There was a certain invulnerability Leslie felt perched high in her SUV, hulking over top most the other vehicles on the road around her. It had also provided a tangible sense of safety and detachment for Leslie as she followed Britney around for the better part of two straight weeks. As vulnerable as Leslie felt to Britney's assault on her dreams at night, Leslie felt somewhat untouchable as she got a little closer each day stalking the 19 year old girl who'd soiled her marriage.
Leslie had pawned her three kids off on one of her nieces, who was more than happy to come over and babysit the kids a couple of hours every night, especially with the extra $20 a night Leslie had sweetened the pot with. Unfortunately, Leslie found herself returning home well after 10pm most nights, long after her three kids had fallen asleep. It certainly wasn't behavior that was going to win her "mother of the year", but Leslie reasoned this was just a brief and morally tragic phase she was going through, a thorn in her system she had to at some point extract before she could get back to living her normal life.
Her Husband, Craig, had decided to put more late nights in at work to help with the crunch of bills after the birth of their third child, not to mention to get away from the inevitable coldness that had settled around the house from the fallout of his affair.
Leslie had told Craig the reason she needed her niece over for babysitting duties was that she'd decided to start volunteering down at the local library again, just to give her a chance to get out of the house and a breather from all the stress of her daily routine at home. Craig was in no mood to haggle over schedules, the children were in good hands and both Husband and Wife were comfortable allowing each other their space until the nuclear winter that had descended upon their marriage began to thaw.
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It was a miracle really that Britney hadn't caught on to the same Land Rover following her home every night from work. Granted it was dark and like many kids Britney's age, once she got into her car and started driving she had the distractions of a cell phone in one ear and a CD blaring in the other. It made sense that with all the distractions Britney had while driving, she wouldn't have even noticed the same dark blue SUV tailing her home from the restaurant she worked.
In following the teenage girl home, Leslie had watched three separate occasions where Britney's distracted driving nearly got the girl, among others, killed. Each time Leslie had to ask herself how she'd react if she somehow watched the girl who'd wrecked her marriage suddenly come to a fiery demise in a crumpled heap in the middle of an intersection.
Deep down, with her Christian rearing, Leslie was pretty sure she didn't want to see Britney's guts strewn across a city street. Or perhaps she just wanted to have that pleasure of accomplishment to herself and not share it with fate. Either way, like a lioness stalking her prey, Leslie closed in on the unsuspecting young girl a little more each night.
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It was 8:45 that final night when Britney turned into the parking lot of the apartment complex she'd moved into with her boyfriend a few weeks earlier, followed by about five car lengths by a inconspicuous blue SUV.
Even though it had been nearly a month since Leslie had caught Britney fucking her Husband, Leslie still had the scent of the teenage girl's perfume imprinted on her olfactory senses from when Britney had grazed past her and calmly walked up the basement steps. Leslie's knuckles tightened on the steering wheel when she remembered for the 4,000th time the mocking look on the 19 year old's perky and pretty face when she had walked by her to go upstairs that day.
Leslie still hadn't figured out exactly what she'd do when she finally confronted Britney. Leslie could visualize herself stepping calmly from the SUV, walking up to the girl and smacking her with one solid blow across the face before turning to get back into her Land Rover and on with her life. Leslie could sadly also see the situation deteriorating into a fullscale fight with the teenage girl where she would eventually grab Britney by the throat and choke the very life from her body. In her rare moments of lucent thought however, Leslie could envision herself acting as Jesus might have, to simply walk up to Britney, look her dead in the eye and tell the young girl that despite the pall her actions had cast over the Griffen's marriage, that Leslie and Craig would overcome.
No matter what action Leslie would soon take, she was comforted somewhat in the knowledge that at least this time she would do something, rather than acting as impotently as she had the afternoon she caught Britney grinding on top of her Husband.
Just as she'd done the previous few nights, Leslie studied Britney's every movement with clinical clarity, from the way the girl lit and smoked three cigarettes on her way home to the gestures she could see Britney making with her hands as gabbed on the phone while driving. It was almost as if Leslie had become the young girl's shadow for that half hour or so every night. Once they'd parked, Leslie would sit in her SUV watching Britney gather her stuff into her purse after switching off the ignition then on cue see the girl toss her finished cigarette butt aside before walking up to the front door of her apartment.
Only this time, without Leslie even consciously realizing it, her left hand had found the latch of the Land Rover's driver's side door and her feet had found the pavement. Her eyes locked on Britney slinging her purse over her shoulder as she closed the Jetta's door behind her, Leslie swallowed hard and quietly shut her own door.
A few moments later, Britney finished up the conversation with whoever she had on her cellphone and began the short walk towards her boyfriend's front door, completely unaware of the darkened hue of another female figure closing in behind her.
Leslie saw Britney cast away the remnants of her cigarette, as she always seemed to do, and the older woman made a point of stepping on the discarded butt a few steps later as she gradually made her approach.
