Please be kind, I know this isn’t going to be my greatest piece, but the only reason I took the Creative Writing class was so I can be a better blogger.

Part One: Jan.
“Excuse, me miss?” I look up from my book, “All the President’s Men,” slightly annoyed to be interrupted just as it was getting good to see an attractive man with wavy, sandy brown hair looking down at me. He gestured towards his arm, which had been sloppily bandaged and in a sling, and looking down at me asked, “can you help me with something, if you’re not too busy?”
I took in the scenario: it was a bright, sunshiny day at Lake Sammamish State Park in Issaquah, WA, and tens of thousands of people showed up to participate in Rainer Beer’s annual summer picnic (on top of the regular everyday park goers). I arrived only a half hour earlier after spending my morning re-writing my case notes and doing laundry, my yellow Tiger ten speed resting against a tree nearby. I took him in: he was attractive and tall, with a thin but muscular build and dark, wavy hair. Working with the public the way I do, I like to think I was good at reading people, I mean you had to be to do my job well… I thought to myself, “he’s harmless.”
“What do you need? Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll talk about it,” I implored, looking up at him. The blinding sun hurt my eyes, even with sunglasses on. He plopped down on my blanket and exhaled, what sounded like a sigh of relief. “I’ve been asking people for the better part of an hour, no one will help me. I need help bringing a catamaran to my parents’ house. It’s right up the road,’ he pointed towards the park’s entrance. I put my book down and think about it briefly: “I’ve never gone sailing before. How about this: if I help you, then you have to take me sailing?” Flirtatious, but innocent. Jim would be happy you were making new friends.
“Hi, I’m Ted,” the man introduced himself as the two of you stand up, and he begins to help gather your things. As you begin to walk away you notice another man, sitting only a few feet away in a lawn chair, frowning slightly to himself but whatever he was thinking he kept it to himself. On your way to his car, you learn he is a law student at the University of Washington and grew up in Tacoma, and as you approach his dinged-up Volkswagen you notice there’s no sailboat. You question him, he appears confused: ‘Oh, did I say take it to my parents’ house? I meant, it’s AT my parents’ house.” For the first time there’s a strange feeling in your gut. Unease. You look over at him, then glance at your wrist. 12:45 PM. You figure you could take an hour out of your day to help a stranger in need. It will be fine.
The attentive stranger carries your blanket and book to the car, and agrees to drop you back off at the park when finished, “so you can pick up her bike and ride home.” I climbed into the passenger’s seat, and he started the vehicle up. It had an odd, metallic like smell, and as soon as I shut the door, I immediately knew it was the wrong move.
As he pulled out of the lot and into the park’s main drag I noticed a distinct change in the vehicle’s atmosphere: it actually seemed to get a few degrees cooler despite the ninety-degree day. He slowly crept through the line of cars towards the exit, the rickety car loudly idling as he coasted through first gear… my new friend “Ted” looked over at me, then glanced in his rearview mirror and said “it’s a good thing we decided to leave when we did,” nodding behind him towards to the quickly forming line behind you. “Everyone suddenly wants to get out of here,” I mindlessly thought to myself, as I played with a loose string on the strap of my yellow bikini.
He turned left onto East Lake Sammamish Parkway NE and (surprisingly) quickly brought the vehicle up to sixty miles an hour. After only a few minutes of driving he suddenly jerked the wheel and screeched to a halt at to the side of the road and lunged towards something underneath the passenger’s seat, and after fumbling for a quick moment he triumphantly pulled out a crowbar that had “silver duct tape wrapped around the handle” (I absent mindedly noted to myself). I screamed, and tried to fight him off, but it was of no use. I managed to get a few good digs in with my nails before he hit me over the head and I saw black.

Part Two: Ted.
I was reaching the end of the line in Washington… my “final hurrah,” as they say: my days in Seattle were over, and when I was finished tying up all the loose ends in a few weeks, I was uprooting my life and moving to the Beehive State for my second attempt at law school. I glanced at the watch on my wrist: five minutes to noon. I parked my car at Lake Sammamish and got out. It was a beautiful day in the Evergreen State and swarms of people surrounded you on all sides: little boys in swim trunks splashing their giggling sisters, a gaggle of elderly women caked in sunscreen, and beautiful young coeds were out sunning themselves, wearing next to nothing. I put my keys in my pocket and began slowly making my way through that park. I took it ALL in (the couple swigs of vodka didn’t hurt, either… in fact, it helped me be brave).
