He stood there, at the bend, merely a silhouette. He hung his head low, with his back arched and foot rested against the little wall. He wore a hat that was slung low over his eyes, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
He was tall, with brown hair, and caramel eyes. He had a good build and his chest contracted and relaxed rhythmically with his breathing. To a passerby, he was an enigma, attractive. Something about him drew people close to him. His voice was deep and seductive. He smelled mesmerizingly good. He knew he could get whom he wanted. He could be anyone he wanted to be. That's how he had gotten away with as much.
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Alexandre Dupont was about 25 years old. In his 25 years, he had created quite a criminal record. He started when he was 16 when he was out with his friends who had decided to shoplift. He became an inevitable part of it, and was sent to a juvenile prison, on probation for 6 months. His mother had delivered him when she was 16 as she was stricken with poverty and chose to become a public woman. Alexandre never knew who his father was because it was always somebody new. He, as a child shut it out always and created a new world for himself within his head. He was disturbed. He was frustrated and antagonized. When he was 18, he was charged with attempted assault on a girl who had mocked him. He was sent to jail again for a year. While in prison, he developed a new penchant. He used to study anthropology. He studied the human body and it's most sensitive and dangerous areas. He was sick of his life. Sick of just existing. Sick of his mother, his friends and girlfriends whom he could never stick by. He did have one strange habit. He inhaled scents. Scents of women in particular. He smelled them when he was let out for brief periods under probation. His mind worked fast. He could feel the surge of an unexplained emotion every time he inhaled a scent. On that note, by the time he was let out, he had inexplicably learnt all he needed to know.
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A year after he was released from prison, Alexandre was put on probation which he successfully completed. He decided to settle down, get a job and a wife. And so, he did. He worked at a local mart where he had to deliver goods to clients. His wife was Marie. His job was tedious and low paid. His frustration began to grow again. He never knew what it was to experience happiness. Marie complained every day and night about how inefficient he was. One night in particular, tempers flared beyond control. Alexandre stood up and smacked his hand hard against Marie's face. She toppled over and crashed into the floor, head first. She died on spot. Alexandre was petrified. He did not want to go back to that dungeon of a prison. He did not want the two week old food that stank of rot. He did not want to be whipped and entered into again. It was too much for him to handle. Too vile and disgusting. And so, without logic and reasoning, he fled far far away. The entire police force looked for him all over, in every nook and cranny, but Alexandre Dupont was nowhere to be found. His records started to say that he was non-existent.
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Nicolas Avangarde was a womanizer, known for killing innocent women because that's how mentally sick he was. He identified them by their scents, more intoxicating that their smell was, more brutally they died. He learned languages and built his body and won a lottery that earned him millions. And though he was a millionaire, deep inside, he was the same frustrated soul that he was since he was existent. He invested in Armani's and all the expensive things alike. This was to lure the innocent women. He lived on an island where there was no communication service. He lured the women, charmed them with this chivalry and fake sophistication and they never went back home. He killed them all, slowly and painfully. And no one ever found out because he kept such a low profile.
But one time, he met a girl, Barbara. She was young and captivating. She had an alluring persona and she was a sweet girl, from a decent family. Barbara was out one morning, shopping for vegetables, when she spotted Nicolas. He was extremely handsome and she was drawn instantly. They both stalled each other for a while and finally faced each other. He whispered seductive promises in her ears and she tossed her brunette hair around, bit her lower lip and succumbed into the delicious temptation that she saw before her. Little did she know of his atrocities, and his vile intentions.
She head back to the island with Nicolas in his sleek speed boat. She flirted and teased him. Nicolas was used to all of this from the other women, but this time, it was different. Something about her, actually stirred him. He was confused.
Nicolas took her back to his place and did his regulars. Wine first, talking, music, and then the dirty business. She definitely moved his stone heart. He knew something was wrong. Her moss green eyes pierced through him. Her perfect body fit into his arms perfectly. She was a fine woman. Never before had he felt such gushing of emotions. And when he generally carried out his execution, he was stopped still. He let her sleep in that night and was kept awake by his labyrinth of thoughts. What was she? She was so beautiful, almost nymph like. And he glanced at her, her steady breath that kept her peacefully asleep, the sheets covering her ivory skin, her eyes closed. He traced a finger down her shoulder and she twitched slightly. Tomorrow, before she woke, his job would be done. Shame though, she was so exotically alluring. He kissed her soft skin and slunk into his own slumber.
