Undesirable.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I sit fidgeting in the uncomfortable library chairs, racking my brain for what to write down. Professor Mason assigned me the task of profiling this killer, but it's already been a week, and the only thing I've written down is "total weirdo," which obviously won't make it to the final cut. With different newspaper articles and blog posts pulled up on every tab of my computer, I sit here chewing on my pen cap in hopes of some inspiration, only to be interrupted by the cackles of other students not taking the "quiet zone" sign very seriously. The fluorescent lights and the smell of musty old books don't make things any easier, and I decide a change of scenery may do the trick. I quickly pack my belongings, and head out to the commons to find an open bench. I silently pray to myself to not bump into Isaac, knowing very well this seems to be his favorite spot to lurk around. Thankfully, the coast seems clear, and I pull out my laptop with new motivation.

Most of the articles I have found seem to repeat themselves, and I think it may be because whoever is murdering these women, never changes how they do it. The scariest part is that even with four killings having already taken place, the only news channels reporting on it is in our rinky dink town. The trend so far is that the only people that have been victimized have all been young women in their early 20's, that unfortunately, resemble my own appearance, and live within a 30 mi radius of one another. Point number one, is that this must be a homegrown killer, or in other words lives in the same proximity of the victims. Point two, is they follow the steps of a predatory killer, one who stalks its victims for weeks, before choosing the perfect time to strike. Doing further research, articles have mentioned what each girl was wearing on the night of the attack, and in my own experiences, they must have been out partying, knowing most girls don't choose to wear heels to attend classes or do daily chores. So far, I've written down...

Victim one was found on January 22, 2017.

Victim two was found on February 23, 2018.

Victim three was found March 21, 2019.

Yet, victim four was found only 12 days later on April 2, 2019. I was ready to classify this killer as organized, but something looks to have put a wrench in their plans. Or maybe, Bailey was never meant to be on the chopping block. Either way, whoever is out there is mission oriented, wanting to eradicate this world of a certain type of person. As my heart beats faster in my chest, I hope that even though I may look like the killer's type, I hope I don't fit their twisted definition of a qualified individual.

I stop my writing for a second, and look up at the sky just as a cloud covers the sun, casting a gray hue on my thoughts. I lean back into the bench and grip the sides with my hands as a splinter digs under my nail, and I wince at the pain. I look at my hand to see a small drop of blood drip from under my nail, and a wave of nausea rushes over me, as my mind blanks and all sounds around me stop. I'm alone. The feeling I had fought so hard to forget from that night comes back, and the confusion sets in as the world around me fades right before my eyes. My breaths become desperate, as if I was being choked, but the only thing standing over me is a black cloud of my own fear. Before I can grasp what is happening, my world goes black.

** ** ** **

As my world regains vision I am sitting in on my apartment couch watching Jersey Shore, with Grant next to me working on his newest creation. I feel dizzy, and look around the room, convinced I must be dreaming.

"You good?" Grant looks at me with a raised eyebrow, as he stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

The smell of butter makes me salivate as I stare back at him blankly, still trying to get a hand on what just happened.

"Hey, you good?" He waves a greasy hand in my face, trying to get me out of my daze.

"Uh, yeah. I'm good." I stare blankly at the screen. "Actually, no. No, I'm not good." An awful sense of fear envelops my body, yet no source to it comes to mind, as tears swell in my eyes.

"Dude, the show isn't that serious." Grant nervously shifts his weight as he looks at me bug eyed.

"I have no idea what just happened." I can feel a tear run down my cheek, but I don't feel sad.

"You came home, took a shower, sat on the couch, and turned on your show. What's there to get?" He turns away and continues to chip away at his project.

"The last thing I remember is working on my internship assignment and then waking up here, doing this." Frustration fuels my tears as they roll down my cheeks faster.

"Hey, hey, hey, calm down. You said you got tired of writing, and needed a break." He tries to calm me, but to no avail.

I sit there stone faced, tears flowing, and paranoia taking control. What is happening to me? I want to desperately shrug this feeling of helplessness off, but it clings to me, like an unwanted tick. I want to feel in control of my own life, but these setbacks are weighing heavily on my body and soul. I'm losing motivation to bounce back, but I fear that if I don't, I'll fall victim to whatever darkness keeps wanting to take me.

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Seems like Melody has to figure out the root of her fear, but will she have the guts and strength to face it?....Alone??!

COMMENT and VOTE if you liked it!

Till' Next Time,
Lexi