"Please." Come the weak gasp.
My smile was cold. "Did she beg you too? Beg you to stop? Well I don't want to stop. I take a great deal of pleasure hurting men who hurt women."
"She-" He didn't or should I say couldn't finish his sentence.
"What? She wanted it? Please. Don't flatter yourself. Just hurry up and die already." I tightened the wire and it sank into his skin and disappeared in a red gush. His death rattle was more of a death gurgle. I held on for a few more moments. Then I pulled my cord out of his neck. Using his shirt I wiped off the blood.
'Sick son of a bitch.'
I thought. His M.O. was a perfect evening of dining, dancing, and date rape. I don't deal well with rapists. But its what I do. Sort of a hobby really. When you work in an E.R., eventually you experience all that is life. Murder, car accidents, suicide, abuse, freak and normal accidents, and rape. I get interested in rape. To me, it is an act of violence that never gets fully punished. If and I do mean if a rapist is caught, he goes to jail for five to seven years on the hard end and gets paroled in two. That is the worst it gets. Usually they are out on the streets again after one-year probation. What the fuck is that?
To me, rape is worse than murder because this time the victim lives. They have to go on with their lives. Day after day with the knowledge that a stranger put his hands on them and no matter what they did or said the stranger forces themselves on them. Now assuming the victim lives through the trauma, they now have to face possible pregnancy, the inability to ever get pregnant if the violation was severe, and any other host of STD's.
That's wrong.
So I do what I can to balance things out. I hear about a rape and I take the guy out. Doesn't seem fair? Tough shit. It isn't fair for women to still be attacked even if they've taken all the precautions they can. Defense classes don't mean shit if he has a gun or a knife to your throat, blindsides you with a fist or a blunt object or if you're just plain fucking outnumbered.
Besides, it's not like they don't get a trial. I watch their habits. See how they act around and away from women.
It's not surprising to know that rapists don't think of women as people. It is easier to thrust your body into another unwilling one if you think of them being subhuman. To them, most women are bitches, sluts, and whores. Usually with the exception that are their mothers, sisters, or other female relatives. Though sometimes even that doesn't apply.
But I digress.
I'm Tia Love and I work the three to eleven shift in the E.R. at Curtis Memorial hospital, L.A. Nurse by night, vigilante by later night. I'm not a psycho if that's what you're thinking. I do a lot of waiting and research on these scumbags. Then I kill the motherfuckers. They're getting off easy. If I wanted to go even steven I'd torch their asses while they were alive. I love the smell of burning flesh. It is very calming to me. But I'd have the problem of them screaming and I might not get away fast enough... And some do gooder could put them out before they suffered the painful death they deserved.
But again I'm off on a tangent.
I live in your average suburb with little houses that are all the same. It's where the date rapists live. I work in the city where the violent rapes happen. Between the two I come into contact with a lot of perps, but I try not to make a move until they give me a reason. One of the things I've noticed about these crimes of control; once they aren't in control any more, they sob like babies, beg like children and whine like puppies.
Things they could do to another person against their will are fun, but make them the victim and they crumble. Dicks. At least if they acted a little tougher it would make me less embarrassed about my own sex. I hate being automatically weaker. I have to work my ass off to stay in tiptop shape while some schmuck can almost overpower me. I kicked the lifeless body and started walking home. Staying to the busier well-lit streets. I was too tired for another encounter. I walked into the street and was just about to raise my hand to hail a taxi when there was a police car whoop behind me. I looked over to the unmarked car.
I walked over and smiled.
"Tia, you got off hours ago. What are you doing out so late?"
"Prowling." I laughed. Quincy Dare the detective extraordinaire and my next-door neighbor.
Make that nosy but hot for a white guy next-door neighbor. He was one of the few good men left in the world. A dying breed of Boy Scout-on-your-honor-white-hat-always-gets-the-girl-and-rides-off-into-the-sunset-knight-in-shining-armor type.
"This area is dangerous at night. We have a murderer on the loose." Blue eyes just jump out at you when they are encased in black eyelashes, eyebrows, and hair.
"Really?" I asked, looking startled.
"Yeah. So far only male victims but the pattern could change. Do you want a lift home? Its time for a break anyway."
"No, but thanks." I paused. "Where's your partner? I would have thought he'd have said something like not being a charter service."
"Well, Brian asked for tonight off. I'm flying solo. Come on, I'll take you home."
"Fine." I submitted and climbed into the car. "Can't really argue with a free ride."
"Oh, it's not free." Quincy said with a smirk pulling into traffic.
I raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'd like to know more about my neighbor. I know you work at Curtis on the evening shift, but what else is there?"
"Its not a mystery."
'I just stalk and kill rapist assholes. No big.'
"Enlighten me. What do you do for fun?"
"I exercise."
"Exercise?"
"Yes. You know; weight lift, run, dance."
"You like to dance?"
"I love a good cardiovascular workout. The harder the better." Too bad I was looking out
the car's window when I said that. I missed his wolfish glance. "So what about you? Mr. Dare? What is your story?"
"Oh, I like it hard and fast too." Luckily this time he was watching the road, so he didn't see my curious gaze at his crotch. Unfortunately he must have felt it. "I meant dancing, Tia."
"I knew that."
"Of course you did." Though his tone said otherwise. "Would you like to?"
My heart beat faster. "What?"
"Go dancing."
"Oh."
'Damn.'
I thought. "Sure, but what style?"
"Country?"
I wrinkled my nose.
"Polka."
"Definitely not."
"Salsa."
"Now we're talking."
"When will you be free?"
"Friday." Although Friday was a hot night for hunting rapists, one night couldn't hurt.
Or three Fridays, consecutive. I sat at the nurses' station, humming a samba beat while I looked over a chart. Anna, charge nurse, best friend and movie buddy shook her head and smiled indulgently. "So how's officer Hotness?" Anna repeated herself louder when I did not reply. Anna rolled her chair over to me snapped her fingers and in her motherly voice said, "Tia!"
That got my attention. My mind jerked from the neon lights of the dance club in my daydream to the yellow fluorescent lighting of reality. "Huh?" I said dumbly.
"Wow, he really put a number on you."
"What? What number? Who are you talking about?"
"What I've been talking about for the past five minutes, but you were in your own little world dreaming about Mr. Wonderful to notice. I said: He put a spell on you because you haven't complained about men all night. The shift is almost over."
"He has not put a spell on me. There is no spell to speak of."
"Oh yeah?" Anna turned to the young man filling out a chart in the corner. "Dr. Morgan, Tia hasn't complained about men all night."
The handsome doctor looked up, concerned. "Does she have any other symptoms? Does she have dizziness, nausea, any bleeding from the ears? I think we need to run a CT scan." He winked at Anna and continued charting.
"Ha, ha." I said dryly. "I just wandered a little. All of us are entitled."
"Yes, but not all of us are you that hates men." Dr. Morgan stated. Finished with his chart, he returned it and walked over to us.
"Keep it up and I'll tell your wife about our affair."
