My story about a killer. The ending could use some work, any suggestions?
Raymond sat at his keyboard, working on real estate closing forms. The work was easy and didn’t take more than half his attention. <<His gaze strayed now and again to the desk ahead and to his left, where a blonde girl sat. Her curls fell down her back and the outline of her lacy bra strap was visible through her filmy blouse. Her name was Stacy. Her high-pitched voice and shrill giggle annoyed him no end.>>
Dark thoughts intruded into his mind. He wondered what it would be like to rip the bra from her and strangle her with it. Hr could picture her struggles, taste her fear. His heart pounded, his hands began to shake. He could
“Hey!” Raymond sat up straight and stared around. “Stop it!”
Ken, at the desk beside Raymond’s, gave him a glance. “You talking to me?”
“No. Sorry, talking to myself.” He shook his head and bent over his keyboard again.
Jennifer, a woman who had started work only a week ago, came in, hung her purse over her chairback and sat down. Her desk was in front of Ken’s, to Raymond’s right. He was relieved at the distraction. He admired her glossy dark hair, and the way she always dressed in a professional yet feminine style. Today she wore a cardigan and gray skirt. He had tried to think of a way to get to know her, but she seemed shy.
<<Would it be more satisfying to do it slowly, or to finish it quickly? He played both scenarios over in his mind—>>
Raymond slammed his palm on the desk, locked his computer, and stood up. He went back to the restroom. Inside, he ran water into the sink, cupped it in his hands and doused his face. Dripping, he looked up into the mirror.
He looked normal enough, except for the wet face. Nothing like a monster. He pulled paper towels from the dispenser and dried his face. With his back to the mirror, he looked up into the air and said, “Who are you? What are you doing?”
<<Who, me?>>
“Yes, you, whoever you are. Pushing thoughts into my mind. Are you God?”
<<No, I’m not God. I’m a writer. I’m writing a murder mystery.>>
“And you’ve got me figured for the villain? Is that it?”
<<Well, I was going to be a little more subtle than that—>>
“Those ideas are not subtle. They’re appalling.”
<<You’re not the judge of that. I’m writing this.>>
“Yeah. So who’s your hero?”
<<I’m working on him. He’s the detective. Still not quite fleshed out.>>
“Look, whoever you are. I’m a decent guy. I collect antique pistols. I pay my bills.I don’t want to be your villain.”
<<The characters don’t dictate the story, sorry.>>
Raymond tried another tack. “Why don’t you write about a bank heist? I could be the hero and stop the burglars from getting away.”
<<I’m not writing a bank heist story. It’s about a murder. Besides, we all have a dark side. To be healthy we should embrace it.>>
“No, we don’t. If that’s my dark side, I want it gagged and locked in the basement.”
<<It’s not about what you want.>>
Raymond gritted his teeth and turned to the door. “Stay out of my head.”
<<At five o’clock Raymond closed and locked his computer and left the office. The rest of the workers filed out as well. “Have a good night,” he said to Ken as he left.
“Sure,” said Ken. “See you tomorrow.”>>
“Brilliant dialogue,” Raymond muttered to himself.
<>
He crossed the parking lot to his Honda, but paused when he heard a muffled groan on his right. Stacy, the blonde from the office, sat in her car pounding on the steering wheel.
“What’s the matter?” Raymond asked.
“My stupid car won’t start.” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Would you give it a try?”
“Sure,” he said. “Though I’m not much of a mechanic. If it won’t start for you, it probably won’t jump to attention for me.”
She slid out of the seat. “You never know.” She gave that annoying giggle.
He sat in her seat and turned the key. Nothing happened, not even a click from the engine. He got out, opened the hood and stared inside. None of the tubing seemed out of place. He shook his head and closed the hood. “It might be your ignition’s gone out. Or maybe it’s the battery. You really need a mechanic.”
