Run Out Groove - A Short Story

As Kina opened the bathroom door, steam flooded into the living room, rising sharply as it met the cooler air. Despite the large bathroom window being opened there was still more than enough steam from her long, indulgent shower to reach the high ceiling of her small apartment’s central room. As she walked over to her record player her light, satin gown hung loosely around her quickly drying body and a drop of cool water ran from her hair down the back of her neck.

Lifting the lid of her record player she gently placed the needle close to the edge of the 7”, letting go when she heard the satisfying scratch of needle on vinyl. Following a short, quiet, gratifying hiss, the first few bars of Parliament’s Agony of Defeet sprung to life and George Clinton’s smooth voice rang out. Kina slowly began to shake her hips as she walked the few feet towards her TV. She turned it on but kept the volume on mute. Kina enjoyed the company of a flickering TV late at night and it left light, fuzzy shadows all over the apartment. Briefly looking at the screen she half recognized an old John Wayne Western but wasn’t sure of its name. Turning to the drinks cabinet behind her sofa she continued her slow groove across the room. She stopped half way and turned as she heard a dull thud coming from the bathroom. Angry at herself for not hanging up her towel properly again she continued to her cabinet, poured herself a small scotch and used a set of polished silver tongs to pick out a warm slice of lemon which had seen better days. Heading to the kitchen in search of ice, Kina once more strut a funky walk across the room in front of the closed drapes and towards the open kitchen.

The soft light of Kina’s large angle poised lamp flickered across the high walls and ceiling as she reached her destination and she bent down to open the freezer. The frozen air made her wiggle her toes in protest as it reached her warmer than usual, soft, coffee coloured skin. The clink of two ice cubes completed Kina’s nightcap and she returned to the open space of her lounge. Sipping her cool drink while bending her knees into a soulful swing, Kina thought back to earlier that evening at Bruno’s Place when Bruno had thankfully intervened once again when a couple of guys had been pestering her and Anne for too long. She could always rely on Bruno to be there at the right time. Kina lifted her head back and downed what was left of her drink. As she did so she closed her eyes but was conscious of a change of lighting. Kina turned sharply to be dazzled by her own lamp, now facing her square on. Like an actor on the stage she struggled to see beyond her unwanted spotlight but began to make out the figure of someone beyond it. A small wail left her lips and her right hand clasped her mouth as her left reached through her hair, dislodging a few more droplets of water.

Kina’s body laid out a clear shadow on the wall behind her, the shape of her legs and torso now clearly visible through her light gown. A small an ineffectual “What?” was all that she managed to say as the figure stepped towards her and out of the masking darkness of behind the light. At that moment the words Fort Apache leapt into her mind. It was the name of the Western still flickering on her silent TV. Why it had come to her at that moment she couldn’t rationalise but Fort Apache it was. For some reason the song she had been happily dancing to just seconds earlier sounded louder in her ears but she could also hear her heart beat. To Kina in that moment it felt as though her heart was beating in the canal of each ear. Again she struggled to vocalise an audible response to the appearance of this stranger but managed just a few sounds which formed no word she had ever heard nor spoken before. A lonesome tear was squeezed from her right eye. Her left, while blinking as rapidly as her right, remained dry.

The man, it was a man, she could see that now, stepped slowly closer. One side of his face now illuminated by the still brightly shining lamp she recognised the him as one of the two who had pestered her and Anne earlier that evening. It was obviously him, the smaller of the two men. At Bruno’s he seemed to be showing more interest in Anne yet here he was, uninvited in Kina’s apartment. She was sure it was the same man. Ray or Ron, something that began with an R. She was sure it was the same man although she didn’t remember seeing his long brown leather jacket at Bruno’s. Why things like coats and Westerns were running through Kina’s mind at a time like this she couldn’t work out but she was having a thousand different thoughts at once even though her mind was blank with panic.

Kina slowly stepped backwards, her shadow tightening against the cream wall behind her. The man continued his slow walk. Hitting the wall, Kina had nowhere else to go and sunk downwards into a heap, one hand still over her mouth but now also partially covering her eyes. Her left hand had moved from her head and was now stretched out in front of her as though to shield her body from the approaching stone faced man. All this time the man, Rich? She wasn’t sure; he hadn’t said a word and simply looked with intent. He stood over the cowering woman and with one hand picked her up with her own hair. Kina’s weave began to rip from her scalp, taking her own hair with it as she was forcefully returned to her feet. In the man’s hand she finally noticed the blade. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Now she had spotted it, it couldn’t be more obvious and was shining in the bright light that illuminated the small apartment. It even created a bright spot on the wall behind the TV where the light caught the polished metal.

The song on the record player reached a crescendo and the TV flickered. The knife was raised towards the ceiling as Kina finally managed to let out a scream. It was no use though. The knife plunged into her chest and she closed her eyes for the final time. The needle hit the run out groove and the apartment fell silent. A small click indicated the turntable had stopped spinning but this wasn’t heard over Kina’s limp body hitting the floor. A small puddle began collecting around her shape and began running with the grain of the wooden floor. The murderer recoiled as the blood reached his shoe and turned back towards the bathroom in silence, leaving the bloody mark of one shoe as he went.