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The sun shone into the room and Nicolas woke with a start. He’d slept in. It had never happened before. He jerked up and looked for the girl Barbara. He felt concern over rage. He was confused again. He tried to think back to the previous night. Surprisingly, he just could not, which frustrated him. The more the thought, the more he forgot. Swearing, he looked for the girl. He ran out to the island and saw that his speed boat was gone. She had left. Any sort of weak minded emotion was now replaced with fury. He went back in and swore to himself. She could not be gone too far. Where had she gone, actually? He couldn’t think. He attempted to recall the previous night, but in vain. He would have to hunt her down.
And just as he stepped into his living room, a stack of papers, previously nonexistent were sitting there, in a pile. Nicolas sat down, and looked through them. He felt a jolt of shock when he saw what was in them. And in the end, a pink little lip shaped sticky note read, “Meet me at the port, tonight, 10 pm. Bring the papers. Xx, Barbara”
Nicolas slumped into his couch, his mind running at a mad mad pace. He was hyperventilating. He turned on his music system that belted out heavy metal numbers, that generally numbed his mind after he was done with the women. This time though, it only added to his tension, so he switched it off and decided to shower. He entered the shower and he froze in his tracks as he say what was on his mirror. A message in red lipstick, read, “You’re like make-up. A disguise. But remember, you can always wash them away, and you’re you again. See you tonight, love”. By this time, Nicolas was truly afraid. What had she meant? Could it be that she knew? If so, how? He wished someone would answer, but all he heard was the water that trickled from the shower. She had been here. Nicolas sighed.
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It was 10 pm, and he stood there, at the bend, merely a silhouette. He hung his head low, with his back arched and foot rested against the little wall. He wore a hat that was slung low over his eyes, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
He was tall, with brown hair, and caramel eyes. He had a good build and his chest contracted and relaxed rhythmically with his breathing. To a passerby, he was an enigma, attractive. Something about him drew people close to him. His voice was deep and seductive. He smelled mesmerizingly good. He knew he could get whom he wanted. He could be anyone he wanted to be. That's how he had gotten away with as much.
He checked his watch again. 10.01. She was late by a minute. Or so he thought. From the shadows, her unmistakable figure appeared. She was wearing a long black dress that was slit from the sides. Her hair was let down and she looked more beautiful than ever. How could such an angel be so unpredictable and creepy? Nicolas straightened up and walk towards her. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his fingers fidgeting with the Swiss Army knife. His only weapon tonight. As she came closer, she smiled. She greeted him. All he wanted to do was smack her hard. But that reminded him of another grievous memory. One that led him to be what he was.
Nicolas threw the papers at Barbara and said, “How do you know all this? Where did you get this? Who all know?” he hyperventilated
Barbara drew a smile and said, “You’re awfully impatient aren’t you? It does not matter where I got this. All that matters is, if you’ll agree to a proposition”
“What proposition?” snarled Nicolas, reaching to destroy the papers but Barbara was faster.
“Not so soon, love. I know you’ll kill me now and destroy this evidence. But know that if you do so, you’ll be done for.”
“I don’t understand”
“Of course you don’t. See Nicolas- or should I say Alexandre- I know all the filthy, mind numbing, heart wrenching things you have done. But you know nothing about me. I am another you, just a female version. I have killed as well for reasons best left untold. I have committed over 20 murders and 5 arsons. I have a worse record than you do, save for the fact that I don’t leave my fingerprints all over the place”, she said, fluttering the papers in her hands. She was calm and composed. The warmth in her eyes had turned to ice. She was threatening. Nicolas was shocked, afraid and confused. He’d thought he was the best.
“No prison for you then?” asked Nicolas, slightly relaxing.
“Not once.”
“How”?
“Unimportant.”
“What the hell do you want me to do?”
“Now we’re talking”, she said and went an inch close to his face. Her smell was intoxicatingly seductive. She was the girl he’d met that day again. Nicolas felt a shudder go through his body. Simultaneously, his grip on the knife in his pocket was harder, and he thought, was he Nicolas or Alexandre? And she whispered in his ears.