My right arm was securely bandaged and wrapped up in a beige sling, and as I walked I made sure to favor it as I made my way through to the bandstand. Without any hesitation, I walked up to an attractive blonde woman: ‘Hi, I’m Ted,” I said to her, offering her a friendly smile as I introduced myself. “Can you possibly help me load a sailboat onto the top of my car? It’s right over there,” I said as I pointed towards the nearby parking lot. She hesitated. “Oh no,” I thought to myself… “I was losing her…”
“Oh it’s not very big, or heavy.” I hold up my injured arm and made a face: “I normally have no problem doing it myself, but as you can see, I’m having problems at the moment.” She softly laughed, and said sure, she would help. You smile to yourself and feel relief. As you made your way to the parking lot you tried to keep her engaged, and talking: you made sure to mention you were a law student and had a girlfriend with a young daughter… you wanted her to trust you… all she had to really do was get in the damn vehicle and outside of the park, you could handle the rest. You pointed towards your bronze Beetle: “that’s me.”
She frowned to herself. “Where’s the boat? You said it was on your car?” Oh, did I? “Well, what I meant to say was, it was at my parent’s house just up the hill…. But don’t worry, I’ll bring you back when we’re finished… I would really appreciate your help.” I smile sincerely at her. Her face clouded over, and she said she couldn’t leave because she was meeting her parents and husband.” I thanked her and walked away. Whatever, there were so many others. I’ll find someone that wants to help an injured person in need and begin making my way back towards the bandstand area.
I scanned the beach: my eyes fixed on a petite blonde girl sunbathing in a yellow bikini, reading a thick book. She was tiny and looked like she weighed barely 100 pounds. Perfect. I approach her and walk to the edge of her blanket, where I stand for a few moments waiting for her to notice me. When she finally looks up from her book she notices me, and while shielding her eyes from the sun brightly says, “well, hello there. What can I do for you?” I gesture towards my arm: “Well, I need some help.” She seemed to consider what I said briefly then, after a few moments said, “why don’t you sit down, and we’ll talk about it?” So, I did. “I’ve been asking people for the better part of an hour, no one will help me,” I hear myself lie. I point towards the parking lot and continue: “there’s a catamaran on top of my car; I need help getting it off. I normally have no problem doing it myself, but as you can see, I’m a little impaired at the moment.” She looks like she briefly thinks about what to do, then closes her book and puts it down on her blanket. “I’ve never gone sailing before. How about this: if I help you, then you have to take me sailing?” I happily accepted her offer and helped her gather her belongings. I introduce myself as before: “Hi, I’m Ted,” and without skipping a beat replied, “hi, I’m Jan.”
Near her was a man around my age, with broad shoulders and a brush cut staring at us… No, staring at ME. His eyes were narrow, and I felt as if he was watching my every move and was almost studying me in a way. I brushed him off; I was imagining things. It was the weed I smoked earlier. On your way to the car, you try your hardest to be light and casual, almost cheerful. I volunteer that I am a law student at the University of Washington, and I grew up in Tacoma in a family with four younger brothers and sisters. As the two of you get closer to the car you notice she hesitates: “there’s no sailboat,’ she says, looking at you quizzically. ‘Oh, did I say take it to my parents’ house? I meant, it’s AT my parents’ house.” She seems to relax, but only slightly and even though you suspect she’s onto you, she still gets in.
As you slowly make your way towards the exit, you look over at your new friend, then glance in the rearview mirror and notice a long queue of cars that has lined up behind you: “it’s a good thing we decided to leave when we did.” She nodded her head and played with her bikini top. I turned onto the main highway and we rode in silence for a few miles. “This is it,” I thought to myself, when I pulled off to the side of the road and lunged underneath her seat for my trusty crowbar. She screams loudly, which hurts your ears and only pisses you off, and you bring the crowbar down over her head once. Twice. Three times, until she finally sinks down in her seat. She was finally quiet.

Part Three: Denise.
It was hot. Even with minimal clothes on, the heat was awful. I sprawled out on our blanket, my toes sinking into the outlying sand. We had already been there for a few hours, and I was about four beers and three valiums in. I popped another pill and followed it by a long pull of beer. Correction: I was now four beers and four valiums in. My sunscreen had started to wear off, and my skin was starting to turn a rosy pink color, but I didn’t care. We had already been there for a few hours and I was positive we weren’t sticking around much longer.
