Twisted
By Katharine Gabriel


She watched him with obsessive fascination. Ever since that day where she sat as a juror in the Shaun Murphy murder trial she was spellbound. She studied his every move he made, noticed what he wore, right down to the cufflinks.
Ah, Jack, whatever made you wear that ski cap today? What were you thinking? she thought as she watched the EADA make a statement on television. Someone needs to get rid of that for you and pretty soon I might just do that for you.
Jack McCoy. Ah… the mere mention of his name sends tremors throughout her body. She dreamt of the day where she would be face to face with the man. She would make the moment memorable for both of them. Oh yes…Jack McCoy would not easily forget her, she would make sure of that. She wants more from him than a handshake and a smile. She needed Jack to know her, to etch her name in indelible ink in his mind.
When we finally meet, Jack, you will look at me and know you never met anyone like me in your life, she promised silently to the image the telly projected.
She turned off the TV set when the segment ended, sending the room in pitch-black darkness. She was lying on the sofa, the remote loosely held in her hand. It was a hot night and she was perspiring like a pig. But it was more than the heat that making her sweat. Her heart was racing, her breathing was shallow and her skin was clammy and damp. She was excited. Manic, to some people, she guessed. All she could think about now was meeting the man who enthralled her.
Soon.
To impress him would take tremendous effort, she thought. He would not remember her from such trivial things as beauty or brains or money. Nah, for him to remember her she would need to do something that will strike a cord in him. That meant she would need to know things about him that very few people would know. Ah…but she had done her homework, she paid attention. She studied his life with academic studiousness. No one knows about Jack’s habits more than her. Huh, not even you sireee!, she silently scoffed. I know you like your own mother knew you!
Jack doesn’t live for the frivolities of life. One could probably say that he doesn’t have a life. He doesn’t have family, aside from an estranged daughter and an ex-wife. He rarely visits his siblings. He lives alone and quite modestly on the West Side. Apart from time to time drinking binges, he leads a pretty boring life.
But his life as an Executive Assistant District Attorney is another story. He lives and breathes his work. He craves the hunt his job afforded him. He relishes the chase, the pleadings for mercy and the cutthroat sentencing. His dark side goes beyond the sentencing. She knows about the thrill he secretly feels as each felon allocutes his crime to the court. She knows the guilty excitement that prosecutor feels as he listens to every sordid detail of the crime. It excited him, turned him on. Men like him publicly denounce these behaviors yet secretly jerk off at night thinking about the perverted teacher who fucks students in exchange for A pluses or the college freshman who happen to be latest whore in a fraternity house. Yeah, she knew men like Jack McCoy, she grew up with a father like him. But don’t you feel bad, Jackie, sweetheart. Dreaming about it doesn’t make you feel bad, she thought. It just makes you human like the rest of us.
She got up from the sofa and stumbled around the place in search of the kitchen. God, she was thirsty. God damn heat, she cursed. It had been a very humid in Manhattan. She almost didn’t push through with her plans because of it. But her desire to meet him was stronger than weather. My love can weather the weather, she joked to herself as she opened the fridge. She could use some ice-cold beer right about now. Luckily, there was a bottle of Corona, which she eagerly capped off and took a large swig. The amber liquid passed smoothly through her parched throat and warmed her stomach. Yeah… that certainly hit the spot. Now a sandwich isn’t so bad. I should take a bite to eat before I start working. Hastily, she further rummaged through the contents of the fridge grabbing some lunch meat, pickles and mayonnaise. Can’t have a sandwich without mayo.
She took her sandwich and beer back to the den. She glanced at the wall clock that adorned the room. 11:30 p.m. She got about 20 minutes before she needed to start working, she could still watch some late night show while she ate. She turned the TV on and started channel surfing. Finally settling on the Discovery Channel, she sat back and let the droning sound of the TV relax her. She began to notice the room around her. Shelves filled with books lined the walls. It was tastefully decorated with artifacts from all over the world. Hmmm…I didn’t know this fellow was much of a traveler, she commented as took note of the rice god that sat on the secretary. The room was very masculine and expressed the privacy the resident very much valued.
On the coffee table, she found a copy of the morning paper. She leaned forward towards the light of the television to read its headlines. She didn’t have time to read the paper that morning. She was too excited to even sit and wait for the toast to pop out of her toaster. The paper reported the latest developments in the serial murders of seniors that were happening in Manhattan. It seems that someone has been killing men in their seventies by suffocating them with a plastic bag and then cutting off their left ring finger. Seven men, dying the exact same way at the exact same time.
12 Midnight. Time to go to work.
She neatly folded the newspaper and placed it back on the table. Rising from the couch she turned to look at herself in the den mirror. Jack would love to get his hands on this maniac. I bet he has a million questions to ask. I’ll make sure he gets his chance. After all, this would be the last and most memorable murder.
The killer walked slowly towards the bedroom of the big dark house. Her mind was reeling with thoughts of her future meeting with McCoy. I need to look my best when we meet. I wonder where I kept my red dress? That dress always brought out the color of my eyes. I’ll crimp my hair and wear it loose. I’ll make the entire room smell of Poison.
She pulled the plastic bag out of her jacket.
Damn…I shouldn’t have lent those pumps to my cousin. That outfit will make me look like a knockout. Oh well, maybe Jack wouldn’t notice my shoes. I’m sure he’ll be busy thinking about the last hour of his crusty old boss. Plus, I bet he would like to know where I hide my collection. Seven pretty fingers matching seven dead hands. He’ll be dreaming of me from this day on.
With a wry twisted smile, she slowly covered the bound District Attorney’s head with clear plastic. Shhh, she whispered as the DA began to struggle, it won’t be long now.

end


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