~
The sound of the pitter-patter of little feet could no longer be ignored. It woke Anne almost nightly and interrupted her routine with strange, unexplainable urges. She could pass a Babies-R-Us on the way to work, or find a misplaced onesie in the food aisle at Wal-mart. Even seeing a commercial for one of those baby programs would make her long for a child. Whatever brought upon the urge, the march of little feet would run rampant through her consciousness. There were some slight problems, though. First, Anne was unmarried and her executive position kept her that way by dishing out long hours and hard projects. She was paid well, so she couldn't complain, but her dating life had become nonexistent as a result. Second, her one person apartment was barely enough room for her, let alone another who would be curious about every dust bunny and dirty sock. And third, she was sterile after a medication mishap during her teenage years.
She tried her best to drown out the constant march by putting in her headphones and turning up the music. That didn't deter the feet. They instead became the tempo for the song. With a sigh, she gave up and let them continue on their way.
~
It was a Friday night and instead of barhopping with friends, Anne found herself considering a kumquat in the Wal-mart produce section. The fruit was small and oval shaped. It looked almost like an orange, but smelled different. She threw the fruit back into its proper bin and finished fishing out a few nice, ripe blood oranges. Breakfast was never complete without a good orange. She continued through the produce, then made her way to the greeting card section. Her nephew's birthday party was the next morning and, as usual, she had waited until the last moment. It wasn't that she was lazy, she was just a procrastinator. Cleaning, cooking, and shopping for special occasions and holidays all took a back seat to her portfolio work. She grabbed one of the cards with cars on it, figuring that boys loved cars. She then swung by electronics. Her sister was low on money and wanted her to pick up some Call of Duty game for his birthday.
"Excuse me," she heralded the cashier.
He trudged over with a grunt. She observed his double-no, triple-chin wobbling as he spoke. "What can I help you with?" he rasped, seeming to gasp for air like a fish out of water.
"Can you tell me what the newest Call of Duty game is? I need to buy it," she said curtly.
The man looked her up and down. “I wouldn’t take a pretty thing like you for a gamer,” he laughed.
"Just answer the question,” she said as business-like as she could.
"Sheesh, fine." He waddled to a case and pointed the game out to her. The sixty dollar price tag jumped out at her. She remembered back to when she and her sister Kate would pick up games for the Gameboy they both shared; their combined allowance enough for a game. Unlike most sisters, they had been able to share and take turns with little argument or fuss. "Want me to get it out for you?"
"Yes," she said shortly, disliking every moment that she was stuck dealing with the man. He lumbered back to the counter and rang the game up for her. "Can you also ring up the card and oranges? I really don't want to fight those lines up front." She asked hopefully.
"I can do the card, but the oranges need to be weighed, so you'll have to take them up there." Anne sighed, passing the card to him and sliding her debit to complete the purchase. As she had feared, the few registers that were open had lines twisting through the clothing department. Even the express lane was backed up and moving just as slowly as the others. She entered the line that she deemed least crowded and began to wait, something she wasn’t good at.
As if by some strange karma, the line she had chosen had an ancient cashier that looked older than God himself. She was rolling cans of cat food slowly across the scanner. Anne tried not to watch because it would only made her more aggravated. "I can help someone in the next line!" She heard the cashier beside her line call, though her attempt to raze the line was fruitless; it was soon just as full as the others. Anne hadn't even bothered to move, knowing she'd just end up in the same place, if not farther back.
"Price check," her cashier called on the intercom. The statement cracked something inside her.
"Oh come on!" she shouted.
The man in front of her chuckled. "I think Wal-mart does this on purpose. They know they have the lowest prices and so they can treat their customers however they please because we'll keep coming back."
“Tell me about it." Anne shook her head. She sighed as she watched the cashier stand nervously to the side; apologizing to the impatient woman she was ringing up. The woman was shouting profanities and gesturing violently. The old cashier shook her head, holding her hands up in an attempt to placate the woman.
Finally Anne gave up, having reached the end of her patience. She had her main purchases and the oranges weren’t that important. "Good luck with the line," she said to the man in front of her and ducked out of line, ditching the bag of oranges on top of display of clothes. She left, glad to be out of the store. She made her way to her car, fumbling in her purse for her car keys. She finally found them and pushed the unlock button. Nothing happened. "Great,” she grumbled, manually unlocking the door and checking to see if she had left the lights on. She hadn’t. She then tried to start the car, but the engine refused to turn.
