Stalking (Flash Fiction)

Bob pulled to the curb and killed the engine of his black SUV. The rain that fell became pounding drums in the sudden silence. He cinched his jacket close, tugging the drawstring to pull the hood tight around his face. He watched with wide eyes. Seconds became minutes, minutes became twisted hours, and then she appeared.

She dashed from the darkened shelter of the cinema to the parking garage across the street. Bob noticed that she didn’t check the traffic before crossing, and he shook his head with disappointment. “Don’t you know how much I care about you?” he whispered to himself. “I’d hate to see you get hurt, not before we get to know each other.”

He cracked his window and watched. His breathing became shallow and rapid in his chest. A sweaty hand fidgeted with the handle of a four-inch serrated knife waiting in his coat pocket. His heart quickened when she dropped her keys. She seemed anxious, nervous. He liked it when she was nervous. He liked the smell of fear mixed with rain. It gave the air a salty quality. He missed the ocean, but his recent exploits made it necessary to steer clear from there. For awhile, at least.

The headlights of a very special silver sedan flared on and hurried into the street. Bob turned his key and watched through the rear view mirror. She made her left hand turn, as she always did at the end of each night, and he completed his u-turn to follow. Not too close, of course. There was no need to hurry. It was only an eight minute drive to the parking lot of her apartment.

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