Scott Wittenburg - The May Day Murders

She stared into his eyes and pretended that Jerry Rankin was still the tall, dark stranger she had thought him to be.

“Yes, I can,” she replied.

His eyes lit up. He looked like an adolescent who had just gotten the go-ahead to kiss his first girl ever. He let go of her hands and reached around her back. Ann clenched her teeth as she felt him unfasten her top then watched hopelessly as it fell into the swirling water.

He smiled nervously again, like a schoolboy who had just scored his first adolescent victory. Ann was immediately reminded of the first and only awkward kiss he had given her on their date that Friday night.

He brought his hands around and gingerly cupped her breasts. Even in the weak light, Ann could see the tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow as he merely stood there for a full minute, fondling. Ann had the impulse to run but thought better of it. She would have to wait.

“God, they’re so soft! And firm!” he gasped, nearly choking on his own words. “Please stand up, Ann. I want to see them.”

It was difficult to compose herself as she stood up. Jerry removed his hands from her breasts and stared at them in utter fascination-as if he’d never seen a woman’s breasts before. Ann was so taken aback by his childish behavior that she nearly broke out laughing. He was just like a little kid in a candy shop.

Ann ever so subtly began inching her way slowly toward the other side of the tub, praying that he wouldn’t notice. He grasped her breasts again, brought his head down and kissed one of her nipples, as one would approach a spoonful of hot soup.

“I’m getting really excited here, Ann,” he murmured gutturally. “I never knew it could be this good.”

Ann took a gamble. “Are you ready to make love to me, Jerry?”

He paused and thought for a moment.

“God, I don’t know! I don’t know if I can wait any longer. It’s so different- you’re so different! I’m so used to women whining at me, ‘Don’t do that to me, please!’ And fighting me off. Jesus, Ann, I don’t know how much more of this I can take! I think I’m going to pop my fucking cork! We’re fucking made for each other, don’t you think?”

Jerry had grasped her breasts again and hadn’t noticed that Ann had ever so gradually led them to the other side of the tub. Ann stared down at him, in awe and contempt, Jerry Rankin’s eyes gaping at her boobs as if he were examining a rare archaeological find.

He suddenly whisked one of his hands away and crammed it down into his trunks. He was playing with himself! He glimpsed at Ann with a hideous, apologetic smirk just as Ann snatched up the wine glass and smacked it into his cheek with all the force she could muster.

For a split second, Jerry Rankin merely stared at her dumbfounded, not certain of what had just happened. Blood gushed out from a deep gash near his temple and streamed down his right cheek. Ann sprang up and out of the water. She instantly realized in horror that her only escape was back through the house-there were no exits to the outside.

“Come back here, you fucking bitch!” she heard him scream as she bounded across the solarium to the door and bolted into the house. She spotted the front door and made a beeline for it, the living room carpet feeling soft and warm beneath her bare feet. When she reached the door she turned the knob and pulled but the door wouldn’t budge. In a hysterical panic, she fumbled with the latch, unlocked it and pulled again. The door refused to move. Ann could hear Jerry cursing at her and the sound of splashing water as he climbed out of the tub just as she spotted the keyhole for the deadbolt. He had locked the door from the inside and taken the key!

She was trapped inside the house-there were no other doors!

Jerry bolted into the living room and sprinted toward her. Ann darted over to the spiral staircase and stubbed her toe as she scampered up the wrought iron stairs toward the second floor. She glanced down in terror as she eyed Rankin, racing up toward her holding a bloody towel against the side of his head.

Ann stood frozen on the landing, uncertain of what to do next. Rankin was halfway up the stairway by now, a sinister grin on his face and eyes that meant murder. Ann glanced further up the staircase at the hatch leading to the loft and knew she had no choice but to ascend the stairs further and pray she could get through the hatch before Jerry Rankin caught up with her.

Ann bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time. reached the top, pushed with all her might on the hatch door using both hands and her shoulder. The door was incredibly heavy but finally gave way with a creaking twang of springs. Ann suddenly felt a hand snatch her by the ankle. She glanced down at Rankin and saw that he had reached through the stairs and grabbed her. She screamed and jerked her ankle away from his clasped hand as a sudden jolt of adrenaline kicked in then managed to climb up the rest of the way into the loft It was pitch dark…

She grabbed the edge of the hatch door and slammed it shut just as Rankin reached the top. Ann could see the faint outline of the door where light shone through the edges and hopped onto it, praying that Rankin would be unable to force it open. As she felt the door pressing upward against her weight, Ann groped around in the darkness for a latch of some kind to secure the door.

“Open this fucking door, bitch!” Rankin screamed in rage.

His voice sounded different for some reason-so different that Ann actually wondered it were really Jerry Rankin on the other side of the door.

With her heart nearly bursting out of her chest, Ann scraped along the edge of the door with her fingers like a blind person who had just dropped his last penny on the floor. Suddenly she felt something cold and hard. She traced her fingers along it. A latch! She grasped the nub of the bolt and slid it home, tearing a pair of her fingernails in the process.

She was safe!

At least for the moment.

She heard Jerry’s muffled profanities through the thick door as he pounded on it repeatedly with his fists. Ann could smell the pungent odors of paint thinner and linseed oil as she stood up and looked around the dark room. Her eyes eventually adjusted to the weak light somewhat as she noticed several rectangular shapes silhouetted against a large window.

His paintings, she thought.

She could just make out the vaulted ceiling as she recalled seeing a small balcony jut out from the third floor of the A-frame during their tour. Maybe that could be her ticket to escape.

She felt totally disoriented in her panicked state in the darkness.

She needed some light.

Once she could see, she would head for the balcony and pray that she could get away from Jerry Rankin.

Ann realized she was trembling from head to toe as she began inching her way toward the window, her hands swatting in the darkness before her. She came upon an object and touched it gingerly. It was a huge canvas board mounted on an easel. She sidestepped the painting and continued. In another few steps she bumped into a heavy object-a table. She groped around on the tabletop and could feel tubes of oil paint, a tin can and the base of what felt like a table lamp. Jerry was screaming at her unintelligibly and still pounding on the door as she ran her hand up the lamp until she felt the gooseneck that terminated at a light fixture. She felt the bulb inside the housing and ran her finger along the housing until it hit home. With a grateful sigh she pressed the button.

The room became bathed in light. The first thing she saw was the table and all of the scattered paint tubes and brushes upon it.

The next thing she saw caused her to scream and made the hair on her neck stand on end An enormous oil painting on an easel.