The Best Intentions

Character Gauntlet – Prompt Two: Write about your character’s worst habit. Are they a chain smoker? Chew their toenails? Heroin addict? Kleptomaniac?

Questions to Consider:
1. Is it a dangerous habit? To themselves or to others? Or is it merely annoying?
2. How did this habit start? Did they pick it up from someone?
3. Do they consider this habit bad?
4. What do the people around them think about this habit?

Word Count: 2365


“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Caroline winced at the slightly hysterical tone. She needed to be calm to get as much information as she could from the officer. Megan needed her to be strong oh God, Megan, I’m so sorry. I should have gone with you, I’m sorry. Tears trembled along the horizon of her lower lids, and she held her eyes wide, not letting them fall. She couldn’t appear weak, not now, or the officer wouldn’t take her seriously.

“Look, Miss-”

“Caroline, my name is Caroline. Megan is my dorm mate.” Facts. Yes that was good. Don’t give in to the urge to scream and never stop. Again her mind flashed to the brutalized face of her friend, laying so frighteningly still in the hospital room behind them. How could he do that to her? Why? Why would anyone hurt someone so terribly?

“Caroline, I know this is a difficult time for you, but we’re doing everything we can to stop these crimes.” The officer was middle aged and getting a bit soft around the middle. He reminded her of a school teacher, not a man who was supposed to protect the public. But there was something about his frank brown eyes that gave lie to his appearance, a hardness that officers who’ve been on the force for a decade or more that said they’ve seen things she could hardly imagine.

Those eyes were tired and bloodshot. It looked like he hadn’t slept in a month, and Caroline thought that might true. The Z rapist had struck four times in the last three weeks and left his calling card at each crime, a jagged Z cut into the right cheek of each victim. That mutilation made the man an instant media sensation, and after the second victim the public outcry was so great a task force had been organized to get the monster off the streets as soon as possible.

“You aren’t trying hard enough. If you’d just done your job then Megan wouldn’t have been hurt.” She said though clenched teeth, pain turned to fury at the only target close at hand.

Anger ghosted across the officer’s face and twisted his lips at the accusation. “Look girl, this guy isn’t a common garden rapist, he’s got experience. The bastard sees us from a mile away, even our decoys haven’t gotten a bite! We’re doing everything we can, but he’s always one step ahead.” The sharp words hung like fire between them. The officer straightened abruptly, red staining his cheeks.

“If you have nothing more to add about the victim, then I need to get back to the precinct.” The pitying tone had gone, replaced with hard edges as he waited.

“No.”

Without offering a goodbye, he left. Her anger collapsed in on itself and tears, hot and bitter, fell down her pale cheeks.

Megan was in the hospital for over two weeks, and even after the reconstructive surgery the scars on her face were still vivid and unmistakable.

“I can’t do this, I can’t stand the way they look at me.”

Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat as she tried, again, to coax Megan out of the dorm room. The bastard had taken more than her friend’s innocence, he’d taken her spirit. He might as well have cut out her heart while he was at it. Now she was a mere ghost of the woman she’d once been. It hurt to look at her, and Caroline knew that Megan included her in the ‘they’.

The short brunet stood, and even standing she seemed to hunch in on herself like a small frightened creature. “I’m leaving.”

“But, Meg you can’t! You’re only two semesters away from graduation.”

“I don’t care,” she said with brittle finality as she began packing a single bag with a few changes of clothes.

“Where are you going?” Worry flavored the words. Caroline knew Megan wasn’t close with her family, divorce had torn them apart and left the three children alone to raise themselves as the parents fought.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Reaching out, Caroline caught Megan’s hand as she tried to pass. “Don’t touch me!” The shrieked words were jarringly loud, and she dropped the hand as if it were a burning brand. Shock held her frozen. Megan turned away from her and stormed out of the room, the door slammed behind her with grime finality.

Over the next week there were two more attacks, the last victim died of blood loss before she was found.

“Hi Jason, can you do me a favor?” The phone was pinned between her shoulder and ear as she rifled through the small mountains of newspaper that littered her room. A yellow tablet was next to her, covered in detailed notes of times, victims, and trials.

“Sure kiddo, what do you need?” Her brother’s voice was distracted, and she could imagine him tinkering with one of his props.

“You heard about the rapist right?”

“Yeah, you stopped jogging right?”

“For now, that’s why I’m calling. I was wondering if you could make me something to protect myself. I’m not going to hide away in my dorm forever you know.” She tried to laugh, and gave it up as a bad act when it came out a touch too wild.

There was the sound of tapping on the other line, and she knew he was bringing up his databases. “Umm, sure. Come over this weekend and we’ll get you fitted up with just the right thing.” There was a seriousness to his voice that she’d never heard before. Her brother was not known for seriousness, even if he did make black market weapons. She almost snorted, only Jason would make black market weapons for cosplayers who wanted something a little more dangerous than the plastic props most costumes came with.


Monday dawned cold and still, not a breath of wind stirred and the world seemed abandoned. Where are the officers? Caroline didn’t know. Maybe they were searching a different area this morning. The rapist had four hunting grounds he favored, but didn’t follow any logical pattern, and each was large, riddled with miles of jogging paths and bike trails. Today Caroline had chosen Westwood Park, the mostly wild terrain had always been one of her favorites. The park was full of dirt trails instead of artificially paved paths. It was also the area Megan had been attacked in. The two women had made a habit of jogging together in the mornings, but that morning Caroline had been feeling awful, and had begged off.

My fault how the thought hurt, if only she’d gone that day, Caroline was sure Megan wouldn’t have been attacked.

