His heart was pounding. He could see the petite girl coming down the road, and she couldn't see him. A few drunk football fans had wandered past earlier, still talking about some penalty miss and stumbling into the highway. Clearly 1990 was not to be England's year either but he was not worrying about football, he was concerned about the beautiful barmaid who had served him the day before and whose movements he had followed.
He scanned the road again. It was a busy road out of Bromsgrove, as it went towards Kidderminster, but the broken street lighting and adjacent park made it ideal and he had thought about the moment he came to the town. He slid his hat over his head to hide his face and waited.
He got a good glimpse of the girl in the soft light that existed. There were no cars on the road and not another soul in sight. She was wearing a short skirt, heels, a red-coloured crop-top. She had long browny-red hair, and had a coat over her shoulder, although it was not done up; it was a warm night.
She looked in her late teens or early twenties, and he licked his lips; she would be the prettiest girl to date. Of course, this wasn't the first time he had done this. In the last six months, he had attacked in Carlisle, Manchester, Skipton, Hull and Nottingham; his nomadic existence meant that his attacks were never linked and five separate police forces were chasing him.
They were never going to find him, he was sure of that. He ensured that he always wore a condom so that they never had any evidence and as he never stayed in one place for long, very few people knew him or his name in Bromsgrove. He was as safe as he could be, but he didn't want to be caught and scanned the road one last time.
She was along side him and he took a deep breath. She clearly had not seen him crouching in the bushes, his hood was doing its job. He waited until she had just passed him, his heart pounding furiously in his chest and he leapt out of the bushes.
She screamed in shock and fright but he had his hand over her mouth instantly and he threw her into the undergrowth before jumping on top of her. The knife went to her face instantly. "Be quiet or I'll slice your throat," he warned is his Northern accent and reached under her skirt. "What's ya name?" He asked and looked into her eyes, filled with terror. There was no response from the terrified girl. "I said, what's ya name?"
"Please. Please don't do this to me. Please let me go." The attacker moved the knife closer to her face so the cold blade touched her cheek. "My mum will know I'm missing," she pleaded. "I got money, I got..."
"Name? I wantta know ya name," the rapist barked.
"Helen," she whispered and closed her eyes, sobbing and pulling her legs as close together as she could. The blade made a slight nick in her skin, but the rapist was ready. The drop of blood was washed away with her tears, and this made her far sexier to him.