Choices

Naomi struggled to balance her groceries in one arm as she unlocked the front door with the other. Entering the house, she kicked the door shut with one foot before realizing the living room was unusually dark. A man's voice, unfamiliar to her, came from the shadows to her left. "Mrs. Haverson, I presume?" Naomi shrieked and dropped her bags, eyes searching the darkness. She spun toward the door and as she grasped the knob, one strong hand closed tightly around her wrist. With his other hand, the man held her around the throat. Not choking her, not quite, but making it very clear that he could. Naomi took a deep breath, ready to scream, and the hand tightened slightly. She felt the man's breath in her ear as he leaned close. "You can scream or you can live. Your choice, darling."1

Naomi let out her breath in a watery gasp, and the hand loosened. The man nodded his approval. "Good choice. Now, if we're done with the theatrics, perhaps you'd be good enough to come with me." He turned her away from the door, and led her across the living room. With one arm around her waist, he walked her down the hall like a gentleman escorting his date. He opened the bedroom door with his free hand, and Naomi, eyes wild, began struggling again. "Please, no, please, please, NO!" She slapped at his hands and scratched his face, pulling his mask askew. Calmly, the man clubbed her above the ear with one fisted hand. Naomi went limp and fell to the floor. He bent, and grabbing one ankle, he dragged her into the room.2

Naomi slowly came to, shook her aching head and tried rise, feeling dazed and slightly nauseous. She realized that she was on the floor, hands tied to one corner of her four-post bed. Suddenly remembering, she looked around wildly for the man in the mask. Tied to another post of the bed sat her husband Pete. Both eyes were blackened and his nose was canted to one side, obviously broken. Drops and smears of blood stained the collar of his white button-down shirt, and a larger stain spread on the gray carpet where his nose had bled before he regained consciousness. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, but grimaced instead as his lower lip cracked and bled. 3

The door creaked open, and their attacker entered the room, mask once more firmly in place. Pete was surprised to see that the eyes behind the mask were a clear sapphire blue, and danced with mirth as if this was all great fun. He was surprised again by the voice, not the voice of a thug as he would have expected, but more the voice of a politician, smooth and cultured. "Ah, I thought you might be awake. Now that we're all assembled, let's get down to business, shall we?" He sat on the edge of Naomi's vanity across from them and crossed his legs. He was very tall with a slim but athletic build. A snug black t-shirt and jeans accentuated well-toned muscles. 4

He looked from Pete to Naomi and shook his head sadly, like a teacher faced with an especially troublesome pair of students. "Peter, Naomi, you both made the wrong choice out in the hallway, and suffered the consequences. You don't want to do that again. Think carefully before you act, and perhaps you'll survive this. Have I made myself clear?" He looked from Pete to Naomi expectantly, but both remained quiet, subdued. "Well, are we all on the same page here, or do you need another lesson?" He uncrossed his legs and with hands on his knees, leaned toward them. "We got it! Okay, okay! Don't hurt us! Please!" They babbled at him, begging, crying. "Enough!" The man shouted. They fell silent, trembling.5

When he spoke again his voice was calm, almost soothing. "Well, then. I'm sure you're both wondering why I'm here, yes? It's really quite simple. I had a choice to make, and I chose you, Pete and Naomi Haverson. The perfect little middle-class, suburban couple. Ha!" The man laughed sarcastically, and shook his head. Pete could control himself no longer, "Why us? How do you know our names, do we know you?" The man raised one hand and Pete cringed, expecting another blow. The man chuckled, "So many questions! I'll answer the best I can, why you? You will find that out soon enough. As for your names, once I had your address it was quite simple to do a reverse search on the computer. I'm very fond of the computer, aren't you?" He directed this last toward Naomi, who only closed her eyes again, as if to shut him out.6

He nodded, and turned back to Pete. "Do you know me? Well, I'm afraid you don't, but your loving wife does. Don't you, dear?" Naomi, eyes still closed, shook her head. The man rose and leaned over her, lifting her chin with one hand. "Answer the question, Mrs. Haverson. I know you can't see my face with this mask, but you wouldn't recognize me if you could, as the picture I posted on my profile was a fake. However, you do know me. Does the name Casanova35 ring a bell?" Naomi's eyes flew open, and the man returned to his seat on the vanity. "I see it does. I apologize, I know I'm a little early, but I just couldn't wait to meet you in person." Pete frowned and stared at his wife, confused.7

