Post series: The Thrill of the Hunt

I squeeze around the windpipe. My heart is jumping in my ribcage. My boner is raging. I look up to watch the terror unfold on her face.

Irritation clouds my excitement. Cynthia doesn’t seem frightened. Her eyes aren’t bulging. Her breath is stable. In fact, she seems mildly bored. Her hand has retreated to her side.

I throw pretense out the window. No more playing “Mr. Nice Guy”.

I push her against the door, with such force that she bangs her head against the window. I clamp my other hand on her breast and dig my fingers deep into the flesh, as if ready to tear it apart from her body. That could be her memento.

She gasps, her eyes widening.

I smirk. There’s the look I’ve been waiting for. The thrill rushes from within, giving strength to my arms.

Cynthia thrashes in the seat. She claws against my chest. The pain is bearable. It only makes me want to savor the moment longer.

However, my irritation remains. She’s not giving me eyes of terror.

She’s narrowed them. They shine with malice. I’ve never seen it on my victims before.

“Did you do this to Helena as well?”

Her question momentarily stuns me. My fingers freeze. How is she talking? I’m squeezing as hard as I possibly can.

Her smile is rueful. “Did you know that was her name? The woman you killed and left here in the woods?”

My own breath lodges in my throat. Cold sweat glides down my back. How does she know? Is she a police? Are they already onto me?

Panic grips me. I clamp both hands once more on her throat and squeeze.

“Enough with the foreplay, I guess.” She speaks calmly, even though I’m so close to crushing her windpipe.

She grabs my wrist and bends it. It hurts slightly. I grit my teeth. She smirks and bends it back more. My stomach drops. What is she doing? The ligament has begun burning. Her eyes glint with a dark purpose. She bends it back even further.

Finally, a crack. It penetrates my ears like a drill. I stare at the crooked shape of my wrist. Then blinding pain shoots up my brain, like venom. I scream.

“Did that hurt? I bet Helena was hurting more when you killed her.” Cynthia cocks her head to the side, as if actually oblivious of her own action.

“Who the fuck are you?” I scream, clutching my broken wrist.

She ignores me, instead opening the glove compartment and picking up the necklace that I had put there for safe keeping. “Another victim? Where’s Helena’s memento?”

“How do you know about her?” I spit angrily.

“Her sister, Lydia, prayed to me when Helena hadn’t been found within a week. Given her line of work, Lydia knew she was dead. And Lydia wanted revenge.”

Prayed? Is she a priest? She certainly doesn’t look one with those ripped jeans and leather jacket.

A wolf howls in the distance. Cynthia smiles as she gently pockets the necklace.

“I thought I wouldn’t find you. Portland’s a big city. Lots of people. But I’m patient. As a hunter, you have to be.”

My brow furrows. Hunter? What is she talking about?

She laughs. “You still haven’t figured it out? Nah, you killers don’t seem to have either the intellect or the patience. I go by many names. Cynthia after my birthplace on Mount Cynthus. Diana in Rome. I, however, prefer my true name. Artemis.”

She slowly turns her head to me. Markings appear on her face and body, like stars popping up in the sky outside. They look ancient, pagan even. Like Egyptian hieroglyphs and Greek letters melted into one. Black soot covers her eyes, yet they sparkle like diamonds.

My balls shrivel. I almost forget about the pain in my broken wrist.

“I promised you a thrill. You have twenty seconds to run. I wouldn’t waste them. You saw what I did with your pathetic human hand.”

I can’t explain how she changed like that. Is she an illusionist?  How can a girl her size be stronger than me? She said her name was Artemis. If I remember my high school mythology class correctly, she’s said to be the Goddess of the Hunt. How is that possible? How can she even exist and inflict pain on someone like me? I want to stay and fight her, but my dominant hand is useless. I can’t trust my own strength.

I do, however, trust my balls.

I scramble out of the car, and rush into the woods. I haven’t run like that in ages, the searing pain in my side reminding me of that fact.

The moon is the only light in this maze of a forest. Trees everywhere. Nowhere to hide. Why can’t I hear her running after me?

A wolf howls again. This time, it feels closer.

I don’t like this. How my heart is almost exploding. Not with exhilaration, but with a fear that digs deep.

Something whistles in the air.

It plunges into my shoulder, nailing me to a Douglas fir. I scream. Wincing through the pain, I look down at the wound. Nothing. So, why do I feel like there’s an arrow stuck in my bone? I grope for it in the dark. Again, nothing.

Another whistle.

I scream again. My other shoulder has been hit. I wheeze through the pain as it sends flames up and down my body.

A laugh echoes through the forest.

It sends chills down my spine. I’ve never felt fear like that.

She struts towards me, carrying a primitive bow. Her smirk is victorious. “Nothing beats the thrill of the hunt.”

“All right, all right. You’ve got me. You’ve got your hunt. Now let me go.” I demand. 

She shakes her head, chuckling. “You’re right that I’ve got my hunt. But I haven’t avenged Helena’s death yet.”

Light footsteps pitter-patter on the soft ground. Too limber for a person.

A wolf strolls towards Artemis, its amber eyes gleaming in the dark.

Sweat beads down my temple. “Your pet?”

Artemis scratches the wolf behind its ear. “A companion. He usually gets what I hunt.”

I struggle against the invisible arrows. The wolf growls as it approaches. I kick frantically, sweeping dirt into the air.

“Are you really feeding me to the wolf?” My voice comes out high-pitched in disbelief.

“Not just the wolf.” Artemis’ smile is sinister.

Heavier footsteps crush the ground. I feel slight tremors behind me.

I swivel my head. My breathing has become erratic, fearful. Not at all what I’m used to. What could she possibly have summoned from the dark?

