Friends With Benefits

The dark van creeped slowly down the lane, dirt caked on it from years of neglect. The driver was cloaked by windows tinted darker than should have been allowed. It was Halloween night. It was his night.

The school girls skipped in unison down the lane, playing follow the leader. Three brunettes, and finally, her, the blonde. Normally the lane was brightly lit, if not by street lamps, by the scattered houses. This year, it seemed, a few of the street lamps had burned out. The girls skipped onward, unaware of trouble ahead.

The van had been parked for a couple of minutes now, the driver patiently awaiting his prey, the pellet gun resting comfortably on the passenger seat, its task complete.

He knew his target. He’d watched her walking through the halls, oblivious to his existence, oblivious to his value. He’d watched her from the broom closet, conveniently located across from her locker. He had no kids of his own, but he attended many school events and rallies, at least the ones that she participated in. When asked about his attendance, his reply was always the same: “School spirit,” he said, enthusiasm thick in his voice.

She’d slept over friend’s houses seven times in the past twelve months, the last being Molly’s three weeks ago. She’d started her monthly cycle six months and seventeen days ago, according to the entry in his very well-documented journal. He knew this because he knew she kept a small stash of pads well-hidden in her school locker. He’d also watched her buy her first box with her Mom at the pharmacy. She was halfway to becoming a woman, he thought, and his intent was to fulfill the other half of that feminine achievement.

His heartbeat quickened as he saw them approaching. Bait had been extended, a trap waiting to spring. Irresistible to a school girl, of that he was confident.

The skipping was now out of sync, but the girls didn’t care. They were dressed as zombies, heading towards Heather’s party. That all of them wouldn’t make it there on-time was simply fate.

To his horror, the girls started crossing the street, avoiding the van, avoiding his bait. All but the blonde, all but the one wanting to be different, to be unique.

She saw the money. Shooting fish in a barrel, he grinned and thought to himself. As she picked up the bank-fresh pack of twenty dollar bills, fifty-thousand volts passed through the thin wire connected from the van to the bait, wrapped in thin, conductive wire. Not nearly enough to kill, but plenty to knock silly a school girl.

He swiftly opened the back door, grabbed the near unconscious girl, stepped back into the van and quickly shut the door, noticing the panicked look on the other three, watching helplessly from across the street.

He sped off, his license plate one that was lifted from an abandoned car years ago. His spot was just three minutes away, not much more than a dirt path off the lane.