It was dark and Britney had only been living at her boyfriend's place for a few weeks, so she was still getting use to the comings and goings in the subdivision. Thus, she paid little attention to the sound of a car door closing in the distance behind her. When Britney heard the cadence of footsteps a little ways behind her, she still paid it no heed. Like a laser guided bomb trained directly on her however, the footsteps continued to hone in. Fumbling for her keys in her purse, it wasn't until Leslie was less than 10 feet behind her that Britney had a clue she might be in peril. By then it was too late.
The safe cocoon of Leslie's SUV way behind her now, there was no turning back. She could see the teenage girl in her crosshairs begin to tense up just slightly from behind, as if some primal voice in Britney's brain finally told her she was in danger, but she never had time to turn around. Like a possessed female Frankenstein, with her hands extended straight out in front of her, Leslie flared her palms open and instant before she struck.
As if she needed any more impetus, an instant before Leslie lunged forward she caught a whiff of Britney's perfume, the same perfume the girl was wearing when she caught her fucking her Husband a month earlier. Leslie's teeth flared then gritted in anger as an animalistic groan erupted from her chest just before all her weight collapsed down on Britney's back, head and shoulders.
It was as close to heavenly vindication as Leslie had ever experienced when she felt the young girl's body fold to the ground underneath her at the same time Leslie's fingernails dug and ripped into Britney's short blonde hair.
"MMMPPHHAAHHMMPPAAHH," Britney wailed in a combination of pain and shock, suddenly finding herself face down in a heap on the asphalt of the parking lot, her knees and hips squirming on top of the spilled contents of her purse as a faceless attacker mauled her from above.
The first and only lucent, rational thought to go through Britney's mind as she struggled on the pavement in the dark was the series of news reports everyone in the area had been hearing about where a man had attacked several of the college girls in the area since school started. Realizing she may have suddenly found herself in a life or death situation, Britney steadied herself, took a deep breath then fought with all her might trying to work her way back up to her feet while at the same time she reached blindly up with her fingernails trying to gouge at her attackers eyes.
Even though she couldn't quite lift herself up, the longer the clumsy scrum played out however, the more Britney got the sense that the person who had her down may have been drunk, bumbling or some combination of both. The longer she sat there waiting to be killed or worse, the more Britney felt the situation deteriorating into a bad comic bit, almost feeling as if she'd somehow been attacked by some sort of effeminate caveman or creature from outer space.
When she reared back with her elbows against the chest of her attacker, Britney could feel the soft swells of female breasts instead of the hard pecs of a male that she expected. It was then she knew that a woman had been the one to jump her from behind. Holding still, Britney didn't so much feel in danger anymore, more befuddled and confused about who the lady was that had thrown her down and now just laid on top of her like a tired old mop.
Britney could feel several of the small bits of gravel that covered the parking lot sticking to her cheek as she strained her neck around to breath, but she still couldn't get a good look at the wheezing woman that was straddling her from above. Her ears still covered by Leslie's pawing hands, Britney never heard the front door of her boyfriend's apartment swing open or the bare footsteps crisply making a bee-line towards her.
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Sylvan Riley was 26 and every bit fit the profile of an intelligent and streetwise slacker who had a good idea of how the world worked, but preferred to live life by the impulsive seat of his pants. Tall and lanky, Sylvan stood a shade over 6 foot 4 and had several tattoos adorning the length of his willowy, Tommy Lee-esque frame.
Like Britney, Sylvan had flunked out of college after his freshman year and never made the attempt to go back. He'd met Britney when she got a job waitressing at the same restaurant where he tended bar, a few weeks after UCLA had told Britney not to come back for a semester.
Other than their devil-may-care personalities, Sylvan and Britney didn't really have that much in common. Sylvan had grown up in a broken home and spent two separate stints in juvenile detention when he was 13 and 15. Britney on the other hand had grown up in a prototypical suburban and church going nuclear family and had never even had words with a cop until she went away for her ill-fated first year of college. If there was one thing that held Sylvan and Britney's relationship together, it could best be summed up by a line from an old Eagles song, "They were both great in bed."
Sylvan thought Britney was a fantastic fuck and loved having her hanging around simply because she was a lot better looking than any of his friend's girlfriends. Britney enjoyed the sex with Sylvan just as much but she also savored the rebellious satisfaction that came in seeing how her parents hated seeing her dating, not to mention moving in with, a guy like him. So for the time being, their relationship worked on a mutually beneficial, if disposable level.
When Sylvan walked out of his front door and saw the fur flying in the parking lot, he cautiously approached the two intertwined female bodies with a mixture of amusement and concern. He couldn't see much of Britney with the woman on top of her, but he could tell it was her from the sound of her groans as well as the pair of tight black slacks she always wore to work. Sylvan didn't have a clue who the woman was that was mauling his girlfriend however.