She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Leaning against it, she pulled out her cell phone, planning to call Kate to see if her husband could swing by and see what was wrong.
"Drop the phone," she heard a harsh male voice demand. She looked up and noticed a man dressed in all black beside her, gun raised. She did as instructed, dropping the phone back into her purse. She held her hands up, backing away slowly. "Give me your money!"
Anne doubted it would be that simple. She had heard about a string of murders on the evening news. Each started with a hold up in the parking lot of some store and ended with the victims in the morgue. "You're going to murder me either way. Don't make it seem like I have a choice," she spat. She realized arguing with a serial killer at gun point was extremely foolish, but if she was going to die anyways, she wasn't going down without a fight.
"You bitch," he shouted, lunging forward and hitting her square on the nose with the butt of the gun. She stumbled back onto the side mirror, hands rising instinctively to her face. "Give me your money now!"
Anne looked around, but there was no one close enough to help. If she screamed, she was sure it would end with a bullet to her brain. She reached into her purse cautiously, ready to pull out her wallet. She saw that the man was intent on her head and the trigger rather than her purse. In one fluid motion, she swung and hit him with it. He staggered back, cursing. He cocked the gun. Anne swung her purse again, hitting his hand and knocking the gun to the ground. She scrambled to the ground and picked the gun up, putting her hand on the trigger and firing. She was startled by the recoil and the piercing sound. The sound of blood and brain matter hitting the ground reminded her of the pitter-patter of rain. The pitter-patter of...
All this happened in a split-second. She sat on the ground, dropping the gun in disbelief. She heard a buzzing coming from her purse. The phone. She pulled it out. It was her sister. She ignored it so she could call 911.
The moments went by in a blur. She was sore from having fired the gun and when the ambulance arrived, the EMT checked her out. She was going to develop a few bruises from her fall and her nose was badly bruised, but not broken. She answered countless questions from the police. The man was indeed the serial killer. Someone that worked at Wal-mart had given her a water bottle. The killer had cut the wires on her car so she couldn’t get away. After everything was finally over, one of the police officers offered to take her home. He arranged to have a tow truck get her car. Anne climbed into the passenger seat of the police car, just wanting to be home.
"You're lucky to be alive. That was some pretty fast thinking back there." Anne didn't respond, eyes focused out the window. "We'd been tracking him for months with little success. He was always fast and clean with his work," the officer continued as if he didn't notice Anne's obvious silence. His ramblings became white noise as Anne tried not to think. They finally arrived back at her apartment complex. "We'll be calling you for more information and follow up later. Take care." With that, he pulled away.
She climbed the three flights to her apartment. She opened the door and locked it behind her mechanically. She walked into her bathroom, turning on the light and studying her face. There was some blood on her clothes. She striped them off, throwing them in the tiny trashcan beside her toilet. They spilled onto the floor, unable to fit in the can already full of used tampons and tissues. She left the bathroom without bothering to turn off the light. She slid a pair of pajama pants on and fell onto her bed.
It was already very early in the morning and sleep felt good. The last thing on Anne's mind before she succumbed to slumber land was the phantasmal pitter-patter sound she always heard. This time, however, the sound was off; the tempo new.
~
Balloons shaped like stars and baseballs adorned the perfectly green lawn that Kate's husband took such extreme care in managing. The bushes were all evenly trimmed and spaced apart. "Stanley, have you put the burgers on yet?" Kate called, searching for her husband behind the smoky grill.
"Just did," he gave her a grin and a thumb's up. Stanley and Anne both worked at the same office, but the two never really knew what to say to each other, Anne finding him to be a dork and Stanley finding her to be a prude.
She smiled at him, turning to her sister. "Anne, are you sure you're okay enough to be here? I would have understood, you poor dear."
Anne shook her head. "I'm fine." Kate gave her a dubious look. "Okay, I'm not fine, but I just didn’t want to be alone. I thought maybe getting out would help or something. Plus I couldn't miss Huey's big day."
Kate sighed, enveloping her sister in a hug. "You do too much, hun. You work so much overtime and then after an ordeal like yours, you just go back to routine. I don't know how you do it."
"What else can I do?" Anne mumbled, looking away as the mothers of Huey's friends approached Kate. They then began their garroulous chatter about their husbands and their children. Anne was unable to contribute to either topic, so instead she grabbed a drink from the outdoor bar and sat on a lawn chair by the pool. The sun soaked through her black clothing, making her uncomfortably warm. Though bright colors would have been preferable in the summer heat, it was all she could do to not come in her pajamas.