I looked at Ken: he was asleep in a lawn chair after imbibing too much. I had to pee, so I got up and began to make my way towards the bathrooms. Bob didn’t say anything, and you heard Nancy try to ask where you were going but you just kept walking and ignore her. After using the facilities, you wash your hands and splash some cold water on your face, an act that greatly helps with the ungodly heat.
As you start to make your way back to your group there’s suddenly a man in front of you, wearing white shorts and a white shirt, his arm was in a sling. He wants to know if you have a few moments available to help him, he needs assistance with putting a sailboat on his car so he can go boating with some friends. His brother had ditched him and because of his sprained wrist he was unable to do it by himself. I glanced in the direction of my friends: everything was as I left it five minutes before. He must have sensed my hesitation because he quickly assured me it wasn’t super heavy and would only take ten minutes, at the most. “Did they even notice I was gone? What’s another twenty minutes?” I thought to myself, as I heard myself agree to help. He told me his car was across the lot, and his parents’ house was only “five minutes away” in Issaquah. I accepted.
His car (a bronze VW Bug) was in rough shape, something he laughed at as you both got in: “it’s only until I finish law school, I’m in my last semester,” he said, making a point of meeting your eyes with his when he said it. You got the impression he was trying to impress you. He started the car and you began making your way through the parking lot. The valium dulled your senses, and it’s as if there’s a warm, fuzzy blanket enveloping you. The beer exacerbated it. You feel… good. He opens the car door for you and climb in. He slams it shut behind you then walks over to the drivers’ side and gets in.
He turns onto one of the surrounding roadways and you both make a polite attempt at small talk (although it’s mostly one sided, on his end): he is a law student at the University of Utah and is only in Seattle for a few weeks to visit his family. His girlfriend has a small daughter, and he said they’ve been together for a few years. For the most part though he’s quiet, doesn’t say much… you’re used to quiet men: your dad is a man of few words. So is your brother, and you don’t question his short, “straight to the point” responses. He keeps driving and before you know it, you’re in the outskirts of Issaquah, quickly approaching Preston. “This is a much longer trip than he made it out to be,” I thought as I uncomfortably shifted in my seat.
After a few miles you finally find the courage to speak: “where are we going? There is no boat, is there?” Despite the high rate of speed we were moving at my hand slowly started to make its way to the door handle. He laughed softly, but distractedly. “No.” I looked around: we were surrounded by nothing, and were in the beginning of the “Issaquah Alps,” as the locals call it (in actuality, the mountains were named Cougar, Squak, and Tiger), and after a few moments of silence he suddenly thrust his fist out and hit me square in the chin. Then again. And again. I sprang into action: despite the booze and drugs, I try my hardest to fight off his blows. Suddenly he grabbed a fistful of my hair, held my head steady, and punched me hard directly in the face, four or five times (I lost count). I finally give in and stop fighting it.
Once he stops, he takes a moment to inspect his handiwork: I could feel the blood dripping down my face, and I can taste its metallicness in my mouth. I slink back in my seat and try to make myself feel as small as possible, drifting in and out of consciousness. “That will teach you to fight back,” he muttered, to no one in particular (most likely himself). I whimper softly and wipe the sticky redness from my eyes.
He starts driving again and turns up the radio and begins humming along to the music. “Annie’s Song” by John Denver. That’s Moms’ favorite singer, I thought. When he slowed down for a stop sign, he must have been reading my thoughts, and said “don’t even think about it,” before speeding up and driving right through it. He then hit me in the head, and everything went dark.

Part Four: Ted
With the small blonde at the cabin, you head back to Lake Sammamish. It’s something you’ve never even thought about before, takin two women in the same day. But something about how smoothly the first abduction went along with the excitement of leaving for law school makes you feel bold, and excited. It’s five minutes to four by the time you arrive. As you walk through the park you begin to look for a young woman that was by herself, young, attractive, and small in stature. It wasn’t long before I came across a young woman (younger than the one, back in the cabin waiting for us, and a bit taller) with long golden-brown hair that had just exited the restrooms by Tibbett’s Beach. I made my move.
“Excuse me, young lady… could you help me launch my sailboat?” She looked at me with a blank expression for a few moments, then asked what I did to hurt my arm. When I told her about my “unfortunate pickleball injury” she seemed mildly sympathetic but said no, apologizing profusely, claiming she was unable to help because she had friends waiting for her. But I sensed her reluctance to tell me no and persisted, and after a while of this back and forth I sensed I was getting nowhere and walked away.
