Real Character

Author’s note: This was written based on this week’s prompt from Writer’s Digest.

‘Patty sat in her car sipping her tea. The rain pounded softly against the roof.’

I had even predicted the weather.

My car stood a block behind Patty’s, the real Patty’s, car. I could see clearly enough to know that everything I had written was coming true. My heart raced in my chest.

Two of the most important things in the world right now: 1. I had written, predicted, events that were being carried out right before my eyes. And 2. Someone was going to die.

The strangest part was that I hadn’t fully finished my novel yet. I’d only written to the point of the discovery of the murder. I didn’t know who the victim is, or was, or is going to be. That was supposed to be the Big Reveal.

I had one chapter left to go – one that’d I written and rewritten but could never find the right fit for the characters. Patty, sitting in her car oh so close to my own, had a very strong motivation: her father had been murdered, and throughout her life she’d fallen deeper and deeper into the psychology of a killer, finally becoming one herself. And since her father’s murderer had never been caught, she felt, no, she knew that she could never be caught either.

My Macbook pro sat on my lap as I stared at the words on the screen. Scrivener was open to full screen mode: no distractions.

A strange calm overtook me, like a drape had been pulled across a window during stormy weather.

My fingers twitched over the keyboard. I closed my eyes and I wrote:

‘The rain came down harder now.’

I breathed deeply: it had started to rain harder.

‘Patty felt the pull, the cold screwdriver pull in her belly that this was it. This was the moment. She stifled a scream of impatience. Placing the tea in her cup holder she set one hand against the door handle.

A few people ran past her car. Those without umbrella’s used newspapers and briefcases. Patty smiled. She had no need for an umbrella. Rain never bothered her. In fact, she welcomed it.

“Time to die.” She said aloud. Then once more for good luck, “Time to die.”

Opening the door she realized she’d parked too close to the curb and it made that horrible scratching sound. She closed her eyes and breathed through her nostrils. No noise. Not now.

She got out of the car, closed the door, and walked down the block.

The little red honda sat on the other side of the road. The small man inside looked to be either asleep or in some sort of trance.’

I opened my eyes and looked to my left. Patty stood on the corner staring at me.

Two of the most important things in the world right now: 1. She didn’t want to be caught. 2. I, as the writer, was the only one who knew what she was doing.

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