Kimberly turned and jumped down the rest of the steps, and then went to throw the door closed.
Toby panicked, his back claws digging into her flesh.
Kimberly opened her arms so Toby could flee, all while throwing her back into the door to close it, a hand going to the knob to twist the lock.
Something slammed the door, preventing it from closing all the way, and then, through the opening between it and the frame, the knife appeared and blindly slashed at her.
Kimberly tried moving out of the way, but failed, the blade catching the meat of her upper arm.
Teeth clenched, she tried grabbing at the wrist, but only managed to earn another cut as the blade twisted and got two of her fingers.
Pain and rage echoed from her lips.
25
Things were not going according to plan, mostly due to the writer, but also because of her quick, thoughtless moment of action in the kitchen after being knocked in the head by the frying pan.
But you really didn’t have a choice.
She had told herself this several times while waiting for Kimberly to return home, her hope that the writer would still be alive and still be able to perform fading with each passing second.
You were also very lucky.
Though painful, the blow to the head she had suffered hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. In fact, had he put enough force behind it he probably could have killed her. Instead, she had simply lost her footing for a moment as the world twisted around, and fell to the floor.
And there it was, a knife, sitting within reach.
Without really thinking about it, she grabbed it and drove the tiny blade into his lower back. Not just once, but three times, her anger toward him getting the better of her.
Later, she regretted this momentary loss of control. Other options had been present. Quickly standing and putting the knife to his throat would have done the trick. Or, if her legs had failed, stabbing him in the back of the leg, or the butt, or some other area that wouldn’t have punctured an organ -- given the smell oozing from his wound she figured she had hit something.
But would it have really worked?
Twice she had had him subdued, and twice he had gotten the better of her. In the end, stabbing him might have been the only option. It was a debate that took up much of her time while sitting in the upstairs apartment, drinking soda and nursing her head.
He had also broken at least one of her fingers, maybe two. This realization had hit home when she had started patching up his wounds, her hope being that the tape would slow his decline down to the point where she could still force Kimberly to have sex with him.
Her pain was no match for his, however. She could see it in his eyes. The lack of protest as she bound him up nice and tight with the tape – before securing his wounds – was evidence of this as well. Earlier he had done everything he could to try to get away; now he barely moved.
And now things still weren’t going according to plan.
Having finally subdued the writer, Amy had decided it would probably be a good idea to get into her apartment. In order to do this she would have to cut away at the door frame like she had done with William’s door so that the blade could reach in and bypass the lock by slipping the latch.
Doing this would take time and energy, one of which she was lacking. Sitting on the couch drinking the soda and resting her head for a few minutes would solve that. What she hadn’t counted on was zoning out to the point where she wasn’t even aware of her consciousness until Kimberly called out from the stairway. It was an unforgivable lapse, one that now seemed as if it would add another level of ruin to her plan.
26
Knowing she couldn’t stay at the stairway door, not unless she wanted to suffer more agonizing knife cuts, Kimberly hurried toward the kitchen, her hope being to grab something that could be used as a weapon.
Once in there, however, she remembered that the largest knife she had, one that would probably match the dimensions of Amy’s, was in the family room by the couch. Also on that side of the house, was her phone, though that was in her bedroom, which she didn’t dare enter, not when she could become trapped.
Going for the knife was different. The layout of the first floor was like a donut, thus, it was impossible for Amy to corner her in one of the main rooms. The question was did she go for the knife or just flee the house screaming?
She chose the latter and went out the kitchen door.
27
NO! NO! NO! Amy’s mind cried as she entered the kitchen in time to watch the door slam shut. A scream of “HELP ME!” followed.
She then saw that Kimberly was running toward the front of the house, probably so she could head down the street, which meant Amy had a chance to cut her off by going out the front.
Cut her off, stab her, and drag her back inside.
Once there she would smear Mark’s semen on some object as if it were lube and then fuck her with it. Who knew, killing her first before fucking her might work to her advantage because it would make Mark look even sicker and thus really capture everyone’s attention.
All these thoughts went through her head as she raced out the front door and actually brought a smile to her face. It didn’t last. One moment she was going out the door, the next she was falling, her feet having tangled with something, a panicked cry escaping her lips.
28
Kimberly saw the front door fly open as she came around the house and realized that the two were on a collision course with each other. And there was nothing she could do to stop it, not with the speed she was running at. All she could do was hope her body could somehow twist around out of the way once Amy was in position, twist around and keep running, lungs screaming until some form of help arrived.
Amy lunged at her from the top of the stairs.
At least this is what her mind concluded. Amy lunged, and since her timing was off, Kimberly was able to pass the point on the sidewalk that she thought Amy would intercept her at, and kept running.
29
Amy felt something pop in her chest seconds before she hit the sidewalk, followed by a sudden need to catch her breath, only she couldn’t inhale.
Panic set in.
She tried for a second breath of air, but again her chest would not expand, almost as if some sort of restraint had been secured around her.
Get up.
Get Nikki.
BREATHE!
A small, quick gasp allowed some air to get through, but it wasn’t enough. It was all she could manage, however.
Need to get up.
Need to –
An odd, ice like feeling began to expand within her chest, almost as if someone had speared her with an icicle.
And then she was drowning.
And choking.
Each small gasp for breath was bringing a horrible metallic taste to her mouth.
Blood!
It was rising up, kind of like vomit, only without the purge feeling.
She tried to get up, but her right arm wasn’t functioning properly, almost as if she had slept on it.
Footsteps.
They grew closer and closer.