The sweet scent of pine filled the world, and her breath came in steady puffs of white. Winter would be here soon, but for now autumn held dominance over the world, painting it in blazing colors and flavoring the air with its crispness.

She flexed her wrist lightly as she ran, feeling the tautness of the thread around her finger, knowing that a single jerk of her hand would bring the blade out. The wrist sheath still felt stiff and unnatural on her forearm, but Caroline knew she would be able to catch the blade. Her brother made sure of that over the weekend. He’d rigged the string so that she could move her hand freely but a quick flex all the way back pulled the knife free. Learning to catch it had been a trick, and the row of four Band-Aids on her upper thigh marked where she’d fumbled a catch. There were a few nicks on her hand too, but the one on her leg had been the deepest. Jason didn’t fool around with his weapons, they were all brutally sharp.

There was no warning, one moment she was jogging along at a steady pace, and the next her forward motion stalled as her head snapped back. Pain exploded though her scalp when the fist in her ponytail jerked her back so hard she fell.

Caroline wheezed in agony. Her lungs tried to expand after having the breath knocked out of her, making her pant as she forced them to work again. Terror overwhelmed everything when a weight settled over her, pinning her lower body to the cold ground. Crisp leaves crinkled under her head. The merry sound was so out of place, but still loud in the brooding morning air.

The terror increased to a staggering degree when she looked into the face of the bastard who’d committed such monstrous crimes. He looked normal, painfully so. A bland unassuming face with equally bland hair a shade somewhere between blond and brown. His blue eyes were not remarkable in any way. He was forgettable, and the small smile on his lips was one a shy man gave to a woman over coffee on a first date, not the look a rapist should wear. His very normality made him more terrifying than anything else. There was nothing in that face that screamed ‘psychotic rapist’. If she passed him on the street she’d think he looked nice, in a boring sort of way.

“Hello Kitten. I’m so glad you finally came to play. You’re friend was a hot little thing, but she broke so easy. You’re the one I really wanted.” Leaning down he licked her cheek, and she jerked her head away from the disgusting touch. A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re a fighter aren’t you Kitten?”

The way he talked about Megan finally broke the terror, instantly morphing it to a terrible fury. The rage scared her, when Caroline had decided to do this, she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. How could she take a life, even one as terrible as this? Now she did want it, she wanted it more than she’s ever wanted anything.

His knife glittered in the early morning light, and his smile grew as he stroked the curve of her lips with it. “So beautiful, and soon they’ll all know you’re mine.” He whispered, so fixated on her face that he didn’t notice the knife that appeared in her right hand.

Caroline grinned in savage triumph, the look was so out of place that he pulled the knife back slightly. His smile wilted. “What ar-” The words ended in a loud oomph. Her fist slammed into the center of his stomach, all five and a half inches of the blade buried deep inside. Caroline’s eyes blazed with mad satisfaction as she twisted the knife and jerked it to the side, opening him up and exposing his innards to the cold autumn air.

Scalding blood poured over her in a flood, and she was horrified by her lack of horror. It wasn’t disgust that filled her, no it was the most powerful pleasure she’d ever known. She was like an avenging angel, baptized in the blood of the sinful, euphoric and intoxicating. Amazing, simply amazing.

His knife fell from nerveless fingers as he stumbled off of her, arms wrapped around his midsection in a desperate bid to keep himself together. After two staggering steps he fell, curled up on his side he stared at the blood soaked woman whose face was one of rapture. Not the face of someone who’d killed in self-defense, or the heat of the moment.

A low, painful laugh fell from his lips. Soaked in his blood, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “F-feels good, doesn’t it?” The words slurred as his grip on life grew weak and blood continued pouring out of him despite his attempts to staunch the flow.

Caroline didn’t speak, couldn’t as she lay on the ground her head turned to face him in a parody of intimacy, watching death creep though his face. “My…kitten…mine. I made…y-” The last word was lost as death claimed him.

In a daze, she stood, glad she’d bought a black tracksuit. It hid the blood well. With hands that shook she wiped the bloody knife off on the dead man’s shirt before re-sheathing it.

The next morning the papers were splashed with the news that the Z Rapist’s reign of terror had come to an end. They were vague about the details, stating only that it appeared the man had died in a struggle with his latest victim, and if anyone had any information they should contact the authorities immediately.

At the time of the murder, Caroline hadn’t realized what the man’s last words meant, but now she did. Yes, now she understood exactly what he meant when he said he’d made her. She was like a teenager who was predisposed to smoking due to genetics after that first cigarette. Hopelessly, completely addicted.

Two weeks after the murder the itch had begun in the back of her mind. A foreign desire, the craving to feel that power again. The power of life and death, it was a rush that had no equal, no parallel. Last year she’d gotten drunk a few times, and didn’t care for it. Megan had even gotten her to try pot. That was unpleasant enough that she’d never tried again. But murder was a drug she couldn’t reject or turn from.

After all, there were no support groups for recovering murderers, no killers anonymous or rehab centers. There was only prison, and Caroline wasn’t strong enough to ruin her life like that.

She started carrying her knife with her as she jogged, hoping to bag another rapist but quickly learned a dismaying fact about life. It wasn’t like the movies. The news was wrong, there weren’t rapists hiding behind every bush waiting to ambush the unwary. Still the craving grew until it was all consuming.

Saturday, five weeks after the murder, Caroline stood in her bathroom carefully applying makeup. In the mirror an attractive young woman stared back at her, dressed in a simple, yet flattering black dress that showed off her curves to perfection. Before leaving the house, heading out to the hot new dance club that she never would have visited prior to Megan’s attack, Caroline slipped the dagger into her purse.