The Listed

Chapter Two

He couldn't kill that one. She was too beautiful. She'd be surrounded by suitors day and night. It was too difficult to reach the beautiful. Stick to pretty, he thought. But I know what you're thinking: What is beauty? Truth is beauty, a poet once wrote. Then what the hell is truth? I am truth. Therefore, am I beauty? Does beauty drive a vintage T-Bird, 1966? Restored from the bare bones. Piece by piece. Till that engine 390 V8 roared to life. Three speed automatic. Roomy interior. Space enough to work. To find pretty. Like the one coming out of the library. He knew her. Carmen something. Lestrada? Leonard, perhaps. "Ms. Leonard," he called through the open passenger window. 

"Yes, sir," she said, bowing to look inside the car. "Oh, hi, Professor."

"You shouldn't be walking alone at this hour of the night. Let me drive you to your car?" He smiled his winningest smile.

"Thank you." She got in and set her books on her lap. "Nice car. Is it yours?"

He gave her a funny look.

"Of course it's yours. What was I thinking?" she gently laughed. "My car is in Lot Five."

"Heading there now. Studying for the midterm," he asked without curiosity. 

"Yeah, but I think I'm ready. Just a good night's rest, and I'll ace that exam in the morning." There was confidence in her voice. 

"I'm sure you'll do fine. Carmen, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yep, that's me. Carmen Leonard. You got a good memory, Professor." She smiled proudly. "You can pull over here. There's my car."

"What kind of gentleman would I be not to see you to your car door?" He pulled into the parking lot, turned left, and put the car in neutral while yanking the parking brake up. "Hold on. Let me get your door."

"Thank you," she said with a slight blush. 

He escorted her to her car, where she unlocked the driver's side and scooted into the seat behind the steering wheel. "There, all set and ready to go home."

"Yes, you are, my pretty," the Professor said with the happiest grin. He reached over and dragged the linoleum knife across her throat. The gush of blood covered the inside windshield and splashed over Carmen's shocked face. "Nothing more to say, I see."

The Professor walked back to his car, removed his coat, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the back seat. He'll dispose of it in the basement furnace tonight, and then have a quiet dinner. Indeed she was a pretty one. But that was with make-up. The beautiful ones don't need cosmetics. And she liked the car. That was almost her ticket to freedom, except she wondered how someone like me could own such a car. Naughty. Whatever did she mean by that? We'll never know now. 

He turned the car into the freeway headed for home. He clicked the radio knob and "American Pie" was playing. He sang along while he wiped his face with a towelette.