Wednesday Morning

   Anne Marie Prescott awoke at five, sat erect on the edge of her mattress, brown eyes wide and ready, both feet planted flatly in the softness of the runner laid upon the hardwood floor, perfectly parallel to her bed. The runner was a newly acquired addition to her modest but charming loft.

   She enjoyed wiggling her toes and tickling the underside of her feet in the cool white softness every morning, and although that wonderful new smell was now gone, she still enjoyed the aura of completeness that it gave to her bedroom. And being a runner herself, in a manner of speaking, it was a reminder for her to begin her day with a brisk run on the Greenway.

   Standing up, Anne Marie pulled her auburn locks back into a tight ponytail and peeked through her bedroom window. Not much to see at such an early hour. A few distant streetlights, the receding shadows of a brand-new Wednesday.
 
   Before dressing, she performed several special stretches to prepare her muscles for the task ahead. Her long, lean legs were a picture, home to exceptionally well-turned calves, often the subject of conversations and compliments. Her smile was subtle and attractive, betraying an underlying wit and charm. She was not oblivious to the frequent turnings-of-heads as she made her way here and there, but she did not possess the conceit to consider herself to be anything above ordinary, looks-wise. Just as any girl of twenty-six might do, she squinted and frowned as she looked over her shoulder at her ass in the mirror, not completely satisfied with its shape or size.
 
   Anne Marie ate one piece of rice toast with almond butter and drank three big gulps of a protein shake, returning the remainder to the fridge. She wiggled into a tank top and her favorite running shorts, the ones that said “Watch My Back” across the rear. Although they were a bittersweet reminder of her first boyfriend (her first in several ways…), Alex, she still loved the shorts because they fit her just right. She remembered how Alex had once scolded her about them, saying “Don’t be surprised if someone jumps you, because you’re pretty much asking for it in those things.” He was the jealous type, so sometimes he would say things like that. So annoying. Like she couldn’t take care of herself. She was glad to be rid of him. She sighed. So many Wednesdays ago.
 
   Pinching her phone between her right ear and shoulder, she began jogging in place.
 
   “Hello,” croaked a voice on the other end of the phone.
 
   “Hey Mom! It’s your five o’clock wake up call!” said Anne Marie cheerfully.
 
   “Ugggh. It’s so early.”
 
   “Well, we don’t want you to oversleep on your big day,” said Anne Marie, “So it’s time to wake-y wake-y!”
 
   Her mother cleared her throat and asked “How are ya? Why’a breathing so hard? Am I on speaker?”
 
   “I’m good. I’m fine. I’m jogging in place. Warming up for my run. Here, let me put you on speaker. Anne Marie pressed the speaker button and placed her phone on top of her dresser. “Can you still hear me?”
 
   “Yes, yes. I can hear you. So early? You’re so motivated. I wish I could get up and run. Please be careful. You’re careful when you run aren’t you?”
 
   “Sure, mom. Always.”
 
   “You take your cell phone and your mace, don’t you?”
 
   “Of course. Ever since college,” answered Anne Marie impatiently.
 
   “And that whistle your dad gave you?”
 
   “Yeah, mom. I always take that too. Geez.”
 
   “That thing at Smith. That was the worst scare of my life. I was so worried. And I don’t want anything like that to ever happen to you again. You hear me? I love you, darling.”
 
   “I love you too, mom. Bye now. Good luck with your interview!”
 
   “Bye darling. Thanks for the wake-up call. And thanks for wishing me luck. I’ll need it! Please be careful.”
 
   “I will be. I always am. Love you.”

*          *          *

   As Anne Marie hit her stride and entered the dimly lit, wooded Greenway path for what was to be her last time, she felt good, at peace with the world, thankful for the clean air pumping through her lungs and legs.
 
   She was perfectly aware of a blind curve up ahead on the path, a place where she had witnessed many a bicyclist carrying too much speed and running wide. Although she thought it unlikely to encounter a bicyclist this early in the morning while the moisture was still clinging to the path, she hugged the inside of the curve nonetheless, allowing the damp, green leaves of the young, path-side trees to graze her left arm and shoulder.
 
   “Hey you!” she heard, and instinctively slowed to a halt. “Can you help me?”
 
   Turning her head and focusing her eyes toward the direction of the sound, she saw a young man on the ground on the other side of the path. In his early twenties, she supposed, he was tangled up amongst leaves, vines, and the bent remains of a bicycle. His shin was bleeding, and it appeared that he was unable to stand up.
 
   “I’m hurt. Can you help me? You have a phone?” said the young man shakily.
 
   “Are you OK?” asked Anne Marie, approaching cautiously, sizing him up, consoling herself that he looked to be of slight build, and perhaps not as strong as her. “Sure, you can borrow my phone. Here, let me help you up.” As she bent down, extending her hand, everything went dark.

*          *          *

   Upon waking up, Anne Marie’s head was spinning, her heart was racing. She looked at her hands, saw the broken fingernails, and the skin and the blood beneath the remaining ones. She remembered the blow to the head and the scratching, but little else. Her head bobbed, and everything went dark again.

*          *          *

   A little time passed and Anne Marie woke up again. Slowly, without looking, she reached down to her right side with a trembling, expectant hand. Sure enough, he was there.
 
   She turned to look at his lifeless body.
 
   Upon seeing it she experienced her second orgasm of the day. The first, just outside the boundaries of her memory at the moment, came with the killing itself, when she heard his death rattle. All the other glorious details would come to her in time.

*          *          *

   After washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror, pleased with her accomplishment. She pulled out her ponytail holder and shook her head, allowing her voluminous hair to settle down upon her shoulders, as she began to ponder all the practical details to follow.
 
   The bodies would have to be disposed of in the usual way, of course. And because she knew that she tended to get sloppy during her blackouts, it would probably be best to pack up and get out of town immediately. What a pain. Packing up all her boxes was not her favorite pastime.

   Just then, she thought she heard something behind her. A low rattling sort of sound. She spun quickly from the mirror to have a look.

   It was nothing, as usual.

*          *          *

   Anne Marie Prescott concluded her Wednesday morning by kneeling down in the blissful softness of the bicyclist that lay on the hardwood floor, perfectly parallel to her bed, right next to her runner from the week before, and prayed aloud: “Lord Woden, Leader of The Hunt, please accept my latest offering. Feast upon his soul, and protect me as I go forth to serve you.”
 
   The runner was so cold now. But the bicyclist was still warm. So warm.
 
   She laid herself down on top of her bicyclist, giving him a full body embrace. She began kissing his neck – gently at first, but then more and more aggressively. The flood of tears came as she began grinding herself into him.
 
– O.M. Kelsey
 

I originally wrote this story for the Conscious Particles Literary Blog, way back in November, 2009. A few changes and updates have been included in this republishing. Authorship remains with O.M. Kelsey and Copyright remains with Old Man Kelsey's Woods.