the tension and, hopefully, ease her nervousness.
“Okay, if you say so,” she replies with a shrug. “Though, I’m pretty sure all serial killers say they aren’t serial killers before they torture their victim with ropes and tasers.”
I chuckle a little and make a grab for her hands that are wringing together in her lap. I give them a gentle squeeze and look deep into her uneasy eyes. “If you want to turn back, we can. Just say the words, Lia, and we’re out of here and on our way back to your car,” I tell her as I rub my fingers along her fidgety ones.
Lia exhales loudly and closes her eyes for a few seconds. “No. Show me,” she says. It’s in that moment I see the trust in her eyes. She knows I’m not some crazy psycho delivering her to her untimely death.
“Okay. If you’re sure?” I ask, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
“I’m sure. Let’s go,” she replies with a small smile.
I throw the car in drive with my left hand before returning it to the steering wheel. I have to use my left because I don’t let go of her hands with my right. They feel so small and warm nestled within my own. It’s comfortable.
I drive about a quarter of a mile back along the path before my headlights hit the small wooden shed along the creek bank. I park my Mustang in its usual spot next to the outbuilding. I turn off the engine, bathing us in instant quiet and darkness. You can hear the crickets chirp and the fish jumping. I still hold Lia’s hands within mine as if offering her reassurance and comfort in her time of need.
“What is this place?” she finally asks after a few minutes of quiet.
“This is my favorite place,” I tell her. “This is on the edge of my parent’s property. We’ve always fished and camped here when I was growing up, but it was owned by old man Baxter. He never used it so he sold this little strip of land - about ten acres - to my parents earlier this year. My dad has been the one taking care of the land anyway. He built that shed there when I was about ten years old. The creek that feeds into the Missouri River is right there,” I say as I point to the darkened area in front of us. “This little building is a small camping or fishing shed. Just a little place to get out of the elements if needed.”
The day is growing darker by the minute. Lia looks through the darkness and surveys the area. It’s heavily wooded right up to the creek bank. The small shack houses an old cot, folding chairs, fishing supplies, and some cookware.
“Wanna see?” I ask nervously.
“Yes,” she replies instantly, excited gray eyes meeting my slightly nervous ones.
I slide out of the car and walk around. Lia already has her door open and is stepping out by the time I get around to her. I take her soft hand within mine and walk her towards the shack. I use the key to unlock the second padlock on the door and pull out a couple of folding chairs.
The earth in front of the building is pretty flat so I open up the first chair and place it on level ground. I make a gesture with my hand, indicating for Lia to take a seat, before I open the second chair. I set my chair nice and close. Maybe I’ll grab a hold of her hand again.
Hell yes I’m doing it again.
With Lia sitting snugly next to me, I reach over and take that hand within mine. We sit in silence for several minutes, just enjoying the quiet and warmth of nightfall. The breeze is warm and has a sticky, muggy feel, but I’m so used to it that it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t appear to bother Lia too much either, as a matter of fact.
I glance over at her. She has her legs extended in front of her, her head back and her eyes closed. She looks so peaceful in the dark of night. Like nothing could possibly bother her. No secrets. No past. No baggage that I know we all carry.
Lia must feel my eyes on her because she slowly opens hers, lashes seductively moving like a slow
“Okay, if you say so,” she replies with a shrug. “Though, I’m pretty sure all serial killers say they aren’t serial killers before they torture their victim with ropes and tasers.”
I chuckle a little and make a grab for her hands that are wringing together in her lap. I give them a gentle squeeze and look deep into her uneasy eyes. “If you want to turn back, we can. Just say the words, Lia, and we’re out of here and on our way back to your car,” I tell her as I rub my fingers along her fidgety ones.
Lia exhales loudly and closes her eyes for a few seconds. “No. Show me,” she says. It’s in that moment I see the trust in her eyes. She knows I’m not some crazy psycho delivering her to her untimely death.
“Okay. If you’re sure?” I ask, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
“I’m sure. Let’s go,” she replies with a small smile.
I throw the car in drive with my left hand before returning it to the steering wheel. I have to use my left because I don’t let go of her hands with my right. They feel so small and warm nestled within my own. It’s comfortable.
I drive about a quarter of a mile back along the path before my headlights hit the small wooden shed along the creek bank. I park my Mustang in its usual spot next to the outbuilding. I turn off the engine, bathing us in instant quiet and darkness. You can hear the crickets chirp and the fish jumping. I still hold Lia’s hands within mine as if offering her reassurance and comfort in her time of need.
“What is this place?” she finally asks after a few minutes of quiet.
“This is my favorite place,” I tell her. “This is on the edge of my parent’s property. We’ve always fished and camped here when I was growing up, but it was owned by old man Baxter. He never used it so he sold this little strip of land - about ten acres - to my parents earlier this year. My dad has been the one taking care of the land anyway. He built that shed there when I was about ten years old. The creek that feeds into the Missouri River is right there,” I say as I point to the darkened area in front of us. “This little building is a small camping or fishing shed. Just a little place to get out of the elements if needed.”
The day is growing darker by the minute. Lia looks through the darkness and surveys the area. It’s heavily wooded right up to the creek bank. The small shack houses an old cot, folding chairs, fishing supplies, and some cookware.
“Wanna see?” I ask nervously.
“Yes,” she replies instantly, excited gray eyes meeting my slightly nervous ones.
I slide out of the car and walk around. Lia already has her door open and is stepping out by the time I get around to her. I take her soft hand within mine and walk her towards the shack. I use the key to unlock the second padlock on the door and pull out a couple of folding chairs.
The earth in front of the building is pretty flat so I open up the first chair and place it on level ground. I make a gesture with my hand, indicating for Lia to take a seat, before I open the second chair. I set my chair nice and close. Maybe I’ll grab a hold of her hand again.
Hell yes I’m doing it again.
With Lia sitting snugly next to me, I reach over and take that hand within mine. We sit in silence for several minutes, just enjoying the quiet and warmth of nightfall. The breeze is warm and has a sticky, muggy feel, but I’m so used to it that it doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t appear to bother Lia too much either, as a matter of fact.
I glance over at her. She has her legs extended in front of her, her head back and her eyes closed. She looks so peaceful in the dark of night. Like nothing could possibly bother her. No secrets. No past. No baggage that I know we all carry.
Lia must feel my eyes on her because she slowly opens hers, lashes seductively moving like a slow
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