I.n.i.t.i.a.l.l.y (NEW EDITION)

Part I.I

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I... I'd like to report a missing person. My girlfriend – I-I don't know where she is. We were planning to travel together with my son and this morning, there was no trace of her. I think it's nothing – she might've just packed her things from my house and left, but I want to make sure she's safe. She's not answering her phone. I'm growing a bit worried." His voice trembled slightly, and he did not know if it was nervousness, excitement, or both. Was he about to get away with murder?

He did. The police filed a missing person report, and because Ana did not have any close family apart from an estranged father living in another state and only a handful of friends who were used to Ana's travelling, Robert got away with it. Away with murder. If he had known it was that simple, he could've picked up this hobby a long time ago. It was accelerating.

Hayes was woken up early the next morning even if it was Saturday and it wasn't Christmas, "Pack your things."

"Why? Where is Ana?"

"Hayes, this is important. She left us. She said she's had enough of..."

"Of me?"

"Buddy, in this world, you cannot trust women. Mommy left, and so did... Olivia."

Hayes looked at his father's torso – a fresh tattoo seemed to have materialised beside the 'N' he had gotten in honour and remembrance of his first love. It was covered with clingfilm and tape. When had he gotten that tattoo?

No time to ask questions. He had to pack – he had to listen to his father. The only constant figure in his life, his only pillar of stability. He could not let him down. So, he started with his game boy and Legos – it's all about priorities.

Sometimes Robert liked to reimagine the murder in his head. Fantasize about his perfect murder. His first perfect murder. There had been a couple since. It was so easy – and he would've liked to say that he did not think he had what it took, but that would be a lie. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror behind the bar – he looked buff. All 6'3 of him. Charming.

He tried not to replay Ana's murder in his head – not in public. Maybe later, in the dark, the window slightly open to let the breeze walk inside, slyly. His phone buzzed. His friend couldn't make it. Caught up with a family dinner. Robert had mixed feelings about family dinners, but mostly because that would require a woman – at least, for him.

That's when he started writing. He was never particularly fond of writing – he always believed you have to have the inspiration, almost like a suffocating impulse from within that drew you to the paper. He did read a lot – he loved a bit of Hemingway, of minimalist American poetry. Even a bit of Wilde when he felt frisky. He believed you had to read – swallow an entire library before you could commit to paper. But that all changed after Olivia's murder. That's when he got insomnia, but not because of guilt – why would there be guilt? – but because the stifling feeling very overwhelming. He broke into a sweat, forcing himself to open a window. And he leaned against the window, a breeze dishevelling his hair. And then he threw up, right on the edge of the window.

"Fuck," He muttered, spitting the remainder of vomit left lingering in his mouth, "I have to write."

And he started writing.

Yvonne, he met in a park. He was out with mates, drinking booze and chatting dog shit. They spoke about nothings which meant everythings, about the past and the future, about aspirations, about Hayes. He tried to steer the subject away to avoid questions about Helena. Or Olivia. He was lucky because just as his mates were about to ask about his love life, and he had to spit out his rehearsed lies, a freezbie hit him on the side of his head.

"Argh – the fuck...?"

"I am so sorry, are you ok?" A girl approached him, a worried expression plastered on her countenance. A very beautiful countenance at that. He was ok now – more than ok. Quite astounding, actually.

"Yeah."

"Do you need some ice? Heck, I don't have ice... what about a drink? We have cold beers?" She pointed to her mates, sitting on a checkered picnic blanket.

"Sure, beer would be nice." He smirked at his friends, but only briefly, subtly, fleetingly, "Robert."

He extended his hand.

"Yvonne."

"Yvonne? With an Y?"

She giggled, "Yep."

Helena

Ana

And now Yvonne? Was this some sort of twisted game fate was playing on him? Being drawn to women whose first letter of their name spelt out Hayes's name? The child that bitch Helena had left him with? What did this mean?

His next thought overwhelmed him slightly, but then filled him with a twisted feeling of opportunity. Of destiny? Was this what he was meant to do, meant to be remembered for? Was this his opportunity for revenge against women – the very many women who had wronged him? He smiled to himself, but luckily Ana was walking in front of him, ready to introduce him and his mates to her friends on the checkered picnic blanket.

His next thought overwhelmed him slightly, but then filled him with a twisted feeling of opportunity. Of destiny? Was this what he was meant to do, meant to be remembered for? Was this his opportunity for revenge against women – the very many women who had wronged him?

He smiled to himself, but luckily Yvonne was walking in front of him, ready to introduce him and his mates to her friends on the checkered picnic blanket.

It was her blanket. The blanket that only 3 months later he would use to wrap her still-warm corpse to dispose of. Only fair. He was a gentleman, after all. Couldn't let her get stained with too much dirt. He also did the honourable thing of burying her in the same park they had met in.