City Streets

By Carol A. Cole

The afternoon sun cast deep shadows across the playground, silhouetting the young woman on the swing and concealing the dark haired, heavy-set man creeping up behind her.  His dark grey windbreaker blended in with the weathered siding on the abandoned hardware store at the corner of the lot.  Phillip’s Hardware was once a thriving business in this part of town, but like most of the other stores, it had gone under due to hard times. 

The wind picked up the few leaves that remained on the blacktop and swept them under the benches.  Several candy wrappers danced in the currents and skittered out into the street. The faint scent of a wood fire filled the chill air. 

A car radio blared on the side street, and the sound of traffic grew louder, signifying the start of the evening rush hour.

Grinning, Jack Reidy watched the woman pump her slender legs, pushing the swing higher and higher.  She wore a light blue dress and flat white shoes, though they didn’t seem quite right for the fall weather.  Her long hair streamed out behind her.  Jack liked long hair.  Mother had long hair.  Jack remembered sitting on his mother’s large sleigh bed on cold nights, brushing his mother’s long hair… 

#  #  #

 “Mama, I brought your hairbrush.  Please let me do your hair.”  Seven-year old Jack scampered up onto the high, maple bed.  He clutched the silver brush in his hands and watched his mother take the combs out of her chestnut hued hair.  It cascaded past her shoulders in thick waves. 

She turned toward him and smiled.  “You like my hair don’t you, Jackie?”  The soft lilt of her voice revealed her Irish beginnings.  She ran her fingers through the thick curls, lifting them over her head and letting them fall down her back.  They almost seemed to breathe, and Jack reached out his hand trying to touch them.

 “Yes, Mama.  Your hair is wonderfully beautiful.  Please sit down now,” he pleaded.  He had always loved the feel of her silken curls.  She sat on the edge of the bed, and Jack lovingly and tenderly brought the brush down the length of her hair. 

He inhaled the faint scent of lavender and oranges.  “Mary has long hair, too, Mama.”  Jack smiled and pictured the girl who sat in front of him at school.

His mother stiffened and pulled away from Jack.  “Who’s Mary, Jackie?”  Her tone suddenly became icy.  “You know I don’t want you staring at the girls at school.”

Jack began to tremble.  “Sh.. she’s just a girl in my class, Mama.  She sits in front of me.  I don’t stare at her, honest, Mama.  I j..just see her hair when I look at the board.”  He stammered.  The silence in the room was ominous.  “Please let me finish with your hair, Mama.”  Jack whispered and relaxed when his mother gently placed her hand on his.

 “Of course, Jackie.   You may finish brushing it.  You know I love how you brush my hair.  You have such gentle hands.”

#  #  #

The shrill sound of a siren penetrated Jack’s thoughts, and he shrank back against the side of the building.  Looking down, he saw the newspaper carelessly tossed in the battered wire trash can.  Serial Killer Claims Fifth Victim.  The headline shrieked.  Sarah Jenkins was found behind the old State Theater.  Like the other victims, her long hair had been crudely shorn from her head.  He stole a glance at the swing, but the woman was lost in her own world and did not appear to have heard the siren.

When the sound faded, Jack resumed his pursuit of the woman.  She looked no older than her mid-twenties and almost child-like in her total abandonment to the swing.  Jack quietly moved behind her while he fingered the razor in his pocket.  He stood, momentarily mesmerized by her hair floating behind her into the darkening sky.  He reached out quickly, grabbed her by the hair, roughly pulling her from the swing with his massive left hand.  His right hand snaked around to cover her mouth.  It wouldn’t do to have her scream.  He never liked it when they screamed.  He leaned toward her and his cheek nestled in the velvet softness of her hair.  “You shouldn’t be here alone.  It isn’t safe for a pretty girl like you.”

She didn’t struggle.  Why?  They always struggled.  He whispered again.  “You have beautiful long hair.  I like long hair.”  Still, she simply stood with his right hand across her mouth and his left tangling itself in her hair. 

He began to drag her toward the old hardware store.  “I’m going to brush your hair.  You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His voice grew harsh and his breathing quickened.  “Mother gets angry when I brush a pretty girl’s hair.  You won’t tell her will you?  She hurts me when she gets angry.”  He pulled his left hand from her hair and reached into his pocket for the emerald green scarf he kept there.  It had been his mother’s.  It always set off the highlights in her deep brown hair.   Mother would be happy that I kept her favorite scarf.  He gently swept the girl’s hair away from her face and lifted the scarf over her head.  “I need to put this in your mouth.  Please don’t scream when I take my hand away.”

Jack felt a slight shudder go through the slender frame of the woman, and he was suddenly aware of something cold and hard pressed against the back of his neck.

 “Don’t move!”  A deep voice behind him ordered.  “Police.  You’re under arrest for the murder of Sarah Jenkins.”  As he dropped his hands, the woman spun around to face him.

Jack’s hands were pulled behind him and cuffed.  He watched the young woman lift her head and take a deep, trembling breath.

She looked over his shoulder at the tall officer in the dark blue uniform.  “Thanks, Mike.  I was beginning to think you weren’t out there.”

 “Any time, Chris.”  The officer replied.

The police woman then pulled her long hair back and clasped it with a bright green barrette.

Jack noted that the barrette was emerald green. Just like Mother’s scarf.

     “Come on, Mike.  Let’s get this creep in the car.”  Chris grabbed Jack’s left arm and he was pushed toward the street.  A patrol car slowly drove up from behind the very hardware store that he been trying to drag Chris into when he was apprehended.

Jack stumbled into the back of the patrol car and the two officers climbed in the front.  He looked up when Chris turned toward him from the passenger seat.

“You’re going away for a very long time,” she said in a quiet voice with just the hint of an Irish accent.

She sounds like Mother.  Jack sighed and closed his eyes.  Mother will be very angry tonight.

#  #  #

Epilogue

Bright yellow tape crisscrossed the doorway of the apartment.  Two police officers pushed the tape aside, opened the door and entered the darkened rooms.  There were old newspapers piled on the shabby couch, cardboard cartons from take-out food scattered about the floor, and multiple cigarette butts on the worn carpet. 

“My God, Mike.   Come here.”  Chris slowly approached a large bulletin board that was propped up on a table covered with dirty dishes.  Pinned to the board were lengths of human hair, each tied with a bright green ribbon.  “He kept their hair like some kind of macabre souvenirs.”  Chris shivered and turned away from the evidence.

Mike noticed that the color of the hair was just like his partner’s… chestnut brown.

THE END

My very first published story.  Published online at www.apolloslyre.com  November 2003.