The Attendant

Suspense Stories | Jan 16, 2012 | 10 min read
88 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
My talents first stemmed from knowing the neighborhood so well. Having been a hotel attendant for just over three years, I knew the faces, the directions they were going, and the occupations that kept them so well suited.

It was a neighborhood of excellent taste. The powerful, and those who aspired to be all made their rounds down the sidewalk, up the stairs, and through the glass doors to be greeted by me. Their first time through I'd get a nod. Then, a couple of bucks just for existing. Eventually, it was more substantial amounts, if only I'd pass a message to a certain young lady the wife doesn't know about. I was granted their confidence and for my silence I was rewarded.

It wasn't the powerful that fell victim to my talents. It was the unwanted few that made their way through my block, hovering through the traffic asking for change, or simply stood out because they wanted to feel it. They wanted to be a nuisance, to be bold.

I spent three years with my face to the glass, watching the display my city had to offer. Boredom carved a hole in my psyche so large that I thought it would never be able to recognize entertainment or purpose again. That was until I found both of those things in my day dreams.

I pictured these people, these nuisances, facing their death. At first, it was something from their surroundings. A car would swerve and hit one of them. A fire hydrant would succumb to pressure, water bursting from around the bolts and wasting the poor fool with it's force. Eventually, the reveries became something else entirely. It was me behind the mischief. It was my hands wielding whatever weapon. Again it started with a chain, a pipe, or something else I found in the street. By the time my thoughts included the trouble of buying real murder weapons, I was already withdrawing the money from my checking account.

It was definitely my most researched shopping experience to date. I found out the pros and cons of a serrated edge. I learned how to check and see if a knife is properly balanced. My homework was done.

I had been watching one guy in particular. He paced the length of the block all day long for a week straight. Every night he would go into the alley and I wouldn't see him again until the next day. I worked longer shifts just to sit and watch, ensuring that it was in the alley that the man slept. He slept there every night. No friends, no home. It was perfect.

The thought of all of this was so...enticing. Exciting. When I went over there, when I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off of the alley floor, just to stick the knife in him, it felt real. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders. I was walking around free for the first time in a world where I had power. I didn't have money like those other guys, but I had the power of life. I could take it right from under them and I was good at it.

For days I watched the entrance to the alley more intently. I scoured the papers for any mention of a discovered body. There was nothing. Finally, I walked over there myself. To my surprise, the body was gone.

It wasn't long before I found another target. This time it was a woman suffering similar circumstances as my first victim. She was homeless. However, she didn't have the refuge of the alley to hide my crime. I had to follow her for several blocks before I caught up to her. The chase was invigorating and when my blade landed the familiar feeling came rushing back.

I became obsessed. If there was an opportunity I took it. I could feel the pressure mounting. After a kill I couldn't shrug it off any more. Police sirens, no matter how distant, threw me into a state of complete shock. I had seven souls under my belt. Honestly, I had decided to stop the night I saw her.

She was wearing a typical black coat, with a trace of red fabric around the bottom. Her calves were exposed to the night air, but she didn't seem to mind. It was her grace, her disregard for anything except the way she walked, that caught my attention. Her legs navigated carefully through the people and I followed.

The closer I got the more fluid her motions became. She was like watching a snake, rattle and all, slither through the grass. We came to a building, the doorway unguarded and unlocked. She went through the door and left it open.

In the stairway I was close to her. There could have been no way she did not know I was behind her now. I could have struck then, but I waited.

After three flights of stairs she stopped. I pulled my knife out of my coat pocket. When she turned to look at me for the first time she was holding a pistol in her hand. The barrel was pointed directly at my midsection. I didn't feel fear at all. The excitement was taking over again and all I wanted was to dive at her, take the risk of a lone bullet and plunge my knife in between her ribs.

"Come in." She said. "I have something to show you."

I obeyed. My hand was still holding the knife as I followed her, but I felt no threat to my life.

The apartment was vacant, or really close to it. What little furniture had been left was draped under white sheets. The floor was wooden and resounded an unholy echo of severity whenever the woman's heels touched the surface. I had no idea what was happening here.

She led me to the next room where I saw the same kind of white sheets, but the object they were covering was unrecognizable. The edges were undefined, shapes pointed in several directions. When she unveiled it I felt sick for the first time since it all started.

The sheets had been hiding a tribute to my conquests. In a perfect pile, my seven victims were stacked, two bodies wide and three high. The homeless man I had watched so fervently at the beginning was laid on top of the rest. Each body was protected by a clear bag, zipped down the front.

