2 minutes.

A few nights before, he intended to purchase a bottle of stress reliever in a nearby grocery store. That same afternoon, he was fired from the sales position in his company due to underperformance.

“Well, I never really liked selling kids encyclopedia anyways. And kids? Ugh, I hate them. They are just pretentious tiny creatures that like to run around, pretending they know everything”, he scorned to his boss before slamming the office door behind him.

As soon as he arrived at the store, he went to the alcohol aisle, grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, and went straight to the cash register. That was when he spotted her, in cash register number 6, the red-headed girl. Her facial features were far from what he would consider par, her eyes were too far apart, and she had freckles that populated her entire hatchet face. But there was something about the color of her hair. Her hair was red, but unlike any ordinary redheads, hers was fiery and looked burning to the touch. Her orange sunset curls captured the grocery store light in vibrant ruby hues, which fell gently on her midback like lava. They reminded him of Amelia’s.

“Sir, do you need a bag?” she said, loud enough to stir his attention away from her locks to her eyes.

“Yes please,” he answered and looked at her name tag. It said, Liz. Liz as in Elizabeth or Lizzie or Eliza? He was hungry for answers, answers of her. He imagined how she would wake up in the morning, how she liked her eggs cooked, what songs would cheer her up on a bad day, and other inappropriate things to think towards a stranger. He left and got into his car in the parking lot. He opened the bottle of Jack Daniels, chugged it several times, and waited for Liz to finish her shift. After 2 drunken hours of waiting in the car, Liz finally came out of her shift and walked to the parking lot. Her right hand reached out to the tote bag that she was carrying on her left shoulder. She took out a car key and unlocked a 2003 tan beetle that was parked across from him. Not wanting her to notice his existence in the parking lot, he flicked the high beam of his car that let out a blinding glare at Liz. She squinted her eyes and tried to search for the person behind the steering wheel but gave up when the high beam lights were starting to leave a burning sensation to her eyes. He followed her that night, and the following day and the night after, and so on. Every day he would stalk her as if he was a private investigator trying to solve his case. He knew which school she goes to, her shift in the grocery store, the location of her house, the number of social media she has, and even her full name, Elizabeth Jones. She did not have that many friends. The only time he saw her socializing with someone is with the next-door neighbor that she sees every other day. Not that all of those matters as he would still hunt her. “For Amelia”, as he always said.

“Today’s the day, Jess”, he said to the waitress when she came over to his table to give him napkins.

“What day?” she replied.

“The day I’ll get my girl back”, he said. He reached out to his leather wallet in his back pocket, pulled out a five-dollar bill and gave it to her as tips. She took the bill, stashed it to the front pocket of her apron, and gave him a kittenish smile. He checked across the street to see if Liz was still waiting idly at the bus stop. Her usual 315 should come in a minute. He gave the waiter a look, smiled at her, and left for Liz. Once, he almost thought about choosing the waiter as his next prey. Liz spent most of her afternoon in school, which was located across the street from the café. It was only natural that he picked this café as a basecamp for his investigation and to observe her from a safe distance. However, it has only been a few days scouting her and yet he was already distracted by another beautiful creature, the waiter.

“Liz fits perfectly into her description with her fiery, red hair. But the waiter; there is something about her that piqued my interest. She is beautiful in her own way and on top of that, she always gives that flirty smile whenever I come around”, he said to himself one night while laying down in his bed, staring blankly at his bedroom ceiling. But he was a man with principles. Immediately, he went to look for what he believed could set him back on track whenever he felt lost. He looked under his bed and both of his hands roamed the surface of the hardwood floor that decorated his 1-bedroom apartment. He pulled out an antique wooden box that was given by his mother right before she left him and his father, for another man. She was never caring nor motherly, and he was glad that she left. His father though died 3 months later of a heart attack. He was too young to remember, but the people who came to the funeral said that stress caused his death, but he knows, deep down, that he died from the heartbreak. He reached for the lock while thoughtfully observing it. Now, where did he put the key? Slowly he raised his arms and reached for the drawers of his bedside table. “There it is”, he said to himself as he picked up a dusty silver key among the trinkets in that drawer. He inserted the key to the lock, slowly turning the key in a clockwise direction. Click. The box gives out an old cedarwood aroma, damp and musty. Layers of memories started to unveil when he saw the stacks of portraits, frayed and yellow, yet still fresh in mind. He picked them up gently, shuffling the photographs one after another, romanticizing their first date, wedding day, the day they moved in, and up until photos of their Brazil trip last year. He reached for the bottom of the box; it is where gems more precious than the photos are kept. There, laid a heart-shaped pendant necklace, a blue dolphin earring, a pair of glasses with a cracked frame, and a white envelope. He took the envelope and seized a bunch of cut hair. They were about 3 inches long, strikingly reddish, just like Liz’s, and were tied loosely with a red string. He stroked the hair as if it was a newborn’s hand, and then he would smell it and say, “Oh, Amelia, I miss you so much, my dear”, and cried, cried, and cried until his heart’s content. In an instant, his mood will be uplifted, and he would steadily be back on track.

Amelia. His first love, his world, his everything. They met at an office party when both were young and hungry for love. His colleague, Jean, brought Amelia with her and the moment she stepped through the door, he was starstruck by her beauty, elegance, and her laughter. She had a beautiful, silky red hear, just like Liz’s. Her eyes were in the color of a mesmerizing ocean blue, and he could not stand to not look at her directly in the eye. Her laughter also reminds him of his 4th grade English teacher, Mrs. Kim, she would release a little giggle at first which is followed by a thunderous crackle, with snorts in between; not excruciating at all, at least for him. They went on their first date which leads to second, third and fourth, and he proposed to her on their fifth date. They went on to live as love birds in the first 6 months, devouring each other’s love like animals on their mating season. But their love never lasts. There are hundreds of ways to break his heart, but she chose to leave him for another man. Just another reflection of his father’s romantic life. The fate of men in his family. Love. Look at what love did to him. For him, love is like entering Dante’s 7 levels of hell. The devil himself would welcome him with a red carpet to the gates of hell, with a sign written on the gates “Beyond this place is where relationship dies”. The difference between him and most people about being in hell was that he would only feel all the pain and suffering at the last level; a place where Lucifer himself served him a plate of betrayal, and a glass of blood filled with his heart that has been shattered into pieces. He hated it, but still, he chose to fall for it over and over again. Falling into an infinite loop of love and hate and betrayal and back to love again. If Amelia could not love him, maybe Liz will.

The 315 bus has arrived. He jogged slightly to catch the bus, creating mini splashes on the wet road. He could see Liz boarding the bus, a cloud of sadness covers her face, a frown was visible on her tiny forehead. He knew why. He killed her dog 2 days ago; when the cute, hairy Pomeranian dog was home alone, he went inside the house and fed it dog food mixed with antifreeze. He took care of the dog, and now he was ready to hunt for Liz.

He entered the bus while still trying to catch his breath from the small jog earlier. He walked to the back of the bus and occupied the window seat behind Liz. The bus started moving and went straight past the university, the Greek houses down the street, then it took a right turn at the crossroad of 6th Street and Park Avenue and reached its first stop. After a series of 4 more stops, they finally arrived at their destination. He waited for her to get off the bus and watched her closely from the window until she has walked half a block. Then he exited the bus to stalk her.

The wind blew a hard whistle, moving the fallen leaves on the ground to another position. He tread his steps along the pavement so that he did make rustling sound from the leaves. He followed her to her house, carefully, keeping a distance between them. Whenever she checked her back, he hid behind trees or bushes of any stranger’s house. When she reached her house, he hid behind a tree next to her house and waited for her to enter. While waiting, his mind wandered off to Amelia who was silently waiting in his laundry room. She sat with her eyes wide open. Lifeless. Her decaying body was set up to lean towards his washer, which was stained with Amelia’s dried blood. Bloodstains were scattered on her head and a sizable blow mark was visible on her scalp, tainting her porcelain-like forehead and her ruby red hair, which a part of it was cut 3 inches long. “Barren but still strikingly beautiful”, he said, “Now you will be mine forever”.

Dusk was painting the skyline with dark purple and indigo hues. Grey clouds were preparing for their journey south with the wind. He entered the twilight zone by taking a few steps from the tree towards Liz’s front door. He pressed the doorbell and waited excitedly for Liz to open the door. Would it be Liz, or will it be Satan welcoming him to the gate of hell once more?

Liz opened the front door. She was wearing an apron on top of her white knitted sweater and a pair of orange culottes. He could smell a familiar scent from the kitchen all the way to the front door; the smell of a roast in the oven. She was cooking. Was she expecting a guest?

“Hi, Can I help you?” Liz asked him while holding the front door open.

“Good evening miss, I’m assigned by the neighborhood to do maintenance on the heating system in all the houses. I apologize for coming in so late. It turns out there are more houses in this area than what my boss told me.” He replied.

There was an awkward silence between them. Liz has not gotten any notice about fire alarm inspection today. She scratched her head feeling confused; maybe she missed it? She has been busy juggling work and school; she barely has time for herself. On top of that, she just could not shrug the feeling that this man seemed familiar to her. “I feel like I have seen this man before. But where and when?” she thought to herself.

“So, miss, may I come in?” he said, breaking the silence between them. He could not help but show excitement in his face, which he did not want Liz to notice.

“Oh yeah, sorry. Right this way” she replied, making a space for him to enter the house. She closed the door behind her and lead him to the living room of the 2-bedroom house. It was not too spacious, but he could tell that it is homey. The living room was populated with a 3-seater grey sofa that was facing the television on the left side of the room. In between, stood a medium-sized coffee table made from glass. A bunch of letters was stacked on the table, alongside with a laptop, a stack of hand-written paper, and a vase filled with dried peonies. 8 feet away from the sofa was the kitchen island. Plates and utensils were arranged neatly on top of the brown, granite countertop. He counted 1,2,3. 3 people. She was expecting three people later on that evening. “I better do this quickly,” he thought while inserting his right hand on the back pocket of his jeans, caressing the knife that he has brought with him since this morning.

