Jeff Strand: Single White Psychopath Seeks Same

“I was kidding, sweetie!” she said through her laughter.

“I know,” I insisted, wiping myself off with a napkin. “I’m just not used to my innocent little wife being this way.”

She grinned, narrowed her eyes, and then began to eat her next bite of salad in a slow, sensual manner. Well, she tried, anyway. I mean, it was a forkful of salad-not a lot of eroticism to work with. Although by this point she probably could have dropped to the floor and started hacking up a chicken bone and it would have been a turn-on.

We skipped dessert and hurried out to the car. I had quite a bit of trouble getting the key in the lock, which I refused to view as an omen. As I started the engine, Helen leaned over and nibbled my ear.

“Let’s go somewhere fun,” she said. “Find a place where we can make out like teenagers.”

My first thought was to drive her to a beautiful hilltop, where we could enjoy a glorious view of the city lights as we groped each other. But you don’t get a lot of those in Florida. You do get a lot of beaches, unless you’re in Chamber, which was a good two hours from any sand. Swamps were plentiful but not particularly romantic.

But then I got an idea.

Fifteen minutes later, we were parked behind the Chamber Planetarium. It was a large metallic building with white stars painted on the sides that seemed to twinkle in the lights. Not as romantic as real stars, but not bad on a cloudy night like this.

I shut off the engine and immediately leaned over to kiss her. My ravenous passion was briefly interrupted by the sharp tug that came from failing to unfasten my seat belt first. I felt like an ass, but that was okay, because Helen wanted us to make out like teenagers and I’d felt like an ass many times during those years.

We freed ourselves of the safety restraints and immediately wrapped our arms around each other and began kissing. She shoved her tongue in my mouth. I shoved my tongue in her mouth. Our tongues slapped against each other a few times, then returned to their mouths of origin.

“We need music,” said Helen. I turned the key in the ignition, and then turned on the radio.

“ Gonnabitch slap yo’ momma, gonna bitch slap yo’ sister, gonna bitch slap yo’ ho ’-”

I began flipping through the stations, finding nothing but commercials, talk radio, and religious sermons.

“What tape is in there?” Helen asked.

I pushed the tape all the way into the player. “Weird Al” Yankovic began singing “Eat It.”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” Helen said, and then pulled the lever and reclined her seat all the way back.

“HOW’S YOUR neck?” Helen asked.

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Do you want me to make an appointment with a chiropractor?”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s more of a numbness than pain anyway. Now where were we…?”

“IT’S OKAY, sweetheart,” said Helen.

“It’s not okay. I’m too young to be having back problems like this.”

“Well, it’s a small car.”

“It’s not that small.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make an-”

“I’m sure! We just need to rearrange things a bit.”

HELEN WINCED as I touched the top of her head. “You’re definitely going to have a lump,” I told her. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” she said. “I got carried away.”

“Should we head back home?”

“No. You and I are going to have sexual intercourse in this vehicle if it breaks every bone in our body! Now lean back down and don’t move!”

“WHOA,” I said.

Helen kissed me gently. “Do you think we flattened the tires?”

“I’m surprised we didn’t break right through the transmission.”

We kissed for a moment longer, then decided that as enjoyable as our escapade had been, there was no sense ending it on a sour note by getting arrested for nudity outside a structure of learning. We put our clothes on except for my boxers, which were wedged so far under the seat that they appeared to be lost for good.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” I said.

“Oh, we’re not done,” Helen informed me. “We’ve still got the bathtub and the kitchen table.”

“The kitchen table won’t hold…” I trailed off as I thought I heard movement outside of Helen’s door.

“What’s wrong?”

I put a finger to my lips. A second later something smashed through the passenger window, spraying Helen with safety glass. She shrieked and dove toward me, face bleeding from several small cuts.

A figure stepped into view. It was tall and dressed in black denim, with a mask that looked like it was made of thick spider webs. Though I couldn’t see the face clearly, it was obvious when the figure broke into a leering grin. It held up a large scimitar with red jewels on the handle.

I threw open my door and scrambled out of the car, Helen following right behind me. The figure lunged forward, thrusting the blade through the shattered window and missing Helen by inches.

The figure withdrew his scimitar and ran around to the front of the car. Helen and I moved to the back. The figure gave us a friendly wave, and then spun his scimitar like a circus performer.

He feinted to the left, and then rushed back around the passenger side of the vehicle. Helen and I darted back to the driver’s side. The figure stopped at the broken window and waved again. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” I asked.

“I’m your bestest friend in the whole wide world!” he said in a high-pitched, little-boy voice. Then he began to laugh, a maniacal cackle that probably would have shattered the window had it not already been broken.

I wanted to turn and run, but just based on the pursuit so far I could tell that this guy was fast. And if this was the same person responsible for the slaughter at Patricia’s house, I didn’t think highly of my chances to escape him.

I had to fight him.

He tossed the scimitar into the air. It flipped end-over-end a couple of times, and then he caught it by the handle. “Not too bad, eh? I’m gonna cut ya. Gonna cut ya all up!”

Helen was trembling and was breathing so rapidly I thought she might hyperventilate. I reached inside the car and removed the keys from the ignition.

“Whatcha gonna do with thoooooose?” asked the man, scratching his head with exaggerated confusion. “Can’t drive the car without the keys! Nope, gotta have the keys or ya can’t drive the car, that’s the way the world works!”

I put my hand on Helen’s shoulder. The man leaned his head through the window. “Guess what?”

“What?” I asked.

“That’s what!” More laughter. The man pulled his head out and waved again. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna getcha!” He took off running around the car, as Helen and I sped in the opposite direction.

He was fast. And as he ran, he raised the scimitar above his head.

We darted around the front of the car. He was only a few steps behind us.

And then only a couple.

Then I could hear the swish of the scimitar, and caught a glimpse of the silver blade, flying toward Helen’s neck.

I SLAMMED my hand against Helen’s back and shoved her forward. She fell to the ground as the scimitar blade sailed across where her neck would have been.

I then tripped over Helen’s arm and landed face-first on the ground as well. Without hesitation, I rolled onto my back and sat up. Helen was frantically scurrying away from the man, who stood over her, scimitar at his side.

He shoved his foot against her back, pushing her flat onto the ground, and then raised the blade above his head once again. I lunged at him as he brought it down with both hands.