She watched the children running around and playing. Huey was turning twelve and would be going to middle school once the summer ended. Middle school had been where she remembered being forced into training bras and into finding a boy to crush on. Kate had always been ahead in those areas, but Anne never minded. She enjoyed rough housing with the boys more than sitting awkwardly with them at a football game. She still did, for that matter.
She was interupted from her childhood musings by her sister. "Alright," Kate turned, clapping her hands. The children stopped playing and turned. "Who's ready for lunch and cake?" A chorus of me's followed her as the kids ran to the fold out tables that she'd set out for the occasion. Burgers and hotdogs were served first. Anne had grabbed a burger, but was unable to eat. The pink meat inside reminded her of skin tissue. She tore the meat into small peices, musing about the night before. She walked over to the trash can and held her plate so they cascaded off, hitting the bottom with a pitter-patter.
Finally it was cake time. Everyone joined in a rousing chorus of happy birthday. At the conclusion, Huey blew out the eleven candles, making a wish. Everyone ate cake while Anne stood off to the side, watching the smoke that danced upward from the candles. She felt something within her want to dance along with the smoke.
She suppressed the urge as Kate announced that it was time to open presents. This was every child's favorite part. She watched as an assortment of sports gear and nerf guns began to pile in front of Huey. He opened the game she had bought for him and jumped in joy, running over and hugging her. She hugged him back with a smile. Something about the hug of a child was always genuine. His last present was a brand new bike, which he rode around the yard. He had wanted to play with the guns, but Kate shooed the kids inside to play the new game, figuring the sight of a gun war wouldn't be the best thing at a time like this.
The adults helped clean up as the children fired up the Xbox inside. "Thank you again for getting the game for him," Kate said. "He's wanted that game for ages."
"It was no problem. It reminded me of back when we'd buy video games together." Anne dropped a stack of plates coated with frosting into the trash.
"Except Mother would die if we got anything so violent," Kate laughed. "I think even Mario was too violent for her."
"Tetris was probably too violent for her." Anne shook her head. Stanley was scrapping the grill clean beside them. Bits of burnt meat fell to the ground as he shook the metal brush clean. "What would she think of me now?" Anne asked quietly.
"Oh Anne," Kate grabbed her sister's hands, "you only did what you had to so you wouldn’t be killed. She would have done the same thing in your position. Just be thankful you're able to enjoy this beautiful day." As if to encourage Anne, a gentle breeze carressed her face. "Why don't we go inside for some tea? Stanley, you've got it from here, right?"
"Of course I do. You guys run on inside." Stanley motioned as he grabbed the hose so he could wash away the residual meat into the grass.
Everyone filed inside. Kate bustled about, turning on the stove and finding her teapot. Anne leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and living room, watching Huey and the others staring up at the screen and cheering. Gunshots rang out from the screen. Anne could almost hearing the deafening shot from last night echoing off the walls. She remembered holding the gun. She remembered the rain of blood and brain hitting the ground.
"I have to go," she turned. The ladies all eyed her warily. "Sorry sis."
"Don't apologize, you just do whatever you need to. Stanley can take you home." Kate gave her an empathetic look. Anne waved and stumbled out the door.
Instead of bothering Stanley, who was singing some rock ballad to himself, she turned and walked home. The two didn't live far away from each other anyways, so there was no need for a ride. She could call a cab anyways. It was a beautiful Saturday and many of the neighborhood's children were running through hoses or slipping down slip and slides. On days like this, Anne liked to take her laptop outside and catch up on her work and portfolios. She was now behind and she didn't care, though thinking about work was better than what she would think of if her mind was left to its own devices.
She finally passed through the neighborhood and was in the city. Most of the stores were closed for the weekend. The only open stores Anne could see were a curio store full of scented soaps and handmade dolls, a bakery thick with the aroma of fresh pastries, and a pawn shop; its windows crowded with DVDs, golf club sets, old TVs, and an old revolver. She paused, placing a hand on the glass as she looked down at the sleek silver barrel.
She hadn’t realized how long she’d been there until the door clanged open. The sound made her jump. "I saw you lookin' at that old colt. We got more like it inside if you want to come see." The owner looked down at her. He looked every bit like a typical redneck gun club member.
“No, I just,” Anne turned, walking away, ignoring his protests and attempts to sell her something.
