Hello! Zoe here, being not only a Fabulous Feline but a gracious one as well. Emily (remember her—my foolish human?) got such a kick out of sharing my spotlight last month that she asked me, “Can I contribute a story this month . . . one that’s purely my own . . . can I?”
I thought, “I’m not sure you can,” but what came out of my mouth was a very cordial, “You may.” I mean, let’s get one thing straight: I am a lover of words, a wordsmith. Call me a purist. But if she does not know the difference between “can” and “may,” well . . . I am not going to waste my time explaining it to her or on this introduction. Let’s get to it and get it over with. (I can’t get her off the computer, anyway, so I may as well acquiesce. I must warn you, though—this is one creepy story!)
Twenty Questions (by Emily, all by herself….sheesh!)
Maybe you have always been perfect. Maybe you think you have never made a mistake. Let me tell you something—if this was your first mistake, it was a doozy. You should never have assumed you killed me when you left me to die.
Now it is my turn. Trust me, I will not repeat your mistake. I will be perfect. And I will stay by your side until your heart beats its last beat, until your lungs gasp for their last breath, until the frantic electrical synapses in your sick and dying brain cease to fire. Until I see your bodily fluids seep from your disgusting flesh. Yes, I will stay right by your side during your final hours. I will even hold your hand while you say good-bye to this world.
Of course, you will not be saying good-bye, per se. Because you will not be able to speak. You will not be able to move a muscle. You will be very aware, though; that is both the miracle—the magic really—and the horror of the drug with which I injected you. You know this is true; you feel it already, don’t you? And so now it is my turn, my chance to instill fear into your heart and soul (if you, in fact, have either) before I leave you for dead. And you will be. Dead. But you will not leave peacefully. I will make sure that you regret whispering “my love” against my neck as if I were a willing partner in your crime.
It did not take me a long time to track you down. It wasn’t even hard. You were too stupid to cover your face. And, alas, you dropped your phone. Your friends are as stupid as you are. They do say “birds of a feather” . . . it was the easiest thing I’d ever done, to dupe them into leading me right to you. Yes, it was almost too easy. I am a patient woman. I took my time to get to this point. I let you marinate in your unremorseful glee, to take comfort in your faulty assumption that you had gotten away with the perfect murder.
I will have my fun with you now. The fun begins with a game. I don’t usually play this game with anyone but friends; however, in your case, I will make an exception. What’s that? Are you trying to speak? Don’t bother, my love, don’t bother. Just listen to me.
It should take about twenty questions until your last breath. Oh, I do not intend to ask you anything about that night, or why you did what you did to me. Even if you could speak to answer me, it’s a moot point. You see, I am alive and this time I am in control. Frankly, I don’t really care why you did what you did. The only thing I care about is the fact that you mistakenly left me for dead, because that was your biggest mistake. Your worst mistake. And your final mistake.
Even though you cannot answer me, I know you can hear me. So . . . let the game begin!
How frustrating is this for you? Are you hating the fact that I have complete control over you—you who had all the control the night you tried to kill me? How scared are you? Are you as scared as I was when you snuck up behind me that rainy night as I walked home from work, when you covered my mouth with that rag that rendered me unconscious? Are you as frightened now as I was then? Do you feel as alone as I did when I awoke to find myself in a dark, deserted field, my hands and feet bound, tape over my mouth? Do I look as crazy to you now as you did to me then, when I awoke to find your insane eyes and evil laughter my only company? Are you at least grateful that I have left your sorry-ass body clothed, even though you used your knife to slowly and methodically slice my clothes from my body? Are you wondering if you will survive this experience at my hands? Are you praying silently that you will survive, as I prayed when you violated my very core, when your violent act spilled itself in and on me?
Are you seeing your life flash before your eyes? Do you have a wife, children who may be worried about you? How do you think your parents will feel when they learn they have lost their son, that their precious boy has been murdered? Do you think they will be haunted forever by never knowing how you spent your last moments, whether you suffered much before you left the land of the living? Are you hoping, as I’d hoped, that your death will be quick and painless? Are you feeling your systems shut down? Is it getting harder to breathe? Do you wish you had never met me, that you had just left me to my business that night? Are you seeing your dead relatives coming to meet you? You must be feeling that warm liquid flowing down your leg now; is that a gurgle I just heard?