What If

“What are you doing this weekend?” Stacy asked her best friend as she plopped down onto her neatly made queen size bed.

“I don’t know, yet. My mom just left to spend the weekend with my grandparents. So I don’t know what to do.”

“Your mom just let you stay home like that. Isn’t your grandfather sick and that’s why your mom was going to visit?”

“Yeah, he has a cold. My mom wanted me to go and spend time with him. She used the excuse that he wouldn’t be around forever and that I’d muss him once he wasn’t here.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I just didn’t want to go. My grandpas strong. He’ll be around for a few years and I don’t want to spend the weekend between their house and the creepy hospital.”

“Well, you give me a call if you figure out what you want to do.”

Before she could even say okay she heard the dial tone click on. “Okay, fine.” Tori placed the phone back into its cradle on the wall a little too harshly, the noise revertbrating throughout the now empty house. “Well, who needs friends like that anyway.” She stormed down the hall and into her room, slamming the door.

She sat cross legged on her bed and stared around her room. Gritting her teeth, her hands balled into fists as her gaze was drawn to the cute, petite flowers on her wall and the pink curtains. This was her childhood room and no matter how many times she tried to tell her mother that pink and flowers were out she refused to change room. It’s one of the many things her and her mother argue about, along with the clothes she wears and the type of guy she dates.

She can just hear her mother in her head: “Isn’t that skirt a little too short?” or “Is that top uncomfortable being so tight?” and “Why do you date losers like that? He’s four years older than you and doesn’t even have a job.” That’s all her mother does is criticize, criticize and yell.

The anger she felt rising in her dissipated just as quickly as it came on her. She brought her fingers to her temples and massaged gently in a clockwise motion, her eyes closed. She glanced at the clock and the green digital numbers told her it was barely after nine o’clock. And she was sitting on her bed alone on a Friday night. If that wasn’t depressing enough she climbed under the covers and turned out the light. With nothing to do, she opted to go to sleep to still the boredom that hovered around her.

He crept silently up the stairs, his large black boots not making a sound on the white carpet. Her head barely touched the pillow as she heard a loud clatter from her moms room. She threw back the bedcovers and in her nightshirt and bare feet she walked across her room to the door. She stood there and listened, another sound from the room at the end of the hall. She grabbed a softball bat from her closet and with her heart beating frantically in her chest she walked into the hallway.

She was as quiet as a mouse in her bare feet as she stood poised the bat above her head, her grip slick with sweat. She heard someone inside looking through drawers. She didn’t know what to do as she stood there. Suddenly a man walked out. She swung the bat like her coach taught her but he ducked seconds before it could take his head off.

The bat hit the doorframe and jarred her arms something terrible. She turned and tried to run but only managed to flick the light switch next to her before he grabbed her. She looked at his face and whispered, “Peter,” before he pulled her hair back toward him. His arm snaked across her throat. The pain was nothing compared to the betrayal she felt. She went to school with him, sat next to him in Trig. He was quiet but she was always nice to him.

“Oh, Tori, you weren’t supposed to be home tonight. You told me you weren’t.” He sniffed her hair and suddenly she was afraid. “Well, since you’re here, let’s have a little fun.” He dragged her down the hall. “Which one of these is yours?” he asked. She clawed at his arm. “Now, now, be nice.” He walked into her bedroom and shut the door. He let her go as he turned on the light.

She ran to the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible. He stood in the corner near the door, his small beady eyes trained on her. He took his black gloves off and unzipped his black jacket throwing both onto the floor. His pointed lizard like tongue came out and licked his thin lips. “Strip.”

She stood frozen, too afraid to move. “Strip,” he commanded in a louder voice pulling a six inch curved blade from his belt. Her eyes flashed to the knife, her fright edging on terror. Her hands shook as her fingers clutched the bottom of her shirt. She slowly pulled it over he head, throwing it on the floor. Her arms crossed her chest to hide her breast as she stood there in nothing but her underwear. She felt his eyes rake over body and suddenly she felt cold.

He rushed at her and pried her arms apart. He started to lick her neck. She couldn’t stop shaking. “Please stop,” whimpered as he pushed her on the bed, his long, sinewy body pressing her against the mattress. The tears ran down her cheeks as he held the blade against her throat with one hand and harshly ripped her underwear from her, the last barrier between him and her. The blade nicked her throat as the sobs shook her violently.

