Wrong Person – Part 2
“Hey, Mark,” Joanie, the waitress at his favorite diner, greeted him happily as he came in for his lunch.
Every Wednesday was lunch at the diner. He didn’t even have to order. Joanie had it ready for him. Tuna melt with fries. Two pickles, no slaw. Diet Coke. After that, it would be black coffee and peach cobbler. It was his celebratory lunch. He’d always make sure to find his girls on Sunday nights or early Monday so that by Wednesday at lunch, he’d have done his process, and he could celebrate.
Then Thursday, he’d start looking for a new girl.
Wednesday lunch was a tradition his father started when he was little. Mark’s mother left them when he was barely a toddler, leaving his dad to do it all. The man was broken, and his anger and hurt from his wife left him hard and miserable. He’d lash out at Mark, hit him, but he’d always feel terrible afterward. So lunch at the diner was his way of apologizing. He never actually told Mark he was sorry for any of it, but he hoped the cobbler would be enough.
Mark knew his father loved him, but he was a constant reminder of the worst moment of his life: when his wife left. His father’s drinking was one of the main reasons she decided to abandon them, especially when he got too handsy after a binge. Much like the diner visits were to apologize to Mark, his father would bring her a flower every night. One might ask what kind of woman leaves her toddler with such an abusive person, but Mark knew he’d never get the answers.
As Mark enjoyed his lunch, he relived his last victim’s final moments. It was hard to explain how it felt watching the life leave her body. It was magical. He knew it was cliché, but this was love for him. It was just how he was built. Mark finished his cobbler and imagined what his next girl would look like. He definitely had a type—small, blonde, weak. Maybe his next girl would have short hair instead of long. Or maybe she’d have a tattoo or green eyes. He felt himself getting aroused as he daydreamed.
***
Kara couldn’t believe he would do this to her. How could Jonathan just dump her like that? How? It didn’t make sense. Nothing she did for him was ever enough. His excuse was that she was “too much to handle,” whatever that meant. Kara was furious. She would cry, she would yell, she would cry again, and then she’d scream.
The only place she could scream without anyone hearing her was in the mountains. It was her place to vent. Her mother told her not to go there alone because you never knew who was lurking in those hiding places in the woods, especially with all those missing girls lately.
“Mom,” Kara said, “I’m a black belt in two martial arts. I also have a pocket knife and pepper spray. If I want to go up there, I’ll be fine.”
“Kara, large men…”
“MOM.”
Her mother was always on her case. She was twenty-four years old. She didn’t need a babysitter. She thought about going there that night to scream it out but decided that maybe it was better to go to Jonathan’s house and key his car. No, he’d know she did it. Then he’d say something mean like, “This is why I can’t deal with you. You are nuts.” Whatever. She wasn’t nuts. He made her nuts. Men were such jerks.
It was Thursday afternoon and, after calling Jonathan several times, she decided to go up to the mountains and let it out. She would find a section of brush to beat the crap out of with her wooden practice katana from the dojo. She couldn’t carry a real katana, Japanese swords being a deadly weapon that can’t be concealed, so the practice version would suffice. Her pocket knife stayed in her cleavage.
It was a gorgeous late summer day, and there was a nice breeze that calmed some of the scorching sunshine. Whenever Kara entered the trail, she’d sing to herself. Usually, it was punk music, anarchist melodies that let her release her frustration with the world around her. She’d belt out the lyrics, growling out a tune and feeling like the angry words and aggressive melodies were part of her purge. Jonathan hated punk music. He found it to be just noise. He liked country music. Kara hated country music.
Kara parked her car in the lot closest to the trail. No cars could go past this point. She grabbed her backpack and her weapons and headed toward her favorite spot.
