Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

“No, I don’t!” she uttered. Stanley watched the drink that was swashing back and forth in her violently trembling hand with delight as she spoke.

He continued his steady gait across the room until he was directly across the coffee table from her.

“Let me give you a few clues,” he said, the crooked smile never leaving his face. “The last time you saw me was about twenty years ago at Fountainhead Tech. I was the guy you absolutely refused to go out with because you thought you were too good for me. I got angry with you since you rebuffed me, so I set fire to your dorm room, hoping to put an end to your unyielding existence. But unfortunately for me, you weren’t in your room at the time like you were supposed to be and I ended up bungling the whole mission. But, my dear, sweet Cindy, it was in a way unfortunate for you as well. Because I think you would have much rather exited this world that way than the way I have planned for you now.”

Cindy Fuller was by now absolutely mortified with fear as she stood there frozen like a statue, an expression of incredulous horror on her face. Stanley continued standing where he was, only the breadth of the coffee table between the two, his smile never waning for a moment.

“No!” she cried as she tried to make a run for it. In an instant, Stanley turned to his left, grabbed her arm and threw her onto the sofa.

“I see now that your memory has returned,” he said in calm, controlled voice as he stared down at her. “And if you try to pull another stunt like that, I’m not going to be responsible for what I might do to you. Am I making myself clear?”

Cindy nodded slowly, tears welling up in her eyes.

“That’s better.” He leaned down and stroked her blonde hair. “Please don’t cry, Cindy-you’re messing up your makeup,”

Stanley sat down on the edge of the coffee table and stared into her eyes as he ran his gloved fingers through her shoulder-length hair. His expression was pensive.

“You still look wonderful, Cindy, if you don’t mind my saying so. You’ve aged quite nicely, in fact. Same thick, golden hair, same gorgeous blue eyes, and from what I’ve seen-practically the same sweet body you had back in the old college days. It almost seems like a shame to let such a lovely creature go to waste.”

He paused a moment, then said, “So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you another chance. That’s right, Cindy, I’m going to afford you the opportunity of deciding once again if you’re too good for me. In other words, are you going to be a willing participant or am I going to have to beat you into absolute submission to have my way with you? The decision is yours.”

Cindy began convulsing violently as Stanley sat there, continually stroking her hair. She literally could not find her voice. He then placed both of his hands on her shoulders as a token gesture of comfort and stared expectantly into her eyes.

“Well Cindy, what’s it going to be?”

She looked away a moment then back at him. “What are you going to do to me, Stanley?”

He smiled at her, his eyes cold as steel. “It’s what I may not do to you that you should be concerned with, darling.”

Cindy Fuller’s expression became imploring.

“Please don’t kill me! I have two small children! I’ll do anything you ask-but please don’t kill me!” she cried.

Stanley chuckled triumphantly. “That’s both a very prudent and inviting offer, Cindy, but you haven’t yet answered my question. Do you still think that you’re too good for Stanley Jenkins? Or are you beginning to see him in a different light? Tell me Cindy. Are you impressed with what you see now?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, Stanley. I am.”

“Say it, Cindy! Tell me you regret ever being such a bitch to me back at Fountainhead! That you now realize what a stupid mistake you made!”

Cindy was hysterical. “I’m sorry, Stanley!” she cried desperately. “I should have gone out with you but I didn’t because I’m a bitch and I’m really sorry that I didn’t do it now!”

A huge smirk came to Stanley’s face. “Excellent! You know, Cindy, I almost believe you actually mean what you just said, but my better judgment tells me that you’re only speaking out of fear and desperation. I need to be convinced that you’re really sincere. I want you to show me that you’ve truly learned your lesson.”

His hand went to her breast for a moment, then he withdrew it. Cindy flinched and a look of dread and revulsion showed in her eyes.

Stanley chuckled, “I’m beginning to sense that your heart isn’t really in this, Cindy. Perhaps I should just kill you instead of wasting my time.”

She grabbed his sleeve. “No, Stanley, please!”

He stared at her expectantly. She said, “What do you want me to do?”

His expression softened and he smiled. “The county doesn’t pay you $95.000 a year to be stupid, I see.”

He stood up and declared. “I want you to perform for me, Cindy. That’s all.”

Cindy looked up into his eyes questioningly. “What do you mean?”

He replied, “I want you to just sit there where you are for a moment or two and then I’ll tell you what I want you to do. And I may as well caution you right now not to try anything foolish like running away. I’m in peak physical condition and can run ten miles a day without breaking a sweat. You got it?”

Cindy nodded, her face white as a sheet.

Stanley winked at her then turned and strode over to the television and switched it off. He went to the other end of the room near the doorway and faced her again. He removed the nylon bag slung over his shoulder and opened up a compartment, took out a Polaroid camera and tripod, then tossed the bag aside. After pulling out the legs of the tripod as far as they would go and tightening them, he attached the camera to the base and adjusted the height by means of the crank arm until the camera was up as high as his chin. He looked through the viewfinder at Cindy sitting on the sofa and moved the tripod in closer toward her until he was satisfied with the composition. Then he stepped back and looked over the room to ensure himself that he’d picked the best angle of view attainable, then breathed a long sigh of satisfaction.

“Stand up, Cindy,” he commanded.

Cindy had to grasp the arm of the sofa to steady herself as she arose to her feet.

“Now come around to the other side of the coffee table and stand there.”

Cindy’s eyes were on the plush carpeting as she stepped out from behind the coffee table, went around to the front and stood there as still as she possibly could.

“Raise your head and look at me,” Stanley ordered, peering through the viewfinder.

Cindy raised her head and looked toward him.

“Will you quit fucking crying for chrissakes!” he snapped. “You’re makeup is running!”

Agitated, Stanley reached into his coat pocket, took out a Kleenex, then went over and began dabbing Cindy’s face in an effort to clean off her mascara-streaked eyes and cheeks. Her head bobbed and quivered each time he touched her and the rest of her body trembled violently.

“I wish you would relax, Cindy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Don’t you want to look good for the camera?”

I… I’m trying,” she moaned, avoiding his eyes.

“There now, that’s better,” he said, standing back and looking her over.

Stanley returned to the camera and looked through the viewfinder. After making a slight adjustment, he said, “Now, Cindy, remove your clothes… slowly.”

“ What?”

“I said to take off your clothes.”

Stanley continued to watch Cindy through the viewfinder as she stared at the wall and began fidgeting with her jacket. Then she suddenly threw her hands up in the air and peered over at him.