Bringing Karma

Karma, retribution, just punishments.... but what if I'm the one doing them?

I like to think of myself as Karma. I watch quietly from the sidelines and when I see someone do something terrible, I pay them back. Sometimes, it’s something as mild as super glue in the locks of their cars, but I have, on occasion, even roughed them up. Of course, I’ve never killed anyone, but it’s on my list of to dos for the really bad ones.

Like her.

She’s one of the most dangerous people I know. For years, I've watched her demonstrate this far too well. She’s pretty, in a plain sort of way, but enough so that she’s left more than her fair share of broken hearts. But it’s not her looks that make her a threat, it’s her ability to be a chameleon.

I’ve watched Liz play the part of a caring mother to her latest victims, while turning around and embracing her druggie party girl with their friends. She is whatever people want her to be and because of that skill, she needs to die.

Liz is a mom, which makes me hesitant to take her life, but her children are not a priority to her. They sit in wet diaper rashes all day, pawned off onto whoever will watch them while she either works or sleeps around. Her youngest doesn’t even smile because no one plays with her, just stuffs a bottle in her face whenever she shows any signs of life. Their clothes and faces are often filthy with neglect.

Their father isn’t much better than Liz but he is at least up front about being a scumball. She regularly tricks folks into caring for her, indulging her more expensive tastes, playing it off as she’s a victim of an abusive lover. When she gets bored, she goes back home, leaving them broken-hearted and their families often very damaged.

I can’t tell you how many couples I’ve watched dissolve under her siren charisma, how many times I’ve watched her children cry for a mother who didn’t care. By this time, I usually would have taught her a lesson already, but her children have stayed my hand. I keep hoping she’ll open up her eyes, see her family and become a parent.

But, she’ll never change. There’s no desire or incentive and others will always pay the price.

It’s been a long time coming but I’ve waited until one of her many clubbing nights. When her fiancé is out of town for “work”, I have my doubts about him too, she dumps the kids with a friend and parties. Sometimes, she comes home with someone, but usually she enjoys them at the club and comes home on her own to recover.

I wait in my car in the early morning, knowing eventually she will return. When she does, I’ve lucked out, it’s one of her recovery trips. She staggers in, reeling from whatever drugs are in her system, and shuts the door behind her.

Even if she has remembered to lock it, I have a key.

I give her an hour to settle before getting out of the car. I’m not too worried about running into anyone, it’s only about five in the morning and her trailer park is usually quiet. I try the door. As expected, she’s forgotten to lock it behind her. Karma is encouraging me to make my move, embracing the idea of retribution.

I slip quietly through the narrow hall and make my way to her bedroom. Heavy snores echo in the darkness. I flip on the hall light before I enter her room, letting it illuminate the path before me but not be bright enough to wake her. Not that I really need to worry, she’s sleeping off the effects of whatever she chose to indulge in.

She moans softly in her sleep when I roll her onto her back, but doesn’t stir. My gloved hands set my bag down on the bed and pulled out two sets of handcuffs. I clip one around her wrist and flinch, expecting her to wake up and fight, but nothing. I secured the left arm to her bedpost. I do the same to her other arm so she can’t escape.

I pull out a ball gag. Carefully, I place it in her mouth and secure it behind her head. The handcuffs didn’t wake her, but the gag blocking her snores makes her jerk awake. Her dark eyes go wide at the sight of me and she begins bucking against her bonds. She screams but the gag does its job. Her cries come out only as muffled whimpers.

I straddle her, pinning her nude body between my knees. There is panic in her eyes, but not understanding nor recognition. Pride expands in my chest. Every day, she has a million chances to see me but yet, I’ve slipped by unnoticed.

My bag houses my tool of choice. I pull out the long, shiny blade. She screams again and begins thrashing beneath me. The way her body feels pinned beneath me, wild and struggling against mine, stirs something deeper than desire.

I savor the moment. My eyes shut as I enjoy her desperate dance. I open my eyes and meet hers, dark pools of vapid existence, destroying those unlucky enough to love her.

“Karma sent me,” I say as I raise the knife above my head. “I’m doing this for all the people you’ve hurt and for those little girls you continue to hurt. I’m doing this to protect your future victims and set free your family.”

Tears stream down her cheeks and the metal has wedged into her hands with the effort of her struggle. But it’s all in vain.

The knife streaks down, multiple times, between her breasts. Chills sweep across me and shudder in delight as her warm blood splashes us both. I can taste it, smell it, salty copper sweet in the air. The light fades from her eyes and she no longer bucks. The blade sinks into her flesh with a few more juicy thwacks but she’s dead.

It’s over so fast. Mild disappointment swells inside me, not enough to chase away the euphoria but enough I wish it had lasted longer. My legs shake with pleasure when I climb off her. Her blood is tacky on my skin, gathering in the folds of my joints. I imagine I look like a nightmare come to life.

This is what I was designed for.

I saunter to the living room, planning on changing into a fresh pair of clothes. But, I’m not the only one in the cramped quarters.

The door opens just as I enter the room. The wife of the last family Liz broke steps through the door. Her rage-filled eyes take in my bloody appearance and widen. Without time to register what’s going on, I’m looking down the barrel of the gun she’d been hiding.

I open my mouth to protest, I’m the answer to her problem. Pain tears through my chest. There will be no explanation. My ears register the roar of the gun as I collapse on the ground. My life pumps out of me, just as it did Liz, and I realize, this is truly karma.

Not me, not even the hurt wife.

My death.