After getting a hot dog and taking a leak I began to walk around again, and shortly after I walked out of the bathroom I ran into another attractive young woman, a teenager that introduced herself to me as “Patricia.” Patty was much more brazen than the last few girls I encountered, and had no issues telling me “NO, I will not help you” before she turned and walked the other way towards a large group of people. “Fine, well fuck you too.’ I thought to myself, sullenly. This was going to be a bit harder than I thought.
I got up and walked towards the lake… There was something about the waves and the sound of the water that soothed my soul. I liked to be near it. I watched the kiddies swim around with their floaties while their mothers fussed, saying to them “don’t go out too far!” (despite the watchful eyes of the lifeguards). It wasn’t long before a tall woman with dark blonde hair wearing a pink bikini top and blue jean cutoffs caught my attention. After watching her from a distance for a few moments I walked up and introduced myself. “Hello, my name is Ted. I was wondering if you could help me put my sailboat on my car.” She looked away from my eyes and immediately said no, and that she “wasn’t very strong” and would be of no help.
I was in no mood to argue. If she didn’t want to help, so be it. I walked around a bit, wading around in the water at Tibbets Beach in a pathetic attempt to cool off. As I slowly walked around the water I looked up towards the bathrooms: an attractive, dark-haired beauty caught my eye: she had walked away from a small group of people and was making her way towards the ladies room. I quickly got out of the water and made my way towards where I knew our paths would eventually intersect, and I waited.
It wasn’t long before the attractive brunette was in front of me. “Excuse me, miss?” She stopped and looked at me, wide-eyed. Then she smiled. “Do you have a few moments to spare to help me? I need some help with putting a sailboat on top of my car so I can go out on the water with some friends later. My brother blew me off for a girl, and because of my injury I can’t manage it by myself. It’s less than five minutes away, at my parents house in Issaquah.” She glanced towards her friends, then back at me. She didn’t seem fazed by the request, and quickly said, ‘sure, why not?” You smile.
You start to walk towards the parking lot, and when you point at your car she giggles: “I know, I know,” you say, laughing good naturedly. “It’s rough. But thankfully it’s also temporary, and only until I finish law school, I’m in my last semester.” That seems to satisfy her curiosity, and she gets in. She’s quiet, but polite. As you slowly make your way through the parking lot. You try to fill the silence with meaningless conversation: “I’m in my last semester of law school in Utah, I’m only home for a few weeks to visit with my family before school starts up again.” She nods silently and looks out the window. I continue: “It’s hard being away from my girlfriend, and her little girl. I’ve been in her life a long time, I’m basically her father,” I say, in an attempt to put her mind at ease.
By now you’re almost out of Issaquah, and for the first time she expresses concern: “where are we going?” I don’t say anything, but I look over and meet her eyes. “We’re not going to get a boat, are we?” I laugh, and softly said, “no.” I took in the moment, and I finally sensed it: fear. It was time.
Before I even realized what I was doing I brought the car to a sudden halt, and my fist darted out, making contact with her jaw. Then I hit her again. And again. She suddenly sprung to life, and tried to shove me away from her, screaming… her long hair getting tangled up in everything. I finally grab a fistful of it, and punched her in the face, over and over again. She finally relents and sits back. I’m not sure if she’s unconscious or had just given up. I take a moment and look at what I have done: Her hair was a tangled mess, and there was blood all over her face, and in her eyes. “That will teach you to fight back,” I muttered, to no one in particular. She meekly coughs and unsuccessfully attempts to wipe the blood from her eyes.
I put the car in drive again and began making my way to the cabin. I had enough of listening to her whimpering, so I turned up the radio. “You fill up my senses, like a night in a forest… Like the mountains in springtime…” When we approach a stop close to our destination I see her hand move towards the door handle. “Don’t even THINK about it,” before I hit her on the side of the head. That time I was certain I knocked her unconscious.

Part Five: Jan:
When I woke up, I was alone… I don’t know how long I was out for, but the sun was still out. I was in a makeshift cabin that had a dirt floor and no lights. My shorts and bikini bottoms were around my ankles, and my arms tied at my wrists above my head, secured at a beam. Adrenaline. Panic. Fear. Jim.
Your new husband was in California, finishing up graduate school. “He has no idea where I am.” I struggled for a while, but it was useless. The constant rubbing of your ligatures was only making your skin raw. You have to use the bathroom, but there was nowhere or way to relieve yourself. So, you hold it. You listen and seem to be surrounded by silence. You’re in a crudely constructed hunting cabin, it seems. And looking out the window you’re surrounded by a thicket of lush, green trees.
