Cooked Goose

slightly. She didn’t look quite as meek and mild as she had before, going into the mall. In fact, she was holding her head in an arrogant, haughty manner that irritated the hell out of him.
    Hoity-toity bitch needs to be brought down a notch or two, he thought. Needs to be shown who’s boss. And what he had planned for her this evening would certainly do the trick.
    He noted that she was loaded down with bags, and he wondered if the rear of the car where he was hiding was dark enough. If she tossed the sacks into the back, would she see him?
    For a brief moment, he reconsidered his m.o. and decided to alter it next time. This scenario contained too many unknowns, not to mention the uncomfortable wait. But he filed it away—something to consider later when he was reliving this event, moment by delicious moment.
    He was relieved when she walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. His pulse rate rose as he listened to her place the bags inside, then slam the lid closed.
    He pulled his knife from the open backpack on the floorboard beside him and gripped it tightly in his sweaty fist. He was trembling all over, but it felt good. It felt great! Control. It was all a matter of control. And he had it.
    She unlocked the driver’s door, swung it open and slid onto the seat. Tossing her purse onto the passenger’s side of the floorboard, she sighed, and he felt that exhaled breath wash through him, hot and moist. Tuned to every nuance of her, he was acutely aware of her perfume, her body’s own unique scent, and the underlying smell of chocolate—she had just eaten something like a cookie.
    He waited until she had put the key into the ignition and started the car. Without making a sound, without even daring to breathe, he rose onto his knees behind her. His movements were silent, fluid... the perfect predator, or so he thought of himself in his deeply self-satisfied moments.
    A quick glance right and left told him they were alone in this dark end of the parking lot.
    It was time.
    His left arm snaked around her from behind. His hand clamped over her mouth. He felt her scream against his palm as he pinched her jaws tightly.
    Reaching around with his right hand, he showed her the enormous hunting knife. He felt her terror, like an exotic elixir, pouring through her body and into his. She shook violently and thrashed around, as though she were trying to turn in her seat to see him.
    “Don’t do it, bitch,” he told her in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, even to him. This voice was deeper, more guttural, darker and more demonic than anything a Hollywood sound stage could conjure. “Just keep looking straight ahead and don’t scream or, I swear, I’ll cut your fuckin’ throat. Do you hear me?”
    He put the blade of the knife against her neck, not caring whether the freshly honed edge nicked her or not. He continued to pinch her jaws tightly until he felt her body go limp in surrender.
    “Do you hear me?” he repeated.
    She nodded.
    Slowly he removed his hand.
    He saw her glance at him in her rear-view mirror. But it didn’t really matter if she saw him or not. The white beard took care of that.
    “Please, don’t hurt me,” she said in a voice so shrill and squeaky she sounded like a cartoon mouse.
    He was highly amused.
    “Hurt you? Well, baby, that’s up to you. Are you going to be smart, or are you going to be stupid?”
    She tried to speak but choked on the word.
    “What?” He pressed the knife tighter to her throat.
    “I said...” She gagged. And he decided that if she ruined this by vomiting, he was going to kill her for sure. “I said...“ she tried again, “...smart. I’m going to be smart.”
    “That’s good. You be smart, baby, and you might even live to give away all those Christmas presents you just bought.” She began to softly cry. “They’re for my kids,” she said. He could tell she was trying to keep it together, struggling not to break down. Apparently, she was stronger than he had thought.
    “My kids need me,” she said. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you say.”
    “Of course you will,” he replied coolly. He was beginning to really enjoy the game. This was it. This was what he lived for.
    “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to,” he said. “Because I’ve got the knife. I’m the one in control. Complete control. Don’t forget it.”
    With his left hand he reached down and caressed her breast. Softly at first, tenderly,