Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

“Just great!” she thought, “I’ve just led a steroid pumping, pot smoking, boob crazed, Neanderthal right to my front door.”

Even as one side of her was cursing the turn of events the other side was somewhat intrigued by her newfound ‘friend’, and a wry smile curled across her lips as she ascended Caroline’s steps.

The next few days passed quickly, her library responsibilities well in hand, she was able to relax and settle in not only to ‘home’ and work but the community at large. Blanche was learning to love the area and the people, so gentle, kind hearted and the pace of life in general was just so easy going. It didn’t seem that anyone was ever in much of a hurry unless it was the ‘Clueless Wonder’ sharing the bathroom with her on the second floor. Without fail, every morning just as it was her turn for the facility, he would charge down the hall, shaving kit, towel and magazine in hand, rushing into the loo and setting up camp for the next 45 minutes. Blanche had taken to showering at night and wearing her hair up to work so she didn’t have to worry about the time it would take in the morning.

Standing in front of the mirror, Blanche ran her fingers through her strawberry-blonde mane, gently working out the snarls. In no time, the brush slid easily from root to tip. Winding a red, silk scarf among the threads of her hair she quickly manipulated her locks into an impressive updo. Satisfied with her handiwork, she inspected her five and a half foot frame in the long mirror. Freckles, lightly sprinkled across her nose, highlighted her beautiful face and soft complexion. Tan lines strategically marked her most delicate features. Miles across the desert floor were visible in every line, sinew and muscle insertion from her ankles to lower back. She held her shoulders square, trying always to follow the advice of her mother, “Don’t slouch dear, no need to hide what God gave you.” Over the years Blanche had taken special precautions to keep her back muscles in top form. Images of her breasts hanging to her waist had been the source of great motivation and she daily stretched, lifted weights and did push-ups in an attempt to deny gravity the win.

No doubt Blanche was a remarkably beautiful woman but her most striking feature was her eyes. They were absolutely crystal blue, like glacier water reflecting sunlight, changing color relative to her surroundings. An overly large iris diameter and wide lid fissure presented these sapphire gems for the world to behold. It was not unusual for complete strangers to stop Blanche and ask where she got her contacts, commenting on how beautiful they were.

“No way!” was often the response when Blanche indicated that they were all natural, and that went for all of her as questioning eyes were often drawn to her bustline as well.

With so much going for Blanche she still found it difficult to believe that men found her attractive. There was always something lacking perfection that drew her self-confidence and assurance askew. She was happy with who she was and what she looked like but had no intention of flaunting herself for anyone's benefit.

Satisfied that all was in order for another day of work she put on her most conservative, bust reducing bra, beige slacks and modest cotton blouse and headed down the stairs for breakfast with her host and other guests.

“Good morning dear, did you sleep well?” Ms. Carmichael greeted her as she moved between the kitchen and dining area as if on roller skates. “I trust you are finding the accommodations to your liking.”

“The room is fine, Ms. Carmichael, the bed is actually really cozy and the pillows must be down. Is that right?” Blanche questioned, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Why yes they are. Not many guests mention that, so nice of you to notice. I’ve always tried to provide only the very best you know. What would you like this morning? Got some grits a cookin’ if you like or there’s fresh fruit and yogurt on the table.”

“I’ll be fine with the fruit, thank you.”

A handful of guests were huddled around the table each with a newspaper in hand and talking back and forth, apparently about a particular article that had caught their attention.

“Can you imagine waking up like that?” Mrs. Muir said, sipping her coffee and pointing to a picture and article on the front page of the Valdosta Daily Times.

”She must have crapped herself,” ‘Mr. Wonder’ eloquently pronounced. “Really must have been an eye opener for sure,” he continued.

“What’s going on?” Blanche questioned.

“You haven’t heard?” Mrs. Muir inquired.

“No, what’s up?”

“Well, you won’t believe this but the headline this morning is about some nut job that snuck into this ladies house,” pointing at the cover picture, “put on her undergarments while she was asleep then took a picture of himself and left it on the pillow next to her. Is that creepy or what? Just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Now Mrs. Muir, don’t go scaring Ms. Delaney, after all she’s single as well,” cautioned Caroline.

“Guy must have balls of steel,” concluded ‘Clueless’, “He’s just asking to get caught leaving behind a picture and all. Bet the police have him by the end of the day.”

“You certainly have more confidence in the constabulary than most of the locals,” Caroline asserted.

Blanche took a seat and pulled a copy of the Times within range for her inspection. Sure enough, there on the cover was a picture of Mrs. Thelma Riddle of Valdosta, GA holding a picture of some guy with his face obscured, wearing a pair of her panties and bra, standing in a bedroom with a sleeping Thelma in the background. He’d obviously not used a flash in an attempt not to awaken the slumbering woman but the quality was good enough to make out what was going on. Between bites of fruit and gulps of juice Blanche read the police report describing the scene upon their arrival in the early morning hours.

They had been called, responding to a hysterical woman’s 911 report of a home invasion on Cat Creek Road. Two squad cars had arrived at approximately 5:30 a.m. to find Mrs. Riddle on the front step, shotgun lying loosely across her lap, head in her hands apparently sobbing. The officers led Mrs. Riddle to one of their units, assured her of her safety, and then entered the premises. They found nothing out of the ordinary, no indication of a break and enter. Locks all appeared to be intact, windows all closed with no breakage and no sign of forced entry.

Once the scene was secure they interviewed Thelma who reported, “I always have to get up about four or five o’clock to go pee but this morning when I went back to bed there was this picture on my pillow.”

The officers reported that she was still shaking from the ordeal and would be staying with friends for the next few days. The paper went on to detail that nothing in the home appeared to be tampered with other than a few of her drawers and clothing. How the perpetrator managed to gain entrance to the home was still under investigation but they believed a door may have been left unlocked. No further information was available at the time the paper was published.

The small talk continued another 15 minutes before the guests got up to begin their day.

Caroline hurried into the room. “Listen ya’ll,” she said, in her best Southern accent. “We’ll be welcoming a young couple later today celebrating their wedding and spending a few days of their honeymoon with us. I’d sure appreciate it if ya’ll would be extra nice to them while they’re here.”

Blanche tossed in a cheerful, “Sure,” as she sidestepped ‘Clueless’, controlling the urge to plant an elbow in his ribs; then skipped up the stairs to brush her teeth, grab her umbrella and head to the bus stop.