You sit, in disbelief, and wonder how you got there. You had always been so careful, so cautious. You worked in law enforcement, for Christ’s sake. You knew how to be safe. Suddenly you her something: a car, coming towards you. The same car as before. “It’s him” He parks, and you hear him talking to someone. “He’s not alone?” Is it a second male? You quickly fall limp. Pretending to be asleep. Or unconscious. Or, both. He comes in briefly and you can feel him studying you but you don’t dare to open your eyes. You hear footsteps walking away, then the door open and slam.
After only a moment or two he’s back, and you’re horrified at what happens next: its’ another woman, her wrists and ankles bound. He drops her next you, surprisingly gently then leaves again.

Part Six: Denise.
When you wake up, you’re on the floor in a dark room. You’re hogtied. The floor was only dirt. You try to make sense of your surroundings, your eyes quickly adapting to the lack of light. Thank God they do, this was a matter of life or death. It all suddenly hits you all at once: you tried helping a law student with a dirty old VW do something with a boat, at his parents’ house by Lake Sammamish. A loud scream suddenly pierces through the room, and it was only then that you noticed a small blonde woman fighting with the man that brought you here. She had a large, gaping wound on the back of her head that was gushing blood, but despite her small stature she was really putting up a fight.
Suddenly, with a sudden surge of invisible strength, the man subdued her, wrapping his hands around her neck, squeezing tightly until she passed out, her body going limp. But he didn’t stop: he kept going, and as he was doing it he didn’t take his eyes off her face. “It’s like he forgot I was there,” you think to yourself. When he finally took his hand off her neck, he stood over her for a few moments, as if he was smelling her. It was in this moment where you suddenly realize you had been so scared you relieved yourself.
He sits down at the table and pulls a clear bottle out of his back pocket and takes a few long drinks from it. He’s out of breath, as if the previous five minutes had just completely exhausted him. You sit there, quiet, watching him. Crying softly. He gets up and starts making his way towards you, slowly. His eyes never leave yours. “I don’t know why I’m like this,” he says. A poor attempt at an apology, of sorts. By now the substances had worn off, you wish he would give you the rest of what was in his bottle on the table.
He’s very clearly savoring this, enjoying it. You realize you must have been asleep for a while; the sun isn’t nearly as bright as it was when you left Lake Sammamish. As he makes his way towards you, you know this is the end for you.

Part Seven: Ted
When you park the car with your new friend, she’s still asleep. So that she doesn’t run off you dig out the handcuffs you keep in your glove compartment box, and put one on her wrist and attach the other on the steering wheel; this is just to keep her secure (for the time being). You go in the cabin and assess the situation: the perky blonde case worker was still asleep in the corning (“everyone gets to sleep but me,” I grumbled to myself). Fumbling for the joint in your pocket, you go outside and light it up, breathing in deeply and holding in the smoke for a few seconds before exhaling sharply. After repeating the same process a few times, I extinguish the end and put what I have left in my pocket.
You walk over to the passenger’s side of the car and look at your raven-haired beauty: her lip had been badly split, and her left eye was black, her socket appeared to be crushed. She moved around slightly and softly groaned. She’s awake, but barely. You quickly find the handcuff key in your breast pocket and free your victim, carrying her from the car to the cabin, and gingerly place her on the floor, as to not hurt her.
Since you went outside to smoke, your other little blonde friend has woken up. She sits on the floor, and looks up at you, unsure of what is happening. The brunette stirs slightly. You can wait no longer; your needs need to be satiated. It’s been long enough. You make your move and grab a knife from the crudely made kitchen counter and cut the blonde down from the rafters. She briefly fights you, which surprises you… but you’ve had enough of this. With a burst of energy, you manage to overpower her, and wrap your hands around her neck and squeeze, hard. Harder. Longer. You finally feel her go limp, but you don’t stop.
Once you feel the life leave her body you stand over her and inhale her last breath. She is now a part of you and always will be. You’re suddenly exhausted and need to sit down. You barely make it to the chair when you collapse on it, and take a long pull from the vodka bottle from your back pocket. The brunette starts crying, softly. You put the bottle down and start making your way towards her, silently. You meet her eyes, shrug your shoulders and say, “I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“You don’t have to do this,” she said through her sobs. And she’s right, I don’t HAVE to, I want to. This is a compulsion that is bigger than me, bigger than anyone… doesn’t she understand that. You take her life the same way you take the tiny blondes. It helps to satiate your bloodlust, but only for now. There would be others.