The Mad E-mailer
by M.E. Wright
Perhaps it was her incredible desire for him to need her that made her do what she did then. Or perhaps it was some deep rooted resentment she had for him. Maybe it was her conscience. Whatever it was, she wasted no time in acting on the urge. She reached for her coat, and fished in her purse for a quarter. She was headed to the corner phone booth to make a call. "God." She tried to utter a silent prayer for herself, but that was as far as she got. Her mind raced at 100 miles an hour. Her decision to call the police propelled her into action and now it felt like she couldn't keep up. Whatever she had to do couldn't be done fast enough. She fumbled for her keys, holding the door open with her left foot before it locked her out. "They'll think I'm crazy. But I know he's doing this. I don't know HOW he's doing it, but he's got to be stopped."
Her own footsteps echoed in a soothing rhythm in her ears as she ran down the steps of her walk up and out the front door. "Get. Help. Get. Help. Get. Help." When she hit the wet pavement the pounding changed to a slapping sound that startled her and she suddenly remembered why she had to get help. Help for him. Help for the people he had already killed and those he was planning to kill.
She was rounding the mailbox at the corner, headed for the phone booth. She had to look twice to make sure no one was occupying the booth. The windows were gritty and beads of water trickled down continuously, as if in a marathon race to the finish. She paused to catch her breath as she shut her self inside with the folding door. It was small, cozy and she was relieved to be out of the rain. Still her heart was pounding furiously, belying the sense of releif she first felt when she finally decided to do something to stop him.
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