“Oh, no.” She put a hand to her mouth, looking forlorn. “Do you think you might be able to give me a ride home? The bus will take forever.”
<<The dark thoughts flickered through his mind. I’ll be alone with her, he thought. I could take her somewhere where no one would hear her scream—>>
Raymond shook his head, brushing away the thoughts. “Where do you live?” he asked.
“North Seattle, near Greenlake,” Stacy said. “I know it’s a long way, but—“
“Why don’t we get you a taxi? That will be quicker for you, and the truth is, I’m not feeling too great tonight. If I’m coming down with something, I don’t want to give it to anyone else.”
“But that will be expensive.”
A woman from the office came out of the front door and crossed the lot with a quick tap of heels. It was Jennifer, the dark haired girl who sat in front of him. He glanced at her and quickly looked away.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Stacy. “You were probably waiting to talk to Jennifer.”
“No,” he said. “It’s all right. Tell you what, don’t worry. I’ll pay for the cab.” He took out his phone and looked up Yellow Cab.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can’t leave a co-worker stranded.” He ordered the cab, and waited with her until it came. They talked office politics and the new rules for reporting missed deadlines while they waited. When the taxi showed up, he paid the driver and helped her into the cab.
He went back to his car and drove home.
Raymond ran into Jennifer when he went to refill his coffee. He waited for her to finish filling her cup, trying to think of something to say that would not sound stupid.
<<He tried to think of a way to get her alone. She would do instead of Stacy, he thought. But no one else could know, could connect him with her. He could—>>
He brushed at the air as if a fly were bothering him. He drew a desperate breath. “How’s the coffee today?”
She turned and gave him a smile. She had a nice smile, friendly and engaging, and warm brown eyes. “No worse than usual. You’re Raymond, aren’t you? I heard you came to Stacy’s rescue yesterday.”
“Oh, no big deal. Just tried to fix her car, but it was beyond my powers.”
“And you saw that she got home. That was gentlemanly of you.”
“We aim to please.”
“I was wondering,” she said, looking into her cup as if something interesting were there, “if you’d like to have coffee with me someday.”
“We are having coffee,” he said, and could have kicked himself.
She looked up at him and smiled again. “I mean, go somewhere else to have coffee. And maybe a bagel, if we get really wild.”
<<There‘s was his opening. He could pick a place that was out of the way.>>
“That would be great,” he said, ignoring the thoughts. “I’d like that. Or maybe we could have dinner.”
“Let’s start out slow,” she said. “Coffee is simple.”
“Okay, coffee it is. There’s a nice little café down the street, have you been there?”
No! That’s too close. You need someplace a few miles away.
“No, I haven’t. I have to run some errands after work today, but any other day would work.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“That would be lovely. I hope you don’t mind that I asked you.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “I was just working up to the same thing, believe it or not.”
“Wednesday, then.”
He went back to his seat, feeling his heart lighter by half.
<<This is not how it’s supposed to go. You’re not cooperating.>>
“Oh, shut up,” he muttered.
<<You can’t deny the darkness in you. It’s stronger than you are, it will take you over. I can see it now: you stand over the body, heart slowing after the struggle, a strange sense of elation possessing you—>>
Coffee cup in hand, Raymond strolled out into the hallway and stood looking out of the large window at the trees below. “I have an idea for a plot,” he said as if to himself. “How about a writer is found dead in his study, polished off by an irate character?”
<<I don’t think much of that.>>
“I didn’t think you would.”
<<I’m the author here, not you. Stop trying to twist the plot.>>
“Listen up, fathead. The plot is defunct, over, kaput. If you don’t stay out of my head, you will wish you had. That’s a promise.”
<<Fine. You’ll be sorry. You’ll never accomplish anything. You’ll always be a nobody—>>
“That’s fine with me.”
<<You’re pretty uppity for someone I just invented. You’re nothing but a creation. >>
“And you’re not?” Raymond sipped his coffee, and winked at the ceiling.
End