The Spice Girl
By Steve Miller
The sodium streetlights cast sickly orange pools along Riverside Avenue, but between them stretched gulfs of darkness so complete they seemed to swallow sound itself. May pressed herself deeper into the recessed doorway of the shuttered pawnshop, her breath coming in shallow gasps that fogged in the October air. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone, the screen's glow painfully bright in the surrounding blackness.
She dialed the number she'd memorized but never thought she'd actually use.
One ring. Two rings. Pick up, pick up, pick up—
"May?" The voice on the other end was warm and alert despite the late hour. Familiar in a way that made May's chest tighten with something between relief and guilt.
"He's back," May whispered, her voice cracking. "He's back and he's following me. I saw him outside the restaurant when my shift ended. I tried to lose him on the subway but he—" Her words tumbled over each other, panic sharpening each syllable. "He was waiting at my stop. He knew. He somehow knew which train I'd take."
"Where are you now?" Her tone shifted, became focused, tactical. "Exact location."
"Riverside, just short of 23rd. I ducked into a doorway but I can see him. He's across the street, just... standing there. Watching. I think he's waiting for me to move." May's hand shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. "It's been three months. Three months of emails, texts, showing up at my work, following me home. The restraining order didn't do anything. He doesn't care."
"Call the police. Right now. I'll stay on the line with you."
May let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "They won't get here in time. You know they won't. And even if they do, what then? They'll take a report. Maybe they'll talk to him. Maybe they'll even arrest him this time, though they didn't the last three times I called. And then what? He'll be out in hours, and he'll be even angrier."
That's when he moved until he was standing directly under a streetlight. Her breath caught in her throat—shallow, useless. She could see his face now, that face, the one that used to make her feel safe. The one that had learned to smile while his hands tightened around her wrist. Around her throat.
"He's coming," May breathed into the phone. Last time he grabbed me, he said—" Her voice fractured. "He said if he couldn't have me, he'd make sure no one could. I saw it in his eyes, Mira. He meant it."
"Listen to me carefully." The voice on the line cut through the panic like a blade through silk. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes." The answer came without hesitation.
"Then stay visible. Keep moving around corners. I'm on my way, and I'll handle the rest. But tell me what you're wearing--"
Derek Hutchins felt the familiar heat coursing through his veins—that intoxicating cocktail of rage and desire that had become his constant companion over the past three months. Ever since May had tried to leave him. As if she had that right. As if she could just walk away from what they had, from what he'd given her.
She thought she could hide from him. Thought a piece of paper from some judge would keep him away. Thought changing her phone number and blocking him on social media would erase him from her life. But she was his. She'd always been his, from the moment he'd first seen her laughing with her coworkers at that bar, her dark hair catching the light, her smile bright enough to stop his heart.
He'd made her his, and she would remember that tonight.
He watched her slip out of the doorway and start moving quickly down Riverside, her shoulders hunched, her pace just short of a run. The sight sent a thrill through him. She was afraid. Good. She should be afraid. Fear would teach her what kindness and patience hadn't—that she belonged to him, that she would always belong to him.
Derek followed, keeping to the shadows on his side of the street, matching her pace. He'd gotten good at this over the past months. Knew how to move quietly, how to anticipate her routes, how to read her body language. He knew when she was about to look over her shoulder (she did, twice, but he was ready, already melting into a doorway). He knew when she was about to break into a run (not yet, but soon—he could see the tension building in her frame).
At the corner of 23rd and Riverside, she turned right, moving faster now. Derek smiled and quickened his own pace. She was heading toward Riverside Park. Probably thought she could lose him in the maze of paths that wound through the trees and around the old fountain. Probably thought the darkness would hide her.
The joke would be on her.
He rounded the corner just in time to see her crossing the street toward the park entrance, nearly running now. Derek's smile widened. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, fingers closing around the folding knife he'd bought specifically for tonight. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. Hoped she'd finally understand, finally submit, finally accept that they were meant to be together.
But if she wouldn't accept it willingly, he'd make her accept it. One way or another, tonight would end with May understanding exactly who she belonged to.
Derek jogged across the street and into the park. The old-growth trees blocked out most of the ambient light from the street, creating a darkness so complete he had to slow down, let his eyes adjust. He could hear footsteps ahead—quick, light, feminine. May, trying to escape.
Not this time.
He moved deeper into the park, following the sound. The path curved around a dense stand of oaks, and there—he caught a glimpse of her, maybe thirty yards ahead, moving toward the old fountain at the park's center. The fountain had been dry for years, surrounded by benches that the homeless used during the day and drug dealers used at night. At this hour, it would be deserted.
Perfect.
Derek closed the distance, his breathing steady despite the exertion. He'd been working out more these past months, building his strength, preparing for this moment. He was faster than her, stronger than her. She had to know she couldn't outrun him.
She reached the fountain and stopped, her back to him, her shoulders rising and falling with her rapid breathing. Derek slowed to a walk, pulling the knife from his pocket. The blade snicked open with a sound that seemed impossibly loud in the quiet park.
"May," he said, his voice carrying across the space between them. "Did you really think you could run from me?"
She didn't turn around. Didn't move at all.
"I've been patient," Derek continued, moving closer. "So patient. I've tried to make you understand. Tried to show you that we belong together. But you keep fighting it. Keep fighting me." He was ten feet away now. Five. "That ends tonight."
He reached out to grab her shoulder, to spin her around, to show her the knife and watch the fear bloom in those beautiful dark eyes—
She moved.
