The Ice Maiden By, L. Anne Wooley
Act. 1 Scene 1.
Setting: Washington, DC. Path that runs alongside the mirror pool
between the Washington, and Lincoln monuments. Winter time late in
the day.
Amanda Thornton, a supermodel, is jogging along the path.
CrunchcrunchCrunchcrunchCrunchcrunch.
The path below her feet crack under the pressure of her cleat filled tennis shoes. Amanda would run without fail, every day, no matter how bad the weather.
“John, I have to go to work. Jason is expecting the new novel in a couple of weeks....I sure hope that is what you are working on,” Robert smiled exasperatedly at his lover. He knew better than to push though, John was a workaholic.
“Just something I'm working on,” John said.
Robert stepped behind John, and noticed what was on the screen.. “A Screenplay? You've never written a screenplay in your life!” Robert retorted incredulously.
“Always a first time for everything,” John muttered.
A heavy sigh was his response. Then he felt Roberts lips on his neck, and he smiled.
“Don't work to hard on that. You need to finish the novel,” Robert warned. He then turned walking to the door, “Ciao.”
The absent wave was all he got in response.
The snow on the ground deterred the other joggers though, and Amanda had the whole trail to herself....well and one other. Unbeknownst to her, someone was up ahead of her, hidden by a tree.
When she reached his position, he stepped out in front of her, arm outstretched, and connected with her neck. She went down on her back. The knife descended too close for her eye to
follow, or to make out a cry. The blood squirted out, and the death rattle came very fast. The blood saturated the snow around the path, and the killer dragged her body deep into the brush.
John paused. He felt something familiar about the thing. But he felt the need to finish the
Scene. But where to put her body?
He came through on the other side, and the deepening gloom covered his
movements. He pulled her up, putting his arm around her like he was holding up a drunk. His car was close, and he managed to get her inside the trunk without anyone being any the wiser. There was a plastic liner inside, and he tucked it around her body, like a parent would a child. Except he covered her face last.
John could not shake the feeling that he knew something about this, the deja vu sense was so strong. He clicked on the Google Chrome Icon on his computer, and looked up the name, “Amanda Thornton.”
His eyes grew big, the first few results were for a model/actress who had been murdered. He remembered the case now. It was big in all the papers, and her body had never been found. The picture of her face came to his mind. Not as it would have appeared when she was alive, rather in death.
Then he sat back clicking open the document he had started writing in, and then he dove back into the narration.
He drove for three hours, humming absently to himself, the George Washington Highway led him quickly out of town, he headed towards the Virginia mountains. His cabin was at a higher altitude and secluded.
His harem was getting larger. He turned off a few hours later, the gravel
drive was slippery with the ice.
His car navigated the slippery slope, and made it to the top of the driveway. He parked in front of the barn, and the cabin sat to the
right of that.
He turned off the motor, the adrenalin of getting away once again,
coursed through his veins. The high he got from a successful
slaughter was better than sex.
John, started looking at Google Earth. This region of the Appalacians was one he was familiar with. His parents cabin was there. He had not been there for ten years; the time that her murder occurred.
The crunch of his boots on the snow sent chills through his body
and the air was coming out in white puffs. He moved around to the
trunk and opened it. He pulled the bag covered body, placing it over his shoulder,
and walked it into the barnwhere his tools awaited. There was a tractor in it,
and an attached flat bed trailer. He deposited Maggie's body on top of it,
and looked over to where the hacksaw was hanging on the barn wall.
<killer moves over to the wall, where he takes the hacksaw
down from the wall>
John remembered the tangy scent of blood. He stopped writing, and picked up the phone... “Hello 911....I know where Maggie Thornton and the others are.”
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