~
That Monday she arrived late to work. She had picked up yesterday's paper and read it with her breakfast. The first thing she saw was the face of her attacker glaring up at her. After her initial shock of seeing him, she examined his face. He was so young looking. Stubble marred his cheeks, but did nothing to age him. He would have been handsome had this not been a mug shot. The headline above read 'local woman brings end to woman killer.' She devoured the article, ignoring her meal.
When she finally made it to the office, many of the people either said their condolences or avoided her. Usually she was greeted and had a cup of coffee placed into her hand before she reached the door to her own office. She entered her office to find a note on her desk asking her to meet with the company's president. This couldn't be good.
"Mr. Higgins?" she asked as she stepped into his office, shutting the door behind her.
"Have a seat Ms. Long." He motioned to one of the leather chairs in front of his desk with a beefy hand. She took one, sitting down gently. "I simply want to ask you about what happened this weekend. I’m very sorry. How are you fairing?"
"I'm managing." She looked down at her lap.
"I'm glad to hear. Now you know if there’s anything I can do for you, I’d be more than happy to." He offered.
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Anne said.
Mr. Higgins cleared his throat before continuing, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way as I have your best interests in mind, but I'd like you to take your vacation time now. You have quite a bit of time accumulated.” Anne looked up, opening her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand to protest. “I know you, Ms. Long. You'd work yourself to death if we let you. You just went through a traumatic event. We have a big assignment coming up and I don't want to put this on you if you won't be able to give it your all and I'm sure you could use that time to yourself to cope. You'll receive paid vacation, of course."
Anne stood. "Taking time to myself isn’t going to help me cope. All I do when I have a quiet moment alone is remember that night. I need something to keep me busy."
"And I need someone who will be 100% focused and I just don't think you'll be able to do that right now."Mr. Higgins coughed. "Just take a week and see how you feel."
"Yeah," Anne sighed, eying slightly balding man in front of her. She then looked past him out the window. It was another beautiful summer day. "You’re right." She admitted. It really was for the best that she took a vacation now since she wouldn't be able to focus on anything high profile at the moment, but she could have really used the distraction. She thanked her boss and gathered her things, driving back to her apartment and replacing her business suit with an old pair of pajamas.
The next two days were spent huddled on her bed with the TV on watching whatever show happened to be on the channel 9. Dr. Phill acted as if he understood people he really didn't. She would like to bet Dr. Phil had never been poor nor had he ever been abused or whatever else he acted like he was an expert on. Oprah was mostly the same way. A local news program interrupted to bring details of the murderer. She changed the channel at that, flipping whenever a show went to commercial, not catching the end to anything. She slept whenever she happened to fall asleep and woke whenever she happened to wake up. By evening on Wednesday, she received a knock at her door.
"Open up right now," she heard her sister demand on the other side. With a groan, Anne managed to will herself out of bed and opened the door. "Your phone goes directly to voice mail and Stanley said you weren't at the office. After the way you left on Saturday, I've been worried sick." Kate kept rambling on with various lectures until she was seated at the kitchen table and being handed a glass of iced tea, which she sipped warily.
In the background, the sounds of an action shooter filled the silence, filtering from her bedroom to the rest of her small apartment. "Kate, I shot and killed someone. I just want to be alone after that. Do you know what it feels like to kill someone? To watch as their head explodes into something unrecognizable? I was responsible for ending that man's life. He was a horrible person, sure, but look," she slid the paper over to Kate, "he had a young face. He has the face of someone that could have gone somewhere if he hadn't been a serial killer."
Kate folded the paper over so she wouldn't have to see the article. "Some people deserve to die, Anne. It's why we have the death penalty. If you hadn't offed him, then the state would have. Heck, if you hadn't offed him, he would still be out there killing other poor women and you would be the one that's dead. And another thing," she slammed her hands down on the table," you look at someone, make a quick judgment, and then never give them the proper chance. I’ve never said anything before, but this time it’s just ridiculous. You see an overweight person and they are immediately obese and out of shape to you or you see a man in a red plaid shirt and they're a red neck. Yet what gets me, you see the baby face of a killer and pity him."
With a sigh, Anne looked away. The judgments she made were usually right anyways. It was a part of her job to analyze potential new clients from short meetings with them. Examining the nature of people came naturally to her. When she looked at Kate, she saw a nurturing maternal figure like she longed to be. When she looked at Huey, she saw a world of possibilities wrapped inside the small package of a lazy boy. When she looked at herself, she didn't see much; a business woman who couldn't be a mother and a woman who was normally strong, but had been reduced to an unstable mess after one night. Perhaps it was time she did something to finally pull out of her funk. "Isn't Stanley a rifle association member?" She asked.