She tried looking up, but the tearing pain this caused in her upper back was unbearable, as was the pain in her chest that accompanied her gasp.
A pair of shoes appeared in her vision.
It was Nikki.
Kill her.
The desire was quickly replaced by her need for air, the tiny gasps no longer doing the trick.
And then a fuzzy border appeared around the edges of her vision and began to grow inward.
She tried blinking it away, but it would not clear. In fact, it was growing worse with each passing second. With it came a desire to sleep, one that she indulged in.
It didn’t last.
People were lifting her, twisting her and then setting her down, this time on something soft and oddly shaped. Flashing lights were present, the red and blue dancing across every surface. No sounds though, not until
something was forced down her throat.
“We got a critical one upstairs too.”
It was all she heard before someone pinched her arm and she slipped away.
30
Kimberly had never seen anything like it, nor did she ever want to again.
Risking a look back while fleeing, she realized Amy was not giving chase and instead was lying on the sidewalk outside of the house.
It’s a trick, her mind warned.
The thought faded.
Something had happened.
And if she is hurt, you might be able to subdue her for the police and then it will be over.
Subduing her was not necessary, not when Amy had impaled herself with her own knife.
Friday, August 26, 2011
1
“What box?” Bill asked. His voice was dry, but, thankfully, not weak, which meant he was recovering nicely from the two surgeries he had endured.
“The one with all the stuff she made Mark send to me,” Kimberly said. “It was sitting in the middle of the front steps when I got home and I never got a chance to bring it in.”
“Oh.” Bill nodded. He then reached for the cup of ice and tipped some of the small pieces into his mouth, teeth crunching them until nothing was left.
“It was unbelievable,” Kimberly said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The knife tip was actually sticking out of her back.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“It was just awful,” she added, voice solemn. “She kept gasping for air, but her right lung was punctured, so not much was getting in. She also couldn’t take a deep breath because of the knife, not without a tremendous amount of pain.”
“She was conscious?” Bill asked.
“Yeah. You didn’t know that?”
He shook his head. “No one has told me anything, except that she was dead and that they found Mark.” He closed his eyes for a second. “And they wanted to know why I had condoms full of semen on my coffee table.”
“They asked me about that too, but . . .” she shrugged.
Silence settled.
Out in the hallway a cart was being pushed, one that brought with it the smell of food.
“Great,” Bill said with a grimace. “Lunch time.”
“Food sucks?” Kimberly asked.
“I don’t know. They still won’t let me eat. They want to make sure my small intestine gets a few days to heal.” He sighed. “Thankfully I will be able to start drinking fluids later today, which reminds me. If you’re still here then, can you bring me a Coke?”
“Will they allow that?” she asked.
“Once I can have fluids, yeah, though they will probably discourage it. It’ll be up to me, though, and I want one.”
Kimberly smiled. “Okay. If I’m still here, and if not, I’ll bring you one when I come back.”
“Thanks. How’s Toby?”
“He’s good. Misses you and I think he’s confused as to why he can’t go upstairs, but other than that he seems to be having a blast running in circles around my place.”
“How bad is it up there?”
“Not as bad as it could have been, and don’t worry about cleaning it up. I talked to the landlord and he’s having someone come in to do it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Kimberly had been surprised when the police had released the scene without having cleaned anything up, but then learned that this was standard. They weren’t responsible for the aftercare required. Once finished with the crime scene they simply wiped their hands of it. Thankfully, when asked, they had provided a list of cleaning services that specialized in this sort of thing. “I think he wants to make sure it’s done right, so that in the future people won’t be asking about stains and then learning about what happened.”
Bill didn’t reply to this.
At first, Kimberly figured he didn’t really have anything to say, but then she realized he had drifted off to sleep. Given the heavy dose of painkillers and antibiotics he was on, the nurse she had spoken too earlier said this would be common.
Unsure what to do, Kimberly eventually wrote a note telling him to call if he needed anything and then headed home.
2
For me, stalking is like foreplay. The more frightened I become, the wetter my pussy will be. And if you actually have the balls to come up behind me as I enter my apartment after a late night of working at Steak and Shake and push me inside, I’ll forever be in your debt for the sexual ecstasy you will provide me. It has to feel real though, which means I don’t want to talk about and discuss things; I don’t want to meet with you beforehand and go over the scenario. That will kill the mood and any suggestions to do that will be met with rejection.
Her address followed the email, which had arrived a week earlier while he had been on vacation with his family. It was in reply to a message he had sent asking if she was for real and if so, to send him her address so he could provide her with the ‘rape fantasy’ she was looking for.
Many girls come to this site claiming they want to be raped, he had written to her in his introduction email. But few really mean it. You, however, sound like you could be genuine based on your profile description. I hope this is true. If so, send me your address and I will do the rest.
Opening a new tab he went to Google Maps and typed in the address she had sent.
She probably thinks I flaked out, he said to himself while printing out the directions to her place. Little does she know it is just getting started.
About The Author
William Malmborg has been publishing short stories in horror magazines and dark fiction anthologies since 2002. In addition to NIKKI’S SECRET, two of his novels, JIMMY and TEXT MESSAGE are both available, as is a short story collection titled SCRAPING THE BONE that features five previously published and five original tales of horror. When not writing William caters to the whims of Toby and Truman, two cats who reside with him in DeKalb, IL.
To learn more about William Malmborg check out his webpage at:
http://www.williammalmborg.com/
You can also find him on Facebook at:
http://www.facebook.com/wlmalmborg
Nikki's Secret Page 35