“You say you don’t want this but you do. All girls want it. You’re nothing but a tease. Flaunting your shit around school and them when I’m ready to stick it to you good you don’t want to.”

He put the blade on her nightstand within reach, confident of his power over her. He pushed her clenched legs apart with his knee, the force he used making her cry out in pain. His hand covered her mouth to stifle her scream. He fumbled with his zipper suddenly nervous. Her muffled screams filled the air as he pushed his way inside her. She tried to fight, knew it was useless but didn’t give up. The pain was unimaginable, the territory he forced his way into utterly virgin.

His breath was hot and smelled of onions as he moaned niches from her face. One of his hands pinned both her wrists above her head, the other painfully fumbled with her breasts. The humiliation consumed her, swallowing her whole, as he came inside her, a sudden explosion. He collapsed on top of her utterly spent. Her tears were tears of defeat.

He rested a few moments before removing his hand from her mouth; and rising above her, he rested on his elbow. “If you weren’t home we could have dated,” he said lightly his eyes merry.

She cleared her throat and worked up the courage to reply, “No, we wouldn’t,” her voice broke.

“Oh, and why is that?”

She knew he was going to kill her, she knew his identity and he couldn’t have that. She felt reckless, her spine developing by the second. “You’re not my type.”

He was taken aback by her sudden courage. Looking into her eyes he suddenly felt small and weak. His thin, pale hands came lightning quick around her throat, squeezing. “I’ve done this before, you know. You’re not the first to catch me in the act, his fingers tightened, “you remember Kimberly Thomas. She loved it before I killed her.”

Her breath was clogged in her throat. She struggled bucking and kicking like bull trying to rid itself of trouble some rider. Her hands grew lax, her vision grey almost black. Suddenly she was no longer in her room. She saw herself at graduation, her mom crying holding the diploma, a flash to college having fun studying hard. A man named Jared Hartman, love at first sight. The beautiful wedding.

Then her career as a successful writer, the money, the happiness. Her first child Gavin, healthy. Her second child Abagail going to kindergarten. She sold her third movie deal. Gavin in little league, then boy scouts. Abby having sleep-overs, and ballet. A large seven bedroom in the Hamptons, Jared’s raise to partner at the firm. Abby’s first date. Gavin’s first love. Gavin’s acceptance to Harvard following in his father’s footsteps. His graduation. Abby’s acceptance to Yale and then hers.

The children gone; they grow up so fast. Growing old with her husband on the front porch swing of country home. Dying together in their sleep on the same day.

What if all of this could happen? What if it did happen? What if she could live the rest of her life and be happy? What if she didn’t die that night? What if her mom didn’t leave, her grandfather wasn’t sick and he didn’t come? What if she wasn’t there when he came? What if somebody stopped him?

Flash to her sitting on her bed. It’s still light outside. She fell asleep and it was all a bad dream. She jumped when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver. “Hey, what are you doing this weekend?”

Her sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. “Nothing, why?”

“Well, since your mom is out of town I thought you could stay with me. I don’t like you being there by yourself.”

“Yeah, me neither,” she glanced at the clock, it was 4:00, “can you pick me up at 5?”

“Sure. We’ll have fun tonight. We’ll watch movies and catch up like old times.”

“It’ll be fun. Remember 5 o’clock.”

“Alright, later.”

“Bye.”

At five, Stacy walked through the door and up the stairs. “Hey, are you ready, yet,” she said seeing her pack her bag.

“Almost.” She ran to Stacy and threw her arms around her neck.

“Hey, okay. Yeah, I love you too.” She patted her back. “What was the for?”

“Just cause,” she picked up her duffel and slung it over her shoulder, “I’ve came to realize how important my choices are as of late, all of them, even the small ones. I don’t want something to happen before the people I love know it.” They walked out of her house and she shut the door behind her.

It was a little before nine when she excused herself from dinner with Stacy’s family and crept into her friends room. She dialed three digits and waited for the operator. “Yes, hello I would like to report a robbery in progress at 2531 Rivercrest Avenue. The boys name is Peter Shanks and he’s armed with a large blade.”

“Ok Ma’am now tell me your…”

She hung up before the operator could finish, smiling to herself.