victims tried to hide. The smell of rotten meat in the
pantry, the air vents, the place under your stairs.
I know what you did. To me. To her. To the
others who will never be found. I’ll wait. It pays to wait.
Wait for that moment. Wait for that smile. I know what
night I’ll do it. I know which knife I’ll hurl. I know how
long it will take to revive you. How long you’ll be wrapped
in white sheets and tubes. I know you’ll charm the doctor.
I know you’ll run off with his money. But, I can wait. Long
enough for you to forget this ever happened. Long enough
for you to start fresh for the fourteenth time. Long enough
for you to think none of us will ever find you. I can wait.
It’s good to wait. The plan remains the same and I’ve
scheduled my next visit.
Darlene Eliot was born in Canada and grew up in Southern
California. After working as a social worker, a teacher, and an
acquisitions library clerk, she succumbed to a staggering case of
wanderlust and the desire to avoid open office space at all costs.
Writing addressed both issues and also allowed her to explore dark
subjects without reserve. Darlene lives in Northern California with
someone she adores, loves watching the weather change hourly, and
writing short fiction that is dark around the edges.
46