The Masked Murderer

Captive

Saturday, I drove down to Brookville Park for my usual morning jog. As I pulled up to the parking lot, feeling uneasy, I briefly scanned my surroundings until I felt a sense of safety. Spotting many other joggers and hikers, I was relieved I wasn't alone in the huge park.

Jogging at Brookville Park had been a part of my daily routine, but I hadn't been back since my ordeal. However, I figured it was time to reclaim that part of my life, even with the looming threat of the Masked Murderer. I grew tired of living my life in fear and decided it was time to confront my fears head-on. That included living my life and continuing to do the things that I loved—refusing to give into the fears of a deranged, sick, and twisted man. I was now adamant about living my life to the fullest.

I had my gun with me, providing a sense of comfort and protection that helped minimize my fears. Glancing down at it, I whispered, "I'm depending on you," as I secured it in my fanny pack.

Stepping out of my car, I took in the serene beauty of the park. The tall trees, illuminated by the sun's rays filtering through the green leaves, created a picturesque backdrop for my morning jog.

Starting with a brisk walk, I gradually picked up the pace to a jog. My breathing grew labored, and sweat dripped from my pores, but the exhilaration of returning to jogging overshadowed any discomfort.

After completing my jog, I returned home with plans to surprise Charles for our anniversary weekend. I intended to take him out for a nice lunch at one of his favorite seafood restaurants downtown. However, as I pulled into our parking spot, I noticed an unfamiliar blue Ford truck parked outside our apartment.

Entering our apartment, I was met with the sound of running water from the bathroom, resembling the rush of a river.

"Charles?" I called, "Are you home?"

Maybe he didn't hear me cause the running bath water was too loud. I knocked on the bathroom door, "Charles?" I called.

No answer.

I grabbed the knob and slowly opened up the door. Stepping into the bathroom, my eyes widened as the horrific scene appeared before me.

Charles sat on the side of the bathtub, harshly scrubbing tons of blood off of his hands, arms, and face.

"Charles, what happened?!" I asked as I gasped at all the blood.

Charles looked at me in astonishment, "What are you doing home?! I thought you'd be at your parents?"

"It's our anniversary week, I wanted to surprise you with a nice lunch," I said while staring at all the blood in amazement.

"Charles, you didn't answer me, what happened?!"

Charles put his head down and focused on scrubbing his arms.

"Oh, some crazed bitch stabbed me, but I'll be okay," he said. I was stunned by Charles's speech. I had never heard him talk like that before. He had never used the word bitch, not around me anyways.

"How did it happen?! Where?! Why?!" I hastily asked in curiosity.

He shook his head.

"I'm not even sure what happened. A strange woman just walked up to me out of nowhere and stabbed me," Charles said as he continuously scrubbed his arms and wrists.

"We have to call the police!" I demanded.

His eyes grew big and he looked up at me.

"No, we don't need the police. I'll be okay."

"But what if she does this to someone else? We can't let a deranged woman go around stabbing people," I told him.

Charles stood up and yelled in my face "I said it's fine! We're not calling the police!"