"I can't be sure but I know it wasn't any of these," she said, pointing to the three she removed from the stack.
"Thanks, I'll note your selections. You are free to go Miss."
Blanche was allowed a few minutes alone with Seymour, she explained that his mother was able to secure the money for the bail but that it had taken longer than she anticipated. They would be by sometime around noon to finish the matter and see to his release. Seymour had been almost overcome with appreciation and relief. The two hugged, as they were able, separated by one inch reinforced steel bars but the kiss was memorable.
"Thanks for letting me see him, we've arranged his bail for tomorrow morning," Blanche said.
"Good for you, he's a model prisoner but I know he'll be glad to go home, even if he still has to appear in court," Breland said.
"Thanks again and goodnight."
Blanche treated herself to a taxi ride home. Unbeknownst to her a silver van followed the taxi closely, a troubled man at the wheel.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The sun was cresting over the tree line when Lester pulled the van into his driveway, parking it in the usual spot. He sat behind the wheel for a few minutes collecting his thoughts in anticipation of the day ahead of him. The hours he’d spent sitting outside Caroline’s B amp;B waiting to see if Blanche would venture out for an evening walk or run had been a total waste of time. By 2:00 a.m. he was convinced that everyone in the establishment would be in bed, all the lights were out and all appeared quiet. He’d left the van parked in the alleyway between the homes that led to garages and backyards. With his face painted black and wearing his standard issue dark shirt and jeans he had made his way around to the rear door that entered into the kitchen area. Lester thought back, closing his eyes as he sat in the van, reliving the previous hours and events.
Standing on the porch he felt for the hunting knife attached to his belt and slid it from the sheath, the blade gleamed in the dim light of the lone street lamp that sat atop a pole two houses down. The 9mm stuffed into the front of his pants was somewhat uncomfortable; he smoothly moved it to the small of his back, and certain his belt would hold it in place. His gloved left hand grasped the old doorknob and tried the lock. It was secure but he was sure it would not take much pressure just to force the door open without damaging the frame. He’d seen these old style locks too often to have it slow him down. Inserting the blade of the knife between the jam and the door, he twisted his wrist while turning the knob and pushing with his shoulder. The door popped open like using a bottle opener on an old-fashioned coke bottle.
Once inside Lester inspected the frame and lock for damage, it would be difficult for Caroline to see that anything had changed. For a split second he was unsure what he was doing in the home, but the thought of seeing Blanche one more time and the remote possibility that he could spirit her away tonight, rather than waiting, spurred him on. The antique old wood planks that made up the kitchen and dining room floors squeaked as he tiptoed across their surface. He had not bothered to remove his shoes. The Stalker would not be there long. Lester knew exactly which room was Blanche’s after spending an evening a short time ago watching her through the bedroom window. He eased his way up the stairs from the dining area, the knife still in his right hand.
Rooms appeared on either side of the long hallway, a small lamp cast shadows and eerie images along the walls. He counted the doors on his left, assuming each room would have a single window visible from the street. He stood before Blanche’s; his heart beat wildly causing his hands to shake and ears to ring. Patiently he waited for the initial adrenaline rush to subside before he tried the lock with a steady hand. The handle rattled ever so slightly but it did not budge. He dropped to one knee to inspect the lock more closely using only the faint light of the hallway to help him. An obvious skeleton keyhole looked back at him and he could see a diffuse light inside the room. The intruder moved his eye close enough to the keyhole to get a better, less obstructed view of the room’s contents. It was not perfect but he could make out the woman’s form on the bed, moonlight providing the light he could see through the hole.
Lester felt for the gun in the hollow of his back and adjusted it slightly, then removed a lock pick device from his front pocket. With both hands he manipulated the small metallic rod and file, slowing himself when he felt he was making too much noise, even though it was barely audible. Years of doing the same, on more sophisticated locks, made the old skeleton lock open without much of a challenge. He returned the pick set to his pocket and pulled the knife again from the sheath before entering the room. The door opened without a sound, he closed it but did not allow the lock to fully latch. Standing within the very room that he had only taken pictures of the week before, thrilled the assailant. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control, slowing his heart and perspiration in the process. Lester held the knife in his right hand as he approached the sleeping Blanche. To have her so close, so vulnerable, was mind blowing for the thief. He yearned to slide into bed with her and prove his love for the woman, but he knew better, at least for now. With the knife in his right hand he approached the bed standing inches from the edge and within reach of the woman’s throat.
Lester loomed over the woman, taking in her beauty, hair swept across a portion of her forehead, her face fully exposed to him as she slept on her back. The perp couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The small digital camera was extracted from his rear jean’s pocket and he took a picture of the slumbering damsel. He contemplated the possibility of removing her tonight, half convincing himself that it could be done without disturbing the others, but he had come unprepared, no ether and no plausible way to keep her quiet.
“Only a few hours,” he told himself, and she would willingly give herself to him, but his patience was at its limit.
He wanted and needed to feel her soft skin, to know the sensation of skin on skin with the striking beauty. Lester peeled the glove from his left hand, partially sticking it into his jean’s pocket, and brought the razor sharp knife blade within an inch of the sleeping woman’s jugular. He would need to control her if she suddenly awoke. With the left hand exposed he placed it as close as he dared below his sleeping victim’s nose. The feel of her breath caressing, then ebbing and returning to caress his hand again, made him feel invincible. He looked closely at her face, so perfect, light freckles scattered across her delicate nose, her lips slightly parted calling for a kiss. Leaning in close, his hand pulled away from her face but the knife still in place, he inspected her closely, taking in the smell of her skin as he did so.
The Stalker detected movement under her lids, Blanche's eyes moving back and forth, right and left in a rapid saccadic motion. She was dreaming, he’d seen it before and knew what it was. The idea excited him as he closely watched her closed eyes wondering if she was thinking of him after he ruffled her feathers earlier in the day. His will power was fading. To touch her once would be ecstasy and would possibly be worth the risk, but he fought off the urge and settled for running his hand over the sleeping woman’s figure just an inch above the single sheet that covered her motionless form. The knife, still very close to her throat, did not vary as he extended his left hand above her navel. The Stalker was able to see through the thin sheet revealing a tiny nightgown, hiked up, and showing the outline of her panties underneath. Slowly he moved his hand upward over her flat stomach to the rise of her breasts, which strained against the fabric of the sheet. He stopped, his hand just above the breast closest to him and ached to touch and squeeze her.