"Pete. Pete!" Pete tore his eyes from his wife, and turned towards their captor. "That's better. Now, as I was saying earlier, I found your names after I was given your address. Before that, I knew your wife only as LonelyWife69. I don't know what name she would have given me if I had shown up tomorrow morning as planned." Pete glanced at his wife, but she had once more squeezed her eyes shut. He looked at the man in the mask and asked, "Who are you, what the hell are you talking about?" The man rose again and crouched in front of him, pulling a gun the waist of his jeans as he did. "I'm talking about choices, Pete. Choices and their consequences. You made the worst choice of your life when you married that cheating slut over there, and I am the consequence."8

"Fuck you, you're a liar!" Naomi screamed. "You’re a fucking liar! Fu..." The man spun and tapped her on the temple with the butt of the gun. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped to the side. The man waited patiently as Pete struggled with his restraints, trying to get loose, to get to his wife. As Pete gave up, panting, starting to cry, the man patted him on the shoulder. "Now, now. She's only unconscious again, she'll wake up soon enough. Meanwhile, I think it's time we men had a heart to heart talk. I met your wife on a nasty little site dedicated to 'bored' spouses. She invited me over, although I was supposed to come after you left for work tomorrow. And I'm sure she wasn't expecting our little date to go like this. She did say she liked bondage, though. I guess this is not what she had in mind." 9

The man laughed and took off his mask to wipe his eyes. He was strikingly handsome, with an olive complexion and thick, stylishly cut black hair. Pete thought he also looked strangely familiar, but could not place him. He grinned at Pete, showing a row of perfectly even white teeth and cast the mask aside. "We don't need that anymore. No more secrets in this house, right, Pete? There has been quite enough of that. As I was saying..." He squatted down beside Pete, blocking his view of Naomi, and whispered conspiratorially in his ear. Pete closed his eyes, but could not cover his ears, so had no choice but to listen.10

Naomi twitched and groaned. The man glanced at her, then rose from his crouch. "I’ll give you two a little privacy, shall I? I believe you and your wife should have a little talk." He left the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Naomi opened her eyes and groaned. She rubbed her face against the shoulder of her peach silk blouse, trying to dislodge the damp blond hair that clung stubbornly to her forehead and temples. She succeeded only in further staining her blouse with sweat and blood from the wound on her head. "Pete, where’d he go? What happened?" Pete stared at her, not answering. "Pete, what the hell happened?" Pete whispered, "Is it true? What he said about that website?"11

Naomi rolled her eyes, "Don’t you think that’s the least of our worries right now? Shit." Pete asked again, louder this time, "Is it true? Did you really invite that man into our house? Were you really going to..." He trailed off, unable or unwilling to say the rest. Naomi grunted in disgust and glared at him. "So what if it is? Jesus Christ, I’m tied to my own fucking bed, in my own fucking house, and now my goddamn husband is giving me the third-degree? Why don’t you stop worrying about what that psycho said, and start worrying about how to get us loose!" Pete turned his head away as tears pricked his eyes. "You did, it’s true, you really..." He choked back a sob.12

Naomi, still trying to brush away the errant hair, laughed humorlessly. "Oh, great, now you’re crying? This psycho is probably going to rape me, then kill us both, and you’re fucking crying? Maybe if you weren’t such a pussy I wouldn’t have to go online looking for a real man. Maybe you wouldn’t get the shit beat out of you in your own damn house and we wouldn’t be in this mess! Did you even fight back, or did you just lay there and cry?" Pete looked at her pleadingly, "Why, Naomi? You said it was just that one time, you promised..." Naomi growled, "I don’t need this shit! Just shut up, shut up, shut up!" 13

At that the man opened the door and reentered the room, gun in hand. He smiled knowingly at both of them. "Well, I’m sorry to interrupt this little chat, but I’m afraid we really must conclude our business quickly." He once more sat on the vanity, casually holding the gun across his knee. Pete sat silently, tears running down his face and mixing with the blood on his collar. Naomi spat at him, "Fucking pussy!" and struggled against the ropes. The man made a ‘tsk’ sound and frowned at her. "Now, is that anyway to speak to your own husband? Pete is not to blame, after all, it was your own selfish decisions that brought me here. Because of your choices, this innocent man may lose his life tonight."14