It happened so fast Derek's brain couldn't process it. One moment she was standing still, the next she'd pivoted on her left foot, her right leg sweeping up in an arc that connected with his wrist with devastating precision. The knife went flying, clattering across the concrete. Before he could react, she'd stepped inside his guard, her elbow driving into his solar plexus with enough force to empty his lungs.
Derek staggered back, gasping, trying to understand what was happening. May didn't know how to fight. She was a waitress, for God's sake, she—
A fist crashed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side. Then another blow, this one to his ribs, and he felt something crack. He tried to raise his hands to defend himself, but she was everywhere at once—striking with her fists, her elbows, her knees, each blow precise and devastating.
A kick to his knee sent him crashing to the ground. He tried to crawl away, tried to get up, but a foot planted itself in his chest, pinning him to the concrete. He looked up, vision blurring from pain and shock, and saw her standing over him.
But something was wrong.
Her face was May's face—the same dark eyes, the same high cheekbones. But the expression was all wrong. May's eyes had always been soft, kind, even when she was afraid. These eyes were hard. Cold.
"You should have paid attention to the emails," she said, her voice similar to May's but with a harder edge, a different cadence. "The ones warning you to leave my sister alone. The ones explaining exactly what would happen if you didn't."
Derek's vision swam. Sister? May didn't have a—
Movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head, ignoring the spike of pain the motion caused, and saw another figure approaching. Walking calmly, unhurried, her silhouette backlit by the distant streetlights.
As she drew closer, Derek's mind finally caught up with what his eyes were seeing.
Two of her. No, there were two of them. Identical. Twins.
The second woman—the real May, he realized with a sickening lurch—stopped a few feet away. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, but there was something else there too. Something like relief. Like hope.
"Hello, Derek," May said quietly. "Hello, Mira."
The woman standing over him—the one who'd beaten him with the efficiency of a trained fighter—glanced at her sister. May's chin lifted slightly, a nod so small it was almost imperceptible. Permission. Confirmation. They were in this together.
Mira smiled. It was the smile of a predator who'd cornered its prey.
"May got all the sugar in the family." She reached into her purse. "I got all the spice."
She pulled out a pistol. Even in his dazed state, Derek recognized the cylindrical suppressor attached to the barrel.
"And in my line of work," the woman continued, her voice conversational, almost pleasant, "I rarely do anything nice."
"Please!" Derek's voice cracked, rising to a shriek. "Please, I'm sorry, I'll leave her alone, I swear, I'll never—"
The gun came up, steady as stone.
"You should have left her alone three months ago," Mira said. "You should have left her alone when she asked. When she begged. When she got the restraining order. When I sent you those emails explaining exactly what I do for a living and exactly what would happen if you continued to stalk my sister."
"I'll disappear!" Derek was sobbing now, all pretense of control gone. "I'll move away, I'll never contact her again, please, you don't have to—"
"You're right," Mira said. "I don't have to. I want to."
The gun barely made a sound—just a soft cough, like someone clearing their throat. But the acrid smell hit May instantly, sharp and chemical and wrong, burning the back of her throat like swallowed acid. Her ears rang with a high, piercing whine that seemed to swallow all other sound. Even though she wasn't holding the weapon, she felt the recoil in her chest—a phantom kick that made her stumble backward, her body responding to violence she wasn't committing.
Derek's body jerked. The dark stain spread across his shirt.
"You were warned," Mira said softly, and fired again. And again.
May's hands were shaking so badly she couldn't feel them anymore. Her vision tunneled, the edges of the world collapsing into a pinpoint, and then—just as suddenly—it sharpened with terrible, nauseating clarity. She could see everything. The exact moment the light left his eyes. The way his mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from water. The small spray of blood that caught the streetlight.
Each muffled shot drove deeper into her skull, the ringing intensifying until her teeth ached and her legs felt hollow beneath her. She wanted to look away but couldn't. Wanted to scream but had no air.
Her stomach lurched, bile rising to mix with the chemical taste coating her tongue. Her skin prickled with cold sweat despite the summer heat. The world went white at the edges. Her breath came in gasps that tasted of copper and her own terror.
May stood frozen, staring at Derek's body, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The smell of the suppressor hung thick in the air around them, coating her tongue.
Mira returned the gun to her purse and pulled out her phone, typing rapidly.
"Cleanup crew will be here in twenty minutes," she said, her voice brisk and professional. "We need to be gone in ten."
May kept staring at Derek's body. "Is he—"
"Yes." She put a hand on her sister's shoulder, her touch gentle despite the violence she'd just committed. "It's over, May. He can't hurt you anymore."
May turned and buried her face in her sister's shoulder, her body shaking with sobs that were equal parts relief and horror. Mira held her, one hand stroking her hair, the other still holding the phone.
"I know this isn't how you wanted it to end," Mira said softly. "I know you wanted the system to work."
May nodded, wiping her eyes. "What happens now?"
"Now you go home. Take a shower. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, you go to work like normal. If anyone asks, you'll say you went straight home and was there the rest of the night, alone. I'll make sure of it. Your phone's GPS will show you never left your apartment."
"And Derek?"
She glanced at the body, her expression neutral. "Derek will disappear. Someone will file a missing person's report. The police will investigate. They'll find nothing. Eventually, he'll just be another statistic, another person who vanished without a trace." She squeezed May's hand. "And you'll be free."
They walked out of the park together, two identical women holding hands, moving through the shadows. Behind them, Derek Hutchins lay cooling on the concrete, his eyes staring sightlessly at the stars.
By the time the sun rose over Riverside Park, there would be no trace that he'd ever been there at all.
--
If you enjoyed that story, you can find more of the same in The Last Laugh and Other Stories! Currently available at a discout!
