It was all over the news. Serial killer Joe Carroll had escaped from prison.

This information should scare you. After all, the prison was only a few towns over from where you lived. But you found yourself apathetic. Almost wishing that you would be his next victim.

You went to bed, praying that you wouldn't wake up.

A few hours later, you were woken by the shattering of glass. Annoyed, you went to investigate. You flipped on the light. There, standing in your living room, was Joe Carroll.

Shocked, you gasped.

"I'm sorry you had to be here. I thought it was empty." He said, not sounding sorry at all. His British accent was actually quite attractive, and you felt bad for having that thought.

Suddenly you felt excited. This was your chance! He would kill you, and you would be praised as a hero for trying to stop an escaped convict, instead of a coward for choosing to end your life on your own.

As Carroll approached you with a sharp knife, you looked him right in the eyes and smiled. He stopped, confused. Studying your face, he lowered the blade. "There's no fear in this one," He murmured, perplexed.

"Please kill me." You requested, the smile leaving your face. This wasn't right. Why wasn't he stabbing you?

He looked surprised. "And why would you want that?"

"I want to die. Please," You begged, rolling up your sleeves to expose dozens of angry red gashes. Self-inflicted cuts, not enough to kill you; just enough to make you feel alive.

Carroll stared at you intently. "How odd. I've always found suicide and self-injury fascinating." He walked around you, looking at you like a foreign object. "It's so strange. Self-preservation is our basic human nature. The thing that fuels our most fundamental instincts. To find someone who does not fear death; rather seeks it out...now that is a mystery indeed."

You were growing impatient. "Just do it already. I saw you, you can't leave me alive."

"Oh, but to kill you...I couldn't do that. You are a walking paradox. A masterpiece. I am an artist. I will not destroy such a thing." He leaned in close. "Join me." He whispered.

You shook your head. "Never. I don't want to hurt other people. You're a monster." You said with disgust.

"But homicidal intent and suicidal intent are so similar." He flopped down on your couch, giving the impression that he had no intention of leaving.

"I don't want to kill other people. Just myself."

"You enjoy cutting yourself, do you not?" He questioned.

"Well yes, but-"

"You like the blood. The control."

You nodded.

"Now imagine inflicting it on someone else." He closed his eyes, remembering his first kill. "It's a feeling of complete domination. Power. Their life is in your hands."

"No. It's wrong."

He sighed, exasperated. "I have places to be. But I will give you one last chance. Join me."

You stood your ground. "I'm not like you. You'll just have to kill me."

He looked disappointed. "Goodbye, then. I hope to see you again." He smiled, and walked out the door.

You stood there in shock. He hadn't killed you. You had come face-to-face with the most notorious serial killer, and he had left you alive.

Why?