Pete winced as Naomi banged her head against the foot of the bed and pounded her heels against the floor in a fit of fury. "Why are you doing this to me? I don't deserve this, why me? WHY ME?" She shrieked. The man shook his head sadly, but still smiled. "Selfish right to the end, aren't you? What you don't deserve is the choice I'm about to give you. I don't know why I bother, as I know what you're going to choose." He sighed, "That's what it's all about though. Choices." He lifted the gun and pointed it at her head. Naomi cringed, and he slowly moved his hand, aiming now at Pete, who only dropped his head and said nothing.15

"Choices, Naomi. You've made so many bad ones already, you really shouldn't get another. Maybe I should leave it up to your husband, instead?" He lowered the gun. "Pete? What do you think?" Pete just shook his head. The man faced Naomi again, the gun now resting on his knee. "Well, that's a bad choice on his part, I think, but..." He shrugged. "So, Naomi. I guess the choice will be yours. He raised the gun slightly and pointed first at her, then at Pete, then back at her. "The choice is simple, but it will be the most important one of your life, perhaps the last choice you'll ever make." He squatted in front of her and put the barrel of the gun to the side of her head. "The choice is this, you or your husband?"16

Naomi tried to pull away from the cold steel and the man slid the gun under the shelf of her jaw. "Make your choice, Naomi. One of you will die tonight. Will it be you..." He slid away and pressed the gun to Pete's temple. "...or will it be him? Your choice." Naomi muttered, "Just do whatever you're going to do. Get it over with, stop torturing me!" The man clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You don't get it, do you? It's your choice, Naomi. You or him? Decide quickly, before I get tired of this and kill both of you!" He pressed the gun harder into Pete's flesh. Naomi whispered something, which neither man could make out. "What's that? Speak up, woman." Naomi met his eyes, and repeated herself, still in a whisper, but this time just loud enough to be heard. 17

"Him. Kill him."18

"Do you hear that, Pete? Your loving wife over there just threw you to the wolves!" He straightened up and moved back a few paces, aiming the gun at Pete's face and cocking the hammer. "What do you think about that?" Pete opened his eyes and stared defiantly at his would-be executioner. "Just do it and be done, please. I don't care anymore. Just kill me." The man looked over at Naomi as he produced a silencer from a pocket and screwed it onto the barrel. "No last minute change of heart, perhaps?" Silence answered him. "Okay, then." There was a muffled pop, and Naomi fell over, a black hole where her right eye used to be. The man replaced the gun in his waistband and looked down at the body in disgust. "Wrong choice." 19

He turned back to Pete, who was staring at him, mouth agape. He smiled as Pete gasped, "I know who you are!" He nodded and pulled a knife from the ankle of his black boot. "I thought you might. You appear to be an intelligent man, taste in women notwithstanding." He stepped closer to Pete and looked down at him, encouragingly. Shocked, Pete stared up at him. "You're the man in the paper! You said an intruder murdered your wife, but it was you! You killed my Naomi, and you killed your own wife!" The man raised the knife and said calmly, "My name is Anthony Delgado, and I am the man from the paper, but I did not kill my wife. She simply made the wrong choice, much as 'your Naomi' did." With one swift stroke he sliced through the ropes that bound Pete to the bed. He replaced the knife in his boot, then straightened and offered Pete his hand.20

Shakily, Pete took the hand and rose to his feet. He looked down on Naomi's body and thought that he should feel sadness, but all he felt was a sick rage and disgust. He had loved her, taken care of her, and in return she'd almost gotten him killed. All because she couldn't keep it in her pants! He turned his back on the corpse and looked at Anthony. "Now what?" Anthony gestured at the door and said, "Perhaps we could find a more pleasant environment in which to continue our discussion? I believe I saw a study at the other end of this hall, and you look to me like the sort of man who would have a good bottle of scotch secreted away, am I correct?" Pete smiled and opened the door. "Twenty years old, in the bottom drawer of the desk. After you." In the study, Anthony pulled the scotch from the drawer and held it up to the light. "Ah, good man. Care to join me?" Pete nodded and Anthony produced two glasses from the same drawer.21

