The Perfect Murder

*Yes, I am going to write this. Even if y'all think it is stupid! It keeps playing on my mind and I do think that if I pull it off, it is a great idea! And it is a rough draft . . . *

Another weird email turned up in her email defense. Kate saw it and knew what she was looking at simply from the title. It said it was from the 5th 3rd Bank. It could have just as easily said it was from EBAY or PayPal or any other financial type of concern. But she knew if she opened it, there would be a threatening addition at the bottom. She knew it would play off a famous Stephen King thriller--one she had not read. She knew that herself and the main character shared the same first name. She knew it might be written as though it was nonsensical gibberish, words strung together in a way that suggested they might have been shuffled, some sort of code, as though if she printed it out and cut them apart she could reassemble them to say something very specific. She knew that it could very well threaten her for her religious views and she also knew that it could very well and very clearly state that she was going to die.

She double clicked and opened it. Briefed through it. Confirmed her fears. Hit print. Took the freshly printed pages from the printer and tucked them at the bottom of the pile that she'd been keeping front and center on her desk right above her keyboard. This one would be the thirty-second message she had printed out and she'd allowed even more than she had kept go to delete heaven.

The same old questions haunted her. Was it a real threat? Some of the posts had been addressed to more than one address. She'd checked most of them. One batch had been sent to all the email address beginning with the same letter as her own email address through her Internet Service Provider. She called them on that one. Some had been emailed to her alone. Should she take it to the police? That was the action that her ISP had recommended. But then her daughter had told her that she'd received some too--which made little sense because Internet wise, the two never crossed paths--different web interests--and her daughter lived three-hundred miles away, had an unrelated email address and a different ISP. Along with talking to her ISP and her daughter, she'd checked for scams and it wasn't listed among them. Besides, what kind of scam is a murder threat using a character named after yourself? Finding no answers, she'd continued to work over the same sparse evidence for a month now--mentally, always mentally. Other than printing out the posts, she had done nothing else. One thing was certain--she had no intention of taking the time to decipher the message. It seemed to be an act that would play into the monster's hand.

Brandishing the pile, even fanning them with her thumb, she rose from her chair and, like a person hypnotized, walked into the living room where her husband was watching the television. She sat down on the edge of the couch, nerves taut. She flipped the pages again, noting an odd word here and there. Would he think it was foolishness?

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The day was perfect. The sky was a clear blue, the air clear, the hint of fall that is typical of September days that you can't quite explain--like a smell--marked the end of hot summer days. As Kate dexterously rounded the near-right-angeled curve going 35 mph on the road to her house, she felt the numb, painful dryness of her lips and wondered how, when the weather was so beautiful and not at all dry, her lips should feel January-arctic-front dry.