The man in his thirties lit a cigarette. The dimly lit room revealed the journalist's fearful eyes on the other side of the table. The man smoked deeply and, after blowing out the smoke, began to speak. "You, Miss Reporter, have been watching me, right?" He put out the cigarette and began to smoke another. "Well, here I am."
The woman remained silent, panic drowning her in doubts: How had that man entered her house? What was he doing there? "You don't need to deny it, I bet you're wondering how I noticed," she mocked. "I recommend you improve your surveillance techniques. What are you looking for? An exclusive? You can ask without filters, I'll answer everything."
"How...?"
"The emergency stairs," she pointed lazily to a window. "My boyfriend can arrive at any moment," she clenched her hands to hide her trembling.
"Then it would be better if he didn't see us together. My time here will depend on your interview." — Were you the one who killed Rachel Alison? —he wanted to know bluntly in an attempt to appear firm before the intruder. His instinct to run away did not seem a viable option. —Excuse me?
The girl you visited and woke up dead with a knife in her neck. —I'm not following you, Miss journalist.
—Are you trying to mess with me, Mr. Gregory?
—Nothing could be further from the truth —he shook his hand
—I remember Rachel, it's impossible to forget something like that. —What led you to kill the poor girl? She hadn't done anything wrong. —And what makes you think I killed her? You see things from the wrong perspective, don't think for a second that she was special —he shrugged his shoulders—. We've all done things we're not proud of, even you: you want to know what happened so you can publish an article about it so your readers can satisfy their morbid curiosity, all while rejoicing under the thought that the killer is a monster. Can I tell you something? No one is different... some less than others and yet I don't see myself as the one who's going to judge them for that —she said while putting out her cigarette.
The journalist had begun to write something down in her diary. —If you're so interested in my story with Rachel, then I'll tell you. I met her in April, close to May. I discovered her one afternoon: very white skin, clear eyes... she looked like a sculpture, you know? From that moment I knew.
—From the way you describe her it seems that you liked the girl, what did you know at that moment?
—You're not going to understand... and I'm not going to explain it to you.
—Go on with the story, please —she said, hoping not to make him angry.
—But if you interrupt me again with absurd questions, the interview is over. —He lit another cigarette and continued—: From that moment on, not a single day went by when I didn't think about her. I assumed she was from the university because she took the academic bus, the same one I used. For the next few weeks I just followed her from afar. —Did you never notice while she was doing it?
—They didn't let you.
—People, don't they see how crowded the streets of this city are?
—That's not...
—Will you deny it? —He asked cynically—. It just happened to you. —You think you're very clever, don't you?
—Not at all, —he denied—I'm just pointing out a point. Back to the story: I managed to discover her address, places she frequented and even the degree she studied. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that she studied the same degree as me: English Philology. How did I not find her before? I needed a reason to approach her, I couldn't just show up and say "Hi, my name is Edgar, how are you?” that only works in movies so I decided to wait until the final exams came around. The plan was so simple that it almost seemed like a child's play: sit and wait in the library during free time until she arrived.
"What if she didn't?" asked the journalist.
I'd think of something else, I had a backup plan, I always have," she said shrugging her shoulders. When I saw her walk through the glass door and head to the shelves I knew it was my chance. I approached her and pretended to look for a book.
"This exam thing is a pain," I said in a casual tone, with a clear intention of communicating.
"Yes, there are a lot of books to study," she replied, the discomfort in her voice was noticeable, which is normal when a stranger is talking to you.
It's not that big of a deal," I let it be seen that I knew the subject. "Do we know each other?" she asked.
“I think this is the first time we've met,” I replied apologetically as I took two steps away from the shelves and extended my hand towards her in greeting. “My name is Edgar.”
“Rachel,” she said in response to my greeting. I confess that I'm terrible at remembering names, but hers was burned into my memory. “I've never seen you around here.”
“I study English Philology,” I replied naturally.
“Me too! How come we've never met?”
“It's my fault, I barely hang out with people on campus. A friend says I'm antisocial.”
“She must be a really good friend!”
All the psychologists say you're crazy, those people don't discriminate —I replied jokingly, making her smile. I knew I had passed the first impression barrier and it was time to make the approach—. I haven't had time to interact with people, these last few months I've had to work a lot —I excused myself—. I'm a tutor.
—Tutor? You must be very responsible.
—I'm good at explaining things —I looked her in the eyes—. Do you need a tutor?
During the following weeks we studied in the library. At the end of June the exams were approaching and the pressure had made her more dependent on my tutoring. One day, when I thought I was comfortable, I said to her:
—Today I have to see some students and I can't stay now but if I finish early I can come by your house, if you want.
—Okay —a mischievous smile appeared on her face—. Do you have anywhere to write down my address?
That day I did my routine, the one I had before meeting her: I did some chores, I took care of some errands and yes, I did my tutoring. At night I got ready for the occasion, once there I rang the doorbell.
— How nice that you arrived! —she greeted me with a joy that surprised me. I sat down in the living room and noticed the house. It was tidy and clean. We studied for a while, or rather I helped her do it, it doesn't matter... it was a beautiful moment, too bad it couldn't be repeated. —What do you mean? —asked the journalist, totally carried away by the story.
I don't understand how it happened or when things withered either...
—She answered while her gaze was lost in the heat of the cigarette—I should have been there to protect, her that guilt will always be with me. I left her house quite tired, she said goodbye to me at the door. I think I kissed her, I don't remember well... The next morning she didn't show up and late in the afternoon the police went to the University for a Reason: Rachel had been murdered. The investigation indicated that someone had entered her house shortly after I left and stabbed her several times in the chest and abdomen. They investigated for months and the case ended in that: a robbery.
—I can't just believe that.
—Said the journalist in an accusatory tone.
—What I said is easily verifiable.
—Edgar Gregory got up from the chair.
—It bothers me that you insist on going after me. —So... why did you stalk Rachel for so long? The intruder's threatening look froze the reporter's blood. —My boyfriend is coming soon!
—And she continues to insist on seeing everything wrong —she put out her cigarette—. I'm leaving now and I really hope we don't see each other again.
She walked out the door calmly, without guilt and with the escort of a memory. The journalist began to gasp for air, her fear taking over again. She ran to the door and locked it, and the same with the windows. She looked at the clock and realized how late it was. She went to her bedroom and had to stifle her scream with her hands. On the bed lay the lifeless body of her boyfriend, with a knife stuck in his neck.
Psss… come on, let me tell you!
I'll be very attentive to the comments you leave in this post.
I'd love to know what you think and thus chart my path in Hive.
Photo: pixabay.com/es
Thank you for posting in The Ink Well. We would like to share our standard reminders. Please note these important community guidelines:
Congratulations @yeleisma2023! You have completed the following achievement on the Hive blockchain And have been rewarded with New badge(s)
Your next target is to reach 3750 upvotes.
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPCheck out our last posts: