This urge was out of Quinn's control now. She couldn't help it. She'd started with small animals, things that wouldn't be missed much. A rabbit here, a squirrel there would be found dead. Watching the light fade from their eyes gave Quinn the slightest hint of satisfaction, whether she liked it or not. Things had fallen apart in a matter of months and it seemed like the lives of these animals, it was one of the only things she could control; who lived and who died.
It wasn't like she liked killing things. She didn't like the thrill she got from watching blood drain from a once-living thing; it was just there. No matter how hard she tried to go on with her life- let everything live—it was always there. That urge, the thoughts of what to go after, how to do it, when, where. The ideas just flooded her mind and there was no other escape but to use them.
But, then the animals stopped doing anything for her. It was too easy. It lacked the necessary planning that she loved so much. She knew what she needed to do, but was she willing to risk it? One day though, the idea came to her. It'd be so easy to find someone nobody would miss; especially in this town. But, what if she didn't do it in that town? If she traveled, nobody would expect her. That was her epiphany; from there, she had planned the entire death of a resident drunk two towns away.
It had been so easy. It only took her forty minutes to drive the thirty miles to a tiny little town, where an old alcoholic farmer with no family to be spoken of wouldn't be missed. There were so many ways she could do it. She'd finally decided on a knife; an eight inch knife with a hand carved handle that she'd bought from a flea market the first day she'd started having the homicidal tendencies.
She found him in his barn only minutes after midnight, a half empty bottle of whiskey accompanying him on the hay bale where he sat. Quinn had been fine until she actually stood in the doorway of the barn. The blonde had managed to stay so calm the drive there, through the preparation and through everything. But, the anticipation was eating away at her patience. Her heart thudded erratically, knowingly.
Quinn looked over the floor of the barn, breath shallow as she stepped forward. He was a bigger man than she'd expected, which meant she'd have to catch him off guard or he'd fight back. Quinn swallowed hard and took a deep breath, holding it in and tightening her grip on the knife pointed readily.
There was hesitation. There shouldn't have been hesitation, but there was. Quinn shifted quietly, arm raised above her head, the knife towards him. But, then she shifted again and a piece of hay broke and caught the man's attention. Before she could think or run, Quinn panicked and slashed the sharp hunting knife down, right into his shoulder. The man groaned, leaning forwardly and drunkenly falling off the bale of hay. Quinn's hands shook as she held the knife up, looking at the blade that was coated now in the deep red blood of the man on the ground in front of her.
That broke a barrier though. After he was down, and she'd gotten the first one out of her way; she lost control. Her fist clenched around the knife, just plunging it into the man's back over and over again blindly. There was a rush, a new sense of relief that clouded her mind and sent a chill down her spine as she finally became aware of the man in front of her; the man whose blood was pouring out of all thirty seven stab wounds. Quinn was increasingly aware of the first man she'd killed, and how good it felt.