Chapter #4Random Victim #1 by: Unknown https://www.writing.com/main/interactive...
Rolph Ennis was bored. Bored of life, bored of his half century of marriage, bored of his kids and grandkids, bored of his mundane daily routine that he repeated night and day in his rural little town in the South of England. He’d long since tired of seeing the same people circle around him in a constant dance of greetings and goodbyes. It’d been a couple years since his ‘mindful’ offspring had decided to leave both he and his spouse in their decrepit cesspit of a retirement home. In all honesty the facility wasn’t half bad; free food and health care, constant reruns of all the classic sitcoms from his childhood and an endless supply of witless goons to challenge him to a game of checkers, chess, blackjack and all the rest. But after three years of constant winning against men and women whose memories were a bit spotty to say the least, the lustre had dissipated and there was little satisfaction from triumph.
Even today he was locked into a game of poker twenty-one with an old codger named Henry. Henry claimed he’d been adept at cards earlier in his life, so skilled at gambling that he’d apparently earned a pretty penny whilst serving in the trenches and used it to build his own business post war. Now he seemed a shadow of himself, squinting through his bulky lenses and forgetting the rules of the game many a time. Rolph rolled his eyes and flicked his long brown hair from his face—the tips of his straightened locks were tickling his cute button nose and causing causing a needless distraction for him. He’d have to ask his wife to tie it up into one of those tidy French buns later on. For now though he’d just have to tolerate it whipping into his face. The game was in his favour despite his hair troubles. Rolph’s mind was as sharp and as clear as glass, even at the tender age of 76. He remembered a doctor diagnosing him with Alzheimer’s a couple years back. He’d been devastated by the news at the time but now wiondered whether the doctor had somehow gotten it wrong.
Whatever the circumstances he was certainly caring better than poor old Henry. The old bastard had gone busy yet again, the old compulsion to go big or go home too alluring for the man to resist. Rolph scooped his ‘winnings’ (if you could even call them that—it was only a couple of five quid notes with a couple food vouchers, some buttercandies and a war memorial badge) into a satchel sat on his lap with his dainty hands before thanking Henry for the spoils and excusing himself from the table. Unlike most of the other septuagenarians at the home, Rolph’s knees neither creaked nor wobbled as he stood up and he was feeling a little more spry than usual. He slipped on his brown loafers, scratched an itch on one of his plump boobs underneath the ugly woolen sweater his wife had knitted him and pulled the fabric of his boxer shorts out of his crack. His wife had recommended him to borrow some of her lingerie to properly compliment his junk (or lack therof) but Rolph was a proud man and would rather experience a cold draught in his khakis from time to time before he would allow others to think he was an effeminate crossdresser.
Rolph walked by and said his hellos to a couple more patrons before walking outside and approaching his wife’s knitting circle beside the home’s gardens. Maude was a sweet thing: kind, caring, wonderful with children but a tad too tame for Rolph’s tastes. They’d met as young lovebirds. She’d been beautifully innocent but captivating, looking like Jane Fonda with her side-swept bangs and blue eyes while he sported a messy mop top akin to John Lennon. Or did he? His memory seemed to have warped in his mind—funny, he distinctly remembered his brunette hair the same as it was now, a crude middle parting with fraying hairs sprouting up from where he’d not bothered to brush them down. Weird, his mind seemed to have pictured someone else. He strode up to the group and greeted everyone in turn, getting wet kisses on his soft cheek from each woman in the circle. His wife didn’t seem to mind as much—most of the women in the home had become widows at one point in time and it was normal for them to get a bit flirtatious with the other men, especially ones in such good shape as Rolph. Sure, he may have looked feminine with his womanly curves, but he still presented himself as a man and the old girls slobbered over him.
He finally made his rounds and gave Maude a light peck on her wrinkled lips. They’d been married for so long that they’d learnt to keep their displays of affection scarce and brisk. Rolph told his wife he was retiring to bed early and she waved him off before going back to her seminar on the nuanced differences between crocheting and knitting. Rolph grinned as he walked back towards his and Maude’s shared room on the floor below ground level. He locked the door behind him and peered out the peephole to make sure no-one followed. He seemed giddy as he walked over to the old wardrobe in the corner of the room, standing on tiptoes to reach for the inconspicuous suitcase he’d stashed there with a couple sets of clothes already packed inside. He pulled a small mobile phone from a secret compartment in the lining and hurriedly opened it, sending a flustered text that he was on his way. He shimmied out of his elderly attire and chucked on a fashionable polo, comfy jogging bottoms and a pair of branded sneakers he’d stolen from his wife. As a final touch he pulled a cap over his hair, tucking the wayward strands inside before putting on a slimfit hoodie and pulling over the hood.
He’d pushed open the back window leading to the staff exit when another thought came to him. He rushed back to his bed and lay flat to pull something from underneath. Out came a standard cardboard box. He ripped off the lid and brought out the skimpy baby blue bikini he’d hidden there months ago after a curious day of shopping. He stashed it inside the suitcase and moved back towards the door, turning back to take in the gravity of what he was doing before he squirmed outside and bounded through the unmanned gate. He giggled surreptitiously as he sprinted off of the grounds, waving down the Uber he’d called up beforehand and hopping inside. His escape had been meticulously planned months prior although the steps he’d taken were relatively easy. If his wife had caught him he’d really be in the crap and there’d be no opportunity for a redo. He’d picked a day where his wife was orchestrating one of her knitting groups, knowing she’d be blissfully unaware of him ducking away. He’d subtly coaxed one of his children to buy him a phone separate from his family contract and had easily coerced a suitcase from one of their children.
Soon he’d be at the airport where his mistress would be patiently waiting for him. The name was Lupita and she was a sly vixen Rolph had met on a site he’d caught his perverted teenage grandson browsing one day whilst babysitting. She was one hell of a looker, tanned Chilean skin, galumptious D-cups, supple thighs with an ornate rose etched onto the side of the left side. They’d been talking frequently over the past year or so, lamenting their woes to one another; she was a college dropout, forced to quit school and work full time as a camgirl to provide for a family that resented her. He’d been more than willing to indulge her escape fantasies as well as his own, telling her how he’d been discarded into a home with all manner of senile old twits by his own family and how desperately he wished to escape from all of it. They’d only met twice in person but felt it had been enough to plan their coming together in only a matter of a few short months.
Their age difference sounded horrendous on paper but Rolph felt no shame in being her sugar daddy of sorts. He’d been hoarding money in a separate account in the Bahamas for longer than he could remember and relished the idea of travelling overseas and spoiling his South-American babe, putting effort to do whatever it took to make her happy as long as she could match his effort with her vivacity and enthusiasm. As he sat in the cab he felt some ounce of remorse for the life he’d be leaving behind. His wife would be devastated at his disappearance, that was certain, and his family around her would surely share in the sadness. But he had to put that behind him. When he and Lupita had finished their journey and were standing on the deck of a yacht together, the wind blowing their hair backwards as he clutched her tight to his bosom with the sea foam creating a delicate symphony of noise against the hull, he’d finally be free. Free from the attachment of marriage, free from being stuck in a decrepit old care home, free to wear that beautiful bikini and show off his body to his beloved without the fear of scorn.
Yeah, he thought as the Uber trundled along the motorway. That’ll be the life.
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