Kate considered Anne, confused by the question that had nothing to do with their previous topic of conversation, if you could call one person lecturing another conversation. "Yes, he's been for awhile now."
"Do you think," she paused, considering her words, "that he could take me to the shooting range?"
"Oh heavens," a hand flew to Kate's mouth, "why on earth would you want to go there?"
A half smile crossed Anne's face. She turned to face Kate. Her hair was disheveled and her pajamas were severely wrinkled, the beginnings of dark circles forming under her eyes. "I would like to learn how to use a gun should there ever come another time. I've been thinking and I'd really like to be more capable of defending myself."
Kate nodded, "That actually sounds like a great idea. I might come as well. I think we could all use a lesson in self-defense."
The two sisters embraced and finished the jug of tea together, chatting about whatever came to mind all the while, Anne ignored the internalized, thunderous sound of cascading footsteps.
~
Anne returned home from another day at the shooting range bruised and sun burnt. Despite all that, she felt better than she had in ages. The cops had talked to her about what happened once more, but it appeared that there would be no trial or anything of the sort. Everyone was just glad his reign had ended and Anne was glad that the whole thing was finally out of her hair, which she had cut short now, reading that attackers would often grab long hair to keep their victim at bay.
She threw down her purse and stretched. She loved going to the shooting range and firing at the little targets they had set up. She was still not used to the recoil, but she loved the sound as each bullet escaped from the barrel. Something about it sent a thrill up her spine each time she heard it.
Such a thrill that, a few days prior, she found herself back at the pawn shop.
The red neck owner had perked up when she entered. “Back to look at the revolvers?” He asked. Anne nodded, looking around at the selection. The owner slid out from behind the counter, giving her the grand tour.
We get all kinds of guns from simple hunting rifles to this here colt python," he motioned to an older looking revolver inside the glass counter. "We're lucky to have gotten this one in. I know lots of folk who refer to the Python as the finest gun ever produced."
Anything else the owner may have said was lost on Anne. She was focused on the Python. It wasn't anything fancy and was worn, but something about it called out to her. "I'll take this one." She motioned to the case.
"Good choice. Not many can resist the charm of the Python. I believe this one is from the late 1950s or so. Anyways, as is policy, you'll have to fill out a 4473 and I'll need to see your license. You haven't been in any criminal activity lately, have ye?" He glared at her menacingly. Anne's heart skipped a beat thinking of that night. He then let out a hearty laugh, slapping his knee. "Hehe you shoulda done seen your face. Of course a pretty lady like you hasn't been involved in anything. Is this for yourself or a present for your husband?"
"Uh, yeah. Husband." Anne looked away, not wanting to explain herself. When it was finally in her hands, she looked upon it almost reverently. She picked it up, enjoying the feel of the cool metal beneath her fingers. She had spent a lot of her free time since researching the revolver.
She busied herself about kitchen, preparing dinner.
There were mostly rednecks at the range, but one man had piqued her interests. He had a handsome face, clean shaven, and was extremely smart. He worked there, she assumed, as an instructor because he had been the one while Stanley was teaching Kate how to properly hold a gun to walk her through the steps of firing. The more she went, the more the two talked. He loved bragging about his hunting achievements and the racks of bucks he shot. Anne could really care less about any of this, but she had wanted to try her hand at hunting the more she heard people talking about it at the range. This man, whatever his name was, she couldn't be bothered to remember, would be the perfect person to take her. Kate also seemed happy that she was finally taking interest in someone.
She saw there was a message on her answering machine. She played it as she prepared a pot of water for spaghetti. "Anne, it's been three weeks now. I know you have vacation time and went through a traumatic event, so I can't really say anything, but it's starting to get ridiculous. Please call when you get this. We really need you now." The message ended and the mechanic voice of the machine read off the time and date.
Anne thought about the message as she stirred a pot of sauce and shrugged. She never took time off, so her vacation days been building for quite some time now. She was lucky to work at an office that let time carry over. She still had about two weeks left and planned on taking them. While everything cooked, she pulled out the Python from its home in her dresser drawer when it wasn’t nestled in her purse. It was tucked underneath a stack of under garments since she knew no one would look under there. She fiddled with it, spinning the barrel. She held it up like she'd been shown at the range, pointing it at the TV, her bed, and a picture of Kate. It felt good to hold a gun. It felt even better to shoot. With a smile, she placed the gun back in the drawer, humming as she stirred in the noodles. The pitter-patter marched along happily with her whistling.
