The DoorStop Killer

John Davenport was a married man of thirteen years. That was until his wife Abby fell victim to the 'DoorStop' killer. A serial murderer who would pose as a plumber or electrician, ask strange and vulgar questions until they would try to close the door on him. He would then use the steel toe boots he wore to stop the door from closing, enter the house, rape, kill and then wrap his victims with their own intestines. That last part was leaked out by a former police man whose wife had also fallen victim.

John had lost his wife only a few weeks ago. He was a middle aged man and wasn't very tall. He always had a kindness in his eyes, he was a frail and gentle man. His depression has caused his figure to deteriorate badly from lack of food and sleep. He could no longer bring himself to eat after finding his wife that way, and on the eve of her birthday no less. He kept himself at work as much as he could. John couldn't stand being in that house. Some nights he would just sleep in his car and shower at the local gym near his work place before going back to work. On the weekends, he would drink himself away at a bar all night and pass-out in his car.

John Davenport was a bookkeeper for a major company. Needless to say it was perfect, it was a job that demanded a lot of his time. He spent many days and late nights at the office. His work was always on time and rarely contained errors, after all, it was his job to make sure all financial transactions of sales, purchases, income, receipts and payments by his company were recorded and filed properly. This kept him from home more often, now more than ever. The amount of focus and paperwork usually left him brain-dead by the time he got home to his wife. None of that mattered anymore. Nothing did.

That was the usual response to any question his psychiatrist might ask, Dr. Ivaan Goldman PhD. Dr. Goldman had prescribed a few medications after diagnosing John with insomnia, major depressive disorder and manic depression along with a few other things but John stopped paying attention once the list went on long enough. He just didn't care about anything anymore. He couldn't sleep because of the horrible nightmares and images.

He saw Dr. Goldman once a week but he refused to cooperate or offer any insight to what he was going through. He almost hated Dr. Goldman and his almost prying but helpful nature. Dr. Goldman just couldn't understand, he had a lovely wife to go home to, to hold and sleep beside. He had no idea what is was like to lose his other half. No idea what it was like to love and be loved in a wonderful relationship for over a decade and for one day to come home and find her like that. But that wasn't quite right, their relationship the past few years was far from wonderful. He loved her dearly but the fire and passion of their relationship had long ago burned out. It was hard to keep a flame burning if you did was follow a dreadful work routine like some kind of robot. That is what Abby would protest every time the subject came up.

John was lonely and tired of his life. The countless hours he had put into his job had amounted to nothing. Money was now worthless to him. Money to him, was used to provide health and security to his loved one. Security? Abby didn't feel safe or secure when she was being attacked. Thoughts of how alone and hurt she must have been dealt a heavy and spiraling blow to his depression. He felt as if it was all his fault. The job, the job, the job . . . always kept him busy and away from his true happiness. It wasn't the reason for the big house and nice car he drove, but the cause of the dying flame and his failing marriage.

Of course it was too late, like it always is, but John realized all the time he spent collecting money by working, filing financial transactions of sales, purchases, income, receipts and payments was all for nothing and always was, the green monster. He would trade it all just to see her smile again under the warm summer sun, like the day he first met her. She was so beautiful, he knew he was the luckiest man in the world when he married her.

John often considered suicide and wasn't afraid to check himself out, but he knew Abby would never forgive him in a million years. He sat at his office desk with a bottle of water and a couple of different pills, hoping one of them might numb the pain. The sun had come and gone again, he sat there in front of a pile of papers, half awake as his pills began to take effect. His eyes started drooping and his head was nodding off. Perhaps John would finally get some sleep. Small and short bursts of vivid images began to flash in his mind, it was Abby, sandals off, laughing and dancing in the front lawn the day they bought the house. Finally a good dream, happy and warm.

The annoying sound of the office phone ringing ripped him from his dreams. He looked up slow and drowsy his head was spinning.

A phone call, at this hour? “Hello?”

a scattered and squelching static came though in short bits. “John?” a faint voice behind the static could barely be heard, so faint he wondered if he heard correctly.

“Hello? This is John at--” he mumbled before the call was cut.

He shook his head a bit in tired disappointment before he hung up. He leaned back feeling the warm blanket of sleep falling over him again, finally. He could hear the laughter and the giggles before images came to mind, they were fooling around under the sheets their first night in the new house. The phone rang louder this time, tearing him from the only good sleep he has had in weeks. He opened his eyes with a growl this time and answered,

“Hello?” a scratchy static again, He let out a heavy sigh.

“Jo-n? -'m s-ared I -ink h-'s -oing to h-rt me. --ease com- -ome”

“Abby? Lock the door I'm coming baby.” John hung up the phone and sprang out of his chair.

He fumbled down a flight of stairs and into his car. Half awake, he began driving. He turned into the final long stretch home and put his foot on the gas a little harder fearing the sleep pills might overtake him if he didn't move fast. Two minutes from his house he began dozing, he fought hard and valiantly against the sleep he had held off for so long. Slowly reality seeped back into his mind.

“Wait . . . I'm losing it. Abby . . . is . . . dead,” it was his last thought before slipping into a deep sleep.

John Davenport fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into an oncoming van. He died instantly and critically injured the other driver. When police and EMT's arrived at the scene and pulled the driver out of the van, he was wearing steel toed boots. DNA evidence of many victims including Abby's was found in the back of the van. The police connected the dots and figured out who John Davenport was, but when they searched his house nothing was found, work phone records were empty for three hours before and after closing time. They never figured out how he ended up on an intercepting course with the killer. John Davenport's last dream was of their honeymoon in Paris, moments before the crash.