This Is Where It Begins
He could feel it. The cool wind passing by. It wasn't odd to him, but he still observed it and thought about it is he laid the miniature model of a home down on the steps of the real home itself. When ever he did this he felt a sense of triumph and pride sweep through him, and soon the world around him seemed unreal and fantasy like. But none of this stopped him from doing the task at hand, his job.
Unbeknown to the woman inside, he crept in and settled behind the couch, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time to attack, to strike. His hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, quietly letting out his frustration and nervousness; this one hit close to home. He could see it right away as he stared at the woman, at her eyes, and noticed the distinction and the resemblance all at the same time. Though it crushed him a little deep inside, he couldn't feel any remorse because it wasn't her nor will it ever be her.
So when she was dying and screaming in agony he held the pillow against her mouth, jerking down every time she got too loud. He allowed the few chuckles held within him and after her body struggled, twisted, and turned into morbid positions he laughed majestically. That is why he loved the country, especially while wearing his straw hat, because no one could hear. Out here, no one could hear the screaming and laughter the death had caused upon the two parties.
Then, before the life was able to leave the woman's body, he took the pillow from her face and let the drugs cause their inward pain. She breathed heavily and looked up at him with frightened eyes. He countered them with a merciless grin, plastered on the tips of his mouth. His hands started to roam her taking into account what was like his beloved and what was not, and when it got to the point where she no longer reminded him of her he took her life. The eyes that were full of fear were now dull, the slash across her throat answered any question of why.
And as he cleaned away any evidence of him being there that grin stayed. It even stayed when he stepped out of the house and past the model, a doll with a slashed throat and fingerprints all over her body. It slowly slipped away from him as he entered his home and slip into bed with Sara Sidle. Then Gil Grissom would reminisce about the wind one last time before sleep overtook him.
I'm sorry this is soooo short but I promise the next will be longer