~
Crouched in the bushes, Anne watched as a turkey scuttled along, pausing periodically to peck at the ground. It turned an eye towards the bush as if considering what lay beyond, but then continued its pecking, stepping cautiously forward. "The key here is to wait until he walks closer. You might be able to shoot that tom now, but you really need him to get closer so you can save the tail." John (Anne had finally learned his name) had been happy to take her hunting. He kept placing a hand on her back. She didn’t care for the gesture, but ignored it. The turkey stepped again, edging into her sights.
John had let her use his .22 caliber rifle and had walked her through the whole hunting process over lunch. He was really helpful even if his thick southern accent was hard to understand. She waited, watching the turkey move closer. "Now?" she asked.
"Now," John nodded. Anne prepared herself for the kick as she shot. She hit the turkey and he slumped over, blood pooling on the ground. "That was perfect!" John congratulated. Anne walked over, observing her handiwork. The turkey had a gaping hole in his chest and was still. The tail was gorgeous.
"It was," Anne said, looking at the gun and smiling. "What an exhillerating feeling."
"Now you've got it. You're the first woman I've taken hunting that didn't end up revolted. You've got a talent for shooting."
"I was taught by the best," Anne flirted. John scratched at the back of his neck, embarrassed.
This was the beginning of many other hunting trips with the two. Anne wasn't exactly keen on John, but she wanted to hunt again. Something about the way that the body would hit the ground or the echoing sound of gun fire, it resonated within her until she could hear no other sound including her always internal tempo. The pitterpatter seemed to be appeased because for now it was leaving her alone, free of urges.
At the end of a particularly long hunting session, John dropped her off at her apartment. "Hey Anne," he stopped her before she could get out of his pick-up, "I'm going deer hunting tomorrow. I know it's not our usual turkey, but would you like to come?"
"Would I like to come?" Anne pretended to consider for a second. "Of course! I'd love to come."
John shook his head, smiling. "You're something else." With that, Anne climbed out of the car and watched as he sped off.
~
John arrived early the next morning. Anne donned the cameo she had bought for their hunting trips and met him outside the complex. She slid into the passenger seat and they made idle chatter. He told her about the gun they'd be using and the area they'd be in. They'd be on the ground hunting since a friend of his was borrowing his tree top gear. Anne drank in his words, excited. John finally pulled over and slid out of his truck. He grabbed his back pack and slipped it on. He handed Anne one of his guns and he took the other. The two then hiked into the woods a fair ways keeping up an easy chatter as they went.
"You know a good deal about guns, right?" She asked, slightly out of breath. She may have had a slim figure, but she wasn't fit. Most of her days were spent sitting behind a desk and she preferred to drive over walking to places when she could.
"Yeah. I wouldn't say I'm an expert, but I know my stuff. Why?" John was handling the hike considerably better, though he was used to the trails.
"Well, I have this old gun," she huffed, "a python colt I believe. Anyways, I just wanted to know if you knew anything about it."
John paused, whistling, "That's a really nice gun you have there. Not sure what it'd be worth for shooting, but it's a nice display peice. It's worth a pretty penny nowadays depending on year and condition." Anne nodded. "Where did you get the gun?" He asked, continuing on once again.
"Oh, just had it in the family," she lied.
"Mm," he grunted, nodding. "Oh, we're at the best spot!" John motioned to a brush covered area of the forest. It stood on the crest of a gentle slope and offered a great view of the dip below which was perfectly covered in grass. "This is my secret spot right here and the place where I shot the buck that hangs above my mantle back home. I don't think any other hunters know about this spot because it's so far off the beaten path, but it's the best place for deer. I made sure there’d be some good grass too by throwing a few handfuls of seed. It’s really paid off."
The air held the scent of early morning dew, still slightly chilled from the night, and sun filtered through the trees. It was truly beautiful. John set about doing different things to attract the deer. They waited, crouched in the brush. As time passed, Anne’s anticipation turned into a dull boredom. John whispered to her, something unimportant and dismal, but she was focused on their surroundings, waiting for their prey. The sun was high in the sky before anything showed up. A small doe paused near the edge of the grass. It toed around the clearing, dipping its head from time to time to sample the green.