After he had poured and they were both seated comfortably at opposite ends of a long leather couch, he sighed. "Well, Pete. On to the 'now what'. I will be leaving soon, and then you shall have your own choice to make. Before you do, however, I ask that you take a look on that computer over there," He gestured towards the desk, "and look up the website we discussed earlier. There you will find your wife's profile, along with those of hundreds, maybe a thousand other sluts just like her. Just like my own dear, departed wife. I deleted her profile after the incident which you read about in the paper. I want you to take a good, hard look at that site, at the, the TRASH on there, and then make your choice." Anthony drained the rest of his scotch and stood up. He shocked Pete by offering his hand. Stunned, Pete finished his own drink, then stood and shook the proffered hand.22

Anthony asked that Pete stay in the study until he had left. After hearing the front door close, Pete crept down the hall to the living room. Anthony was gone, but resting on the small table near the door were both the knife and gun with which he had terrorized them. Pete picked them up, and without hesitation took them into the kitchen, where he wiped them thoroughly with a dish cloth. He returned to the study and turned on the computer. While he waited for the internet to connect, he cleaned the glass Anthony had used and replaced it in the bottom drawer, then wiped the bottle and poured himself another shot to calm his nerves. He had a hell of a choice to make. He found the site, and scrolled through the names and descriptions of dozens of married, yet 'available' women before finding his own wife. He looked at for only a moment, then deleted it. Luckily, she had always used the same password for everything. Ironically, it was their anniversary date.23

He looked through perhaps another dozen of the horrible profiles, then made his choice. He picked up the phone on the corner of his desk and called the police. He performed quite admirably, out of breath and sobbing that his wife had been murdered. He dropped the phone in it's cradle and went to the kitchen where he had left the knife and gun. He picked up both weapons and the dish rag he had used to wipe them. While he waited for the police to arrive, he placed the weapons in his personal safe then went through the house with the dish rag, wiping doorknobs and any other surface that Anthony would likely have touched. He returned the cloth to the kitchen sink, then sat in his study listening as the distant sirens grew closer.24

When the police arrived they found a distraught Pete in his study, crying and nearly hysterical. The lead sergeant poured him a shot from the nearby bottle and handed it to him. The liquor seemed to calm him somewhat and he gestured towards the bedroom where several officers were clustered in the doorway, staring at his wife's bound and battered body. Haltingly, he told his story. He told them that he had been attacked by a masked man who had bound him, then done the same to his wife when she came home a short time later. He chose not to tell them about the website or his wife's infidelities. He also chose not to tell them the identity of their attacker. "Oh no, officer. He never removed his mask, and I think he had gloves on too..."25

He sobbed and took another drink, straight from the bottle this time and finished the story. He told them about how his wife had been forced to choose and had selflessly sacrificed herself that he might live. How the masked man had then clubbed Pete over the head, knocking him unconscious. How he had woken to find his wife dead and his own ropes cut loose, then immediately called the police. How he had sat in this study drinking scotch until they showed up, as he could not bear to see his poor, darling wife's corpse in the other room. He chose not to tell them about the long conversation he and Anthony had had, or the weapons in his safe.26

After taking Pete's statement, Sergeant Montoya went down the hall to where the other officers were still loitering around the bedroom doorway, awaiting the coroners arrival. He took aside a lieutenant and whispered to him, "look familiar?" The lieutenant nodded grudgingly. "What did you get out of the husband, Sarge?" Sergeant Montoya sighed and looked over his shoulder at the broken hearted man in the study. "The same thing. It's just like that Doctor Delgado and his wife, and that Bailey couple before them. Looks like we got a serial killer on our hands. Shit!" At that moment the coroner entered, and Montoya busied himself with chasing any unnecessary officers out of the house, and leading the new widower to a waiting ambulance.27

***************28

Pete waited in the shadows behind a tall cabinet and watched the door. At last the knob turned and a willowy brunette entered. She frowned at the darkness and reached for a switch near the door. Pete sprang from his hiding place and grabbed her roughly, covering her mouth with one hand. He looked into her terrified face to be sure, but yes, this was the one. Sarah Wyatt, also known as FoxyLady07. He led her to the bedroom, where he had been enjoying a long conversation with her husband James, who was currently tied to a straight backed chair. He tied the 'foxy lady' to another chair across from her husband, then left the room. He listened at the door until the conversation reached the desired point, then reentered, silenced gun in hand.