It was almost midnight when Reverend Sidney Whitechapel took a last draw from his cigarette and stubbed it out in the blue ceramic ashtray. He upended his glass and finished the last of the whiskey. He looked at the girl sprawled on the couch, but her lifeless eyes gave nothing back. She had been pretty enough. She was still pretty, though somewhat marred now. Thin, she had long dark tresses, flawless pale skin, and shapely legs. He liked a girl with shapely legs.
The Peters girl, he didn’t know her Christian name, but the family name was definitely Peters. He had seen her in church just last Sunday, glancing at her hymnal as she raised her voice in songs of praise. When he spotted her hitchhiking on the edge of town this afternoon he recognized the opportunity and stopped to offer a ride. It had been easy to convince her to come back to the church. He was a trained, professional, counselor and he could help her to talk about her problems instead of running away from them.
Such a foolish girl.
He stood and got dressed; he’d had his fun, now it was into the lake with her. Into the lake – where he stored all the other foolish girls and boys; after he was finished with them.
Got a little dark here this morning! Thanks for reading.