"We don't want the doe, we want a buck. I bet he'll be along later, though," he whispered, barely audible so the doe below wouldn't startle. Anne didn't respond, excitement catching her breath. The creature below was beautiful in a way that a turkey or half the people she met weren't. She could feel an aura of gentleness from this doe.
At this, she heard it again, the pitter-patter. It was an excited tempo. She felt an urge overcome her. She tried to suppress it, but the sound refused to be silenced, rising above any other noise until it was pounding in her ears. "There's the buck," John whispered excitedly. "We need to scoot back some before he comes too close. We don't want any chance of him seeing us." John moved back slowly, silently. Anne followed suit, moving further back than John. He didn't notice, attention on the rack of the buck approaching the clearing. "We're shooting soon. Get your target in sight."
Anne raised her gun. "Got it."
"Alright, wait until he comes into the clearing." John held up his gun, preparing for the right moment. Anne waited and when the opportunity finally came, she pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the trees, reverberating through the area. The doe and buck immediately bolted from the clearing.
Anne stood, looking at what had been John moments before. His head was blown away. He was still and the trees were coated in his blood and brain matter. The blood was even on the grass below. The tempo in her head quieted to a happy hum. Blood was still spilling to the ground below. She stood, turning and leaving the clearing.
She had been too afraid at the time to realize that shooting the murderer had awakened something inside her. She had been thrilled and that is why she'd been so scared. Only a monster would take pleasure in killing another person. She had reasoned through it since then. Some people just deserved to die. Why else would there be a death penalty. The government did it every day, so why couldn't she?
She called a cab saying she had had a fight with her boyfriend and needed to leave. The cab driver could really care less. Once inside her apartment, she moved to her underwear drawer. She pulled out the now loaded Python. John was wrong; the gun was worth shooting. She'd prove it to him.
~
Anne avoided her job and the news over the next few days. She didn't think John seemed like a person to be missed. He had no family, though he was a large part of the range. Kate had tried to call a couple of times as well as Mr. Higgins, but she had put her cell on silent. She heard it vibrating, useless noise in her grand orchestra. Nothing else mattered to her except composing the perfect melody for the internal rhythm inside. She was tired of suppressing it when she knew that it was the undertone for a beautiful piece.
She waited until she grew tired of sitting inside, then grabbed her purse and walked out the door. She made her way towards her favorite coffee shop. Along the way she saw a hobo holding a sign saying that God would bless whoever gave him money. It was probably for alcohol anyways. Anne noticed his brand new Nikes. He probably wasn't even really homeless. He sure looked and smelled the part, though.
"Excuse me ma'am," he called. Anne turned, eyebrow raised. "Could you please spare some change for a hungry soul?" He held up a cup and jingled it. It was already full of various coins and dollar bills.
"It looks like you've got enough there to buy something off the dollar menu," she scoffed, stomping away.
The hobo called out to her again, "Ma'am, this isn't about me. I have a family to feed and I want to make enough to get some nice clothes so I can make a living for myself again. You don't look like you have much to worry about, but please think on my situation and have some pity."
She laughed, "Well, you seem to have me figured out, so I'm sure you know that I won't spare a dime."
"Please ma'am," he pleaded, eying her designer purse. So he just wanted some pity money out of the decently well off. "Just give me some money now."
It wasn't a demand, but her eyes widened. The words rang within her and the tempo within her grew thunderous, hurting her ears. There was something familiar about them, something she didn’t like.
She pulled out the Python and faced the hobo. He held up his hands, but she had already cocked the gun. She squeezed the trigger sending the bullet through his head. As before, blood and brain rained onto the ground. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. It was a decently clean shot, considering her proximity. The people around her grew silent. She looked down at her handy work and felt exhilerated. She felt better than she had ever been since that night at Wal-mart. Turkey and targets taped to poles and mounds of dirt could only go so far. The deer had been too beautiful and innocent. They didn’t deserve to be hunted. No, she had wanted that same feeling of killing someone who deserved to die.
"Someone call the police!" One woman shouted. A few others were already dialing 911. It was applause from the audience. She felt no regret; the tempo inside her was playing the final chords of a most beautiful song. She played with the revolver as people ran around her screaming.
Perhaps the pitter-patter she'd been hearing never was the sound of little feet. Maybe the pitter-patter she'd been hearing all along was the sound of blood.