I stood speechless and let her do all of the talking.

"I've been watching you." She said in a tone that suggested only the purest kind of malice. "I've been studying you. I don't even know your name, but you, my friend, have been at the very tip-top of my list. My only priority."

She ran her hand down my arm. I was stunned by her touch. Her fingers traced my elbow and forearm carefully until she had managed to squeeze them into my hand, releasing the knife from my grasp.

"I used to look out my window and see you, trapped in your little glass enclosure. Watching you watch others. I was right behind you in that alley. I've been right behind you ever since.

"I dream of you. When I wake, it's you I first think of."

She opened the window and stuck her head out, pausing for a moment to study the street below. After a few seconds passed she dropped the knife and the pistol to the ground. The cool air infiltrated the room in a matter of seconds.

"Why me?" I finally asked.

"Why them? Why anyone? I'm sure you can imagine how all of this comes to be. A thought, an insight. Daydreams. The inner depths that no one wants to talk about. The urge to..."

"Explore." I finished her sentence.

"Yes! Explore it. Those feelings. The urges."

"To feel the power."

"Well," She said. "I haven't felt that power yet. I've only dreamed about it."

"You've never killed anyone?" I asked.

"No."

I felt at once that I had the upper hand. When I found myself in this room I thought I had been lured by a professional. It was all a matter of luck. I had talent.

"I've only had one person in mind through all of this." She added.

"Oh?" I asked, expressing no real concern.

"But I can't do it. I can't give in to these feelings."

"They're natural."

"They are natural. Man is a predator."

"How many people like us are there?" I asked.

"Like us? Everyone has the potential. Anyone can recognize that they too have the power, the desire to...There's no us. I'm not an animal and so I will not give in."

It was all too much. This woman was confessing her sins to me, her prey. I had been the object of her affection for so long, but now she didn't want to use the opportunity. Of course, she had opportunities before. I imagined her crouched behind a corner, hidden in the shadows, while I stole the life from these poor people. The power was fading. I had come so close to being the victim. My moments of adrenaline and excitement were not the private inner-workings of my brain. They were the viewing pleasure for this mysterious woman.

"If you won't kill me," I started the question not knowing if I wanted to hear the answer. "Then why bring me here?"

"Because it has to stop."

"Is that it?" I laughed. "I agree. I made the same decision just this evening. I'm done with it. The killing will stop."

"Really? Then why did you follow me here?"

I didn't know how to answer.

"They're coming for us." She said.

"Who is coming for us?"

"The police."

I flew into a sudden fit of complete anger.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because people like us need to be stopped."

I slapped her.

"Don't be mad at me." She pleaded. "You have to understand. We can't stop ourselves."

"What did you do wrong? You didn't kill anybody." I tried to reason with her.

"But I let you, didn't I? I watched you. I enjoyed it. I cleaned up behind you so you wouldn't get caught. So I could stop you myself."

The room was spinning. I couldn't believe what had happened. Up to this point my crimes were almost victimless. I killed the recluses that everyone wanted gone. Even if they wouldn't admit it, everyone wanted them dead, taken off of the streets. Now, my crimes were stacked I front of me to be cataloged and reviewed by the police department.

"You should have." I said. "You should have stopped it."

"Stop it now."

"What do you mean?"

"Put it to an end." She whispered.

For the first time I felt sympathy for a victim. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the window. She kicked and screamed and I struck her until she stopped. Tears were pouring from my eyes as I lifted her unconscious body up to and out the window. I glanced outside to make sure her body hit the mark.

Less than three feet away from her the knife glinted in the street light.

I was already several blocks away by the time I heard the sirens. I hoped I had made it look real. The crimes she witnessed, the evidence vanished when her head hit the pavement. It was over, I promised myself it was over. Surely, it looked like suicide.

My apartment was unsettling. I turned on every light in the house and I waited. The fear and remorse I had done so well without were now attacking me all at once. The power had vanished. I was weak. I had taken life from what? The pathetic? I was the nuisance.

When the sirens played their silly light show through the curtains I didn't run. I didn't move at all.

 

END

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Reviews

Preeti Jan 27, 2012

Completely enjoyed it...

Amit Jan 16, 2012

very, very good! I love Thriller stories!

Diana Jan 16, 2012

Excellent write up. The powerful becoming the powerless. It's something we all think about. Not the killing part (I hope) but taking away power from those who abuse it. You've captured a part of human nature that isn'toften talked about. I like what you'v

Geeta Jan 16, 2012

Thats a very well written story... enjoyed it..

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