A giant bear comes lumbering at my side.  The scent of rotten leaves on its fur tickles my nose.

My legs go numb. Blood drains from my face.

“Please.” 

“Too late for please. You gave that up when you squeezed the life out of Helena. I’d wish you a good journey to the underworld, but I hear your kind isn‘t received well there.”

She gives her head a jerk forward.

The bear stands up on its hind legs. It raises its clawed paw and strikes down in one, swift motion.

For a moment, I think it missed.

Something slithers with a squelch on the ground. My middle feels cold. I look down. My stomach has been ripped open. Innards leak in a mess down my pants. The grass below is painted in crimson. A part of my dick nestles between my feet.

Blood trickles down my mouth. My eyes shoot up when I sense movement.

The wolf’s open maw is the last thing I see.

But it’s not the last thing I feel.

I’m still alive as those beasts feast on my open stomach.

The last thing I hear is a girl’s tinkling laugh.

That supple skin.

Smooth, beautiful.

I love how it feels against my big, callous fingers. How it tenses when I put more pressure.

Her eyes are widening. With shock. With fear.

Yes. Struggle more. Let me feel that despair.

Her nails don’t hurt me. They only spur me on, urging me to squeeze harder. Her feeble strength is nothing compared to mine.

Those short bursts of breath that escape her lips are like a sweet serenade to my ears.

When she lets go of her last breath, I moan with pleasure.

The ecstasy is always so short, though.

I hate that.

I look down at the body. It’s useless to me now. I need to feel the blood pumping into the veins as I squeeze the life out of her.

I drive to the nearest deserted highway and dump the body there. I don’t bother with laying it down gently. It’s just a heavy marionette. Absolutely useless.

Well, not quite. I have her necklace. It still feels warm to the touch.

It should quench my thirst for a couple of days.

******

The itch is back.

It’s time for another prowl in the night.

I take my car and cruise downtown Portland.

I can’t say there’s slim pickings in Old Town. It’s more like a smorgasbord, waiting for me to select the best of the best.

The women give me sensual looks, turning in circles to allow me to see the whole package.

None of them excite me, though.

I don’t feel that rush bubbling beneath the surface.

I’m about to turn the car around, irritated that I can’t scratch my itch tonight, when I spot her.

A bit younger than I usually pick. Sharp cheekbones, tanned skin, little braids on the side of her head, pulled into a thick ponytail. My fingers yearn to pull it.

She sees me. My heart gives a little jump.

Her eyes are big, almost doe-like.

So delicious.

I pull over next to her.

She gives me a coy smile while running her eyes up and down. Funny. It’s as if she’s appraising me.

“Good evening, stranger,” she says when I let the window slide down and she leans over it. “What brings you here?”

I lightly lick my lips with the tip of my tongue. Her voice is like honey. I bet her gasps are like Turkish delights.

“I was hoping for a good time with someone special.” I dip my chin down and give her my best, rehearsed smile.

She giggles. Her laugh is like a tinkling bell. “And I’m the lucky gal?”

I nod, gripping the steering wheel. “You bet. Hop in.”

A tremor of pleasure runs through me as she jumps into the car with a triumphant smile. She waves to her “coworkers” while I take us to a more secluded place.

What a Godsend.

******

“What’s your name?” I’ve never asked them their names. It never mattered to me, but I feel like I must burn that girl’s name to memory. She doesn’t seem to have anything on her that I can keep for later, anyway.

“Cynthia.”

I glance from the road at her. She’s got her eyes straight on the asphalt, a stoic calm about her. Something tingles within me. I’ve never felt that before. I shake it off by chuckling. “That’s a pretty name.”

She shrugs. “It’s nothing special.”

“You’d prefer something different?”

“I’d prefer a name that goes places. That people will remember.”

Don’t worry, baby. I won’t forget yours. For some reason, I feel compelled to take her further up into the mountains, where I did my first kill. That girl had been unremarkable. I barely remember what she looked like, but she had satisfied my urges and that’s a good enough memory. The place I killed her is secluded and quiet. I doubt even the animals there will bother us.

“Are we going hiking?” Cynthia giggles.

“I like a little privacy.”

Cynthia’s eyes glint. “So do I.”

Once more, something creeps up at the back of my mind. It’s like a tick, biting into my skin. Never felt that way before. I shake my head. It’s probably nothing. It could be a new form of excitement. Besides, I have to be focused. My itch needs to be scratched.

The thought of running my fingers through that skin of hers is enough to make me hard.

Not long now.

“What are you expecting for tonight?” Cynthia asks as she twirls one of her tiny braids between her fingers.

I smirk. “Something of a thrill, perhaps?”

Cynthia nods, smiling. “I can give you that.”

A surge of excitement courses through me. I’ll bet you can. You’ll be my best kill yet.

The road has become dark, with the moon the only beacon of light above us. Fir trees as tall as skyscrapers flank the car as we climb higher up the mountain. I couldn’t be happier with the spot. I have to hurry. My hard-on is starting to hurt.

I park the car near a small rest area with a lonely bench almost shrouded by the trees. I better not dump the body there when I’m done. It’d be too easy to see.

“Well, we’re here.” I turn to Cynthia and graze her cheek with the back of my hand.

It’s so warm, as if the whole sun radiated from her. I can’t wait to squeeze it out of her, so nothing remains but the cold terror in her eyes.

“You really picked a great spot.” Cynthia purrs as she sidles closer to me. Her hand snakes towards my thigh and caresses it. A greedy gleam in her doe eyes.

Not as greedy as mine.

My fingers drift down from her cheek and I wrap them around her throat.

If she senses something, she’s being coy about it. From what I feel, she’s allowing me to take the reins.

The perfect victim.