“I’m not going to take any more of your time, miss. I’ll start working on it right away” he announced to Liz.

“Sure, take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me” Liz responded. She walked back to the kitchen to check on her roast and stared blankly at her empty flower vase on the island. She still could not shrug off the thought of him being so familiar. She observed him across the room while he fiddled with her heater’s control panel. She guessed that he was still in his late 20’s or early 30’s. He stood 5”10” tall and has a lean figure underneath the baggy clothing that he was wearing. His chestnut-colored hair crowned his square, craggy face. However, under that beard that populates almost his entire face, she can see that he was once a handsome adolescent. Liz then took out a bottle of wine from the cabinet and took out three glasses of wine for her dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, her next-door neighbor.

He took a final look at Liz’s living room heater, which was working perfectly. Luckily, he used to watch his father fixing their houses’ heating system when the house turned to an igloo during the winter. It took him 15 minutes to do a full inspection of the heating system, while also thinking about how to attack Liz in the most clandestine way. Once again, he groped the knife in his back pocket for reassurance. He took a few steps towards the kitchen island and glanced at the refrigerator right beside it. Magnetized portraits were scattered throughout the top portion of the fridge. There were pictures of a girl jumping in a backyard trampoline, a Pomeranian dog biting a toy carrot, and many more. One photo that stood out to him was a sepia-colored photograph of a woman; the freckles, red hair and the face shape resembled Liz. The only detail that set Liz and the woman in the picture apart was the eyes. The woman’s eyes were slightly downturned, with hooded set eyelids that drooped over the crease of her eyes whereas Liz’s have wide-set eyes that were upturned like an almond. Liz caught him staring at the photograph.

“That’s my mother” she chimed in, “I lost her 4 years ago. My father left us when I was 5, so she practically raised me all by herself”. She walked to the fridge, and stood right in front of him, leaving a minute space between them.

“I am so sorry to hear that. She looks lovely and so do you” he stated, staring at her so intently like a creep. And at that moment he decided, it was time. He slid his right hand to the back pocket of his jeans and clenched the shaft of the murder weapon, sliding it carefully not to attract her attention. The knife was drawn slowly; traveling from his back pocket to his hips and over to his stomach. Liz, still unaware of his subtle movement, was taken aback with a sudden flashback to a few nights ago in one of her night shifts. She remembered this one weirdo who just would not stop watching her hair like it was something he cherished. She startled in surprise and realized that this man in her kitchen, was the man that she met at work. “Wait, you’re the guy fro…”. Sshhluck. A cold, thin, sharp-edged metal blade went through the left upper part of her abdomen. The blade went through the top layer of her skin to the fibers of the muscle wall, and finally the gastric area, tearing off the blood vessels and the abdominal muscles in the stomach. She was speechless, not because of the pain as the pain usually comes later. It was the adrenaline, like being punched with strong internal pressure. He removed the knife from her abdomen, moved 2 inches to the left and struck again for the second time. He moved in a repeated pattern until the blade left 7 stabbed wounds on her upper body area. Blood started to spread quickly on her clothing, first on her white knitted sweater, and to her apron. Tears went down her from her eyes to her cheek. She was helpless, unable to move. She managed to muster all her leftover strength to apply pressure on her wounds with her right hand in the hope of saving her own life. But her breaths were starting to slow down and she could slowly feel the burning, intense pain in her body. Liz lost balance and started to collapse. While falling, she grabbed the empty vase on top of the island as her reflex for holding on to something. But she fell to the floor, banging her head on the cold floor of her kitchen. The glass vase broke violently into small pieces near her, staining some of the small bits of glass with blood.

“Why?” was her last word.

He squatted right beside her and began running his finger through her hair. It was soft and it slipped his fingers like silk. With his right hand, he pointed the knife at her hair, and cut her hair off with it, 3 inches in length.

“This will add to my collection”, he murmured, releasing a contented smile.

Epilogue

The clock in his living room struck 8 p.m. It took him quite some time to drag her body from her house to his apartment. He managed to clean the house from the bloodstain; he poured white vinegar that he found in her kitchen. And he wiped off her wounds with a cloth and put on an oversized hoodie that he also found in her bedroom closet to hide her wounds. He placed her on both of his arms and carried her all the way to his apartment and shrugged off all the questioning stares from the people around him. He opened his bedside table drawer, reached out for the wooden box and added Liz’s cut hair to his collection. Meanwhile, several blocks away, in front of Liz’s house, a worried look was painted on Mr. and Mrs. Clarke’s face. It was already their 6th time ringing her doorbell. They tried dialing her cellphone, only to hear her phone ringing in a distant, inside her house. They have a bad feeling about this. Mr. Clarke finally opened the door and was surprised to find that it was unlocked. The house was also empty. Mrs. Clarke made up her mind to call 911 after her discovery of the broken vase with blood splatters that were on the floor; a minor detail that he forgot to take care of.