The one redeeming quality of a stalker is they will accept any request to meet. Even when it’s a trap.
Gary’s car crunched up the driveway to Sarah’s holiday home. The long victim of his affection. Even though the cold weather stole any charm it had as a location, it still offered seclusion. This is what Sarah’s father had in mind.
The closing of the vehicle door sprung the waiting crows from the bare branches nearby. With the engine off, the air returned to silence, save the rushing of vehicles on some distant highway.
On the porch to the property sat Sarah’s father. His back pushed high against an acetate armchair, both hands grasped at the armrests and he stared out unknown from the dark. He watched Gary get out his car and slam his feet through the gravel and ascend the steps. It was not until his hand was on the front door that he chose to switch on the porch light.
“Sit down,” he demanded. In the moment Gary thought about turning to run he spied the petite shotgun his victim’s father had started to caress. Gary did as he was told and sank onto a low stool that seemed incapable of bestowing comfort. A seat specifically for an unwelcome guest.
“You’ve ignored every plea or warning my girl has sent your way,” he started. “All I’ve got left are just two questions for you, son,” her father spoke with resignation. “Do you know how far the sound of a gunshot travels?” he raised the weapon across his knees. “And do you know how far we are from the nearest road?”
Gary turned his eyes upwards. He soon concluded that he knew the answer to neither.