Double SeductionPosted: February 5, 2016
Dr. Meg and I are writing a little novella we hope you will enjoy and keep you in suspense. I’m writing the first chapter, she will write and second and so on. We’ll post a chapter a week. Anxious to hear your comments and feedback.
A disclaimer: If someone murders Meg during the writing of this piece it will not be me. That weekend I have an iron-clad alibi. – Kevin
Chapter 1 – Seduction
Victims had to be seduced.
David Twichell’s thoughts had been informed by that idea. If he were going to write compelling prey, they had to be seduced. Not to the bed, to the slaughter.
Like most aspiring writers in the 21st century, David had a blog. He used a pen name, of course, hiding his “real” identity. That’s where he met Mel.
Melody Rivers was a writer with a blog as well. Three books to her name, all Amazon bestsellers. He didn’t have to read them to know her writing was pedestrian. He knew the type: She saw how E. L. James or Stephanie Meyer found fame and fortune and thought “I could do that.” Tripe. Written for the consumption of sexually frustrated, middle-age women. He loathed the idea she called herself an “author” – she was just a self-published hack.
He knew he was not a “hack”. On the contrary he would take the publishing world by storm. His ideas, his characters, his intricate plotting would be a bestseller. From a “real” publisher. His Great Novel.
But his Great Novel was yet to be completed. It was yet to be started. He had been “thinking” about it for a decade now. David wasn’t good at starting, let alone finishing.
Sunday through Thursday, 6:30am found the great novelist driving to his $11.48 an hour customer service job.
What David lacked in perseverance, he made up for in charm. In person he was a pudgy, pale, ill-dressed nobody. Talked too much and made bad jokes. But on the phone he was smart, funny, warm, attractive. The company actually used recordings of his calls to train new reps. The customers who popped on his screen loved him, gave him top marks in surveys.
“Merchant Services, this is David, who do I have the pleasure of serving today?” Smiles and sunshine.
“Name’s Jim Fuller. Dave, can Y’all help me figure out this bill? It ain’t right.” David stifled his initial disgust. His name was DAVID, obviously too hard for this inbred.
“Certainly Jim, I’d be happy to assist you today. Let me look up your account. Can you read the account number on the statement?” He resisted calling him “James”. The thought made him smile.
“Where do I find the account number? I’ve gots the bill in front of me.”
God these customers were imbeciles. “If you look at the upper right corner you should see the statement date. Just beneath the date is the account number. It will say ‘Account’ followed by six digits. Can you read those for me?” If you can read.
Jim read off the numbers. David located his account. “James” owned a small farmer’s supply in southern Georgia. Of course, thought David.
“It’s this here ‘Processing Fee’ – I get charged it every month, but it’s usually a hundred bucks or so. This month it’s over $500. I think y’all musta made a mistake.”
“Of course, Jim, let me look at your statements and see why it is higher this month.” David prided himself on being smarter than the other reps. He knew how to use the system and found the information quickly.
“Jim it looks like you had much higher sales last month. The fee is a percentage of total sales. Did you have unusually high credit card activity last month?”
“Well, yeah, we started sellin’ used farm equipement.”
“Good for you! That sounds like a smart move. How is that working out for you?” David’s mind pictured a row of used manure spreaders.
“Aw, it’s been good. Did over $60,000.00.”
“That’s amazing! Since the Processing Fee is a percentage of your sales, that’s why it was higher this month.” 1+1=2, numb-nuts.
“Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks – sorry I forgot your name.”
“DAVID, and you’re welcome, Jim! Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
The call was typical, one of 30 or 40 each day.
He would get off work at 3:30 and return to his 2 room apartment. David’s ego needed constant stroking. He craved attention. He craved admiration. He would walk in the door, get himself a craft beer, plop into his Goodwill recliner and see who had liked or commented on his posts from last night.
Over the last few years on his anonymous blog he had developed a following. His charm and wit made for humorous posts. He portrayed his life as fabulous. His faux career in advertising. Imaginary sex scenes with his imaginary girlfriend.
As a child David’s mother doted on him and gave him unearned praise. Lying about his achievements at school got the same praise as actual achievement. He followed the pattern through to the present. It worked for his ego.
He began formulating a plan. A plan of seduction. He wanted to write his Great Novel about a serial killer. How would a serial killer lure victims online? He wondered. He saw how people were disarmed by his online personality. Especially the women.
David “met” Melody the way he met most women online. He visited her blog, made a witty comment or three and she responded. She revealed far more about herself than she intended. He could tell she was bookish. The kind of woman who has a richer fantasy life than real one. He could tell she was lonely and filled the romantic void in her life by writing romance into her meager books.
She was smart. A professional. Running her Chiropractic practice out of her home. But he also saw her vulnerability. She was too openly trusting. Naive. Saw people in their best light. Always a word of encouragement and kindness. She probably chose her profession because she was overly empathetic.
He would use that to trap her.
After a few weeks of banter in comments, he wrote a little fiction piece, featuring her. She responded as he knew she would. Flattered by the attention. Charmed by his wit. She already found him compelling. He asked in a comment, politely, disarmingly, if he could send her an email.
People can be betrayed by the slightest mistake. Replying to his email was hers.