Thin, strong fingers opened a wooden box. A lock of dark blue hair lay inside. He leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of the hair. He shuddered, letting out a sigh. "That's my hair," a voice whined behind him.

"I know, I cut it off," he replied in a flat voice.

"You also killed me."

He scoffed. "You're still on me for that? None of the others follow me around complaining."

"You don't keep sniffing their hair."

"It helps me remember."

"What, my hot body? That's why you killed me, right?"

Another scoff. "What are you, a psychiatrist? If you were, you'd know that serial killers often take trophies from their victims."

"Was it jealousy?"

"Please. I could get anyone I want."

"Then why do you do it?"

He smiled. If the other still had a body it would have send a shiver down his spine. "Because I can."

"But why me? Why only guys?"

"Why do you care?"

"You killed me."

"Then why are you here?"

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"Now you really sound like a psychiatrist."

"You know why I'm here."

He scoffed. "I have no idea."

"Yes you do."

"Not a clue."

"Just say it. You'll feel better."

"I'm a sociopath, I don't have feelings."

"If that were true, I wouldn't be here."

"I'm surprised no one killed you before I did. You're a pain in the ass."

He smiled. "I'm not that bad."

"I feel like killing you again."

"Just go kill another guy."

"It's not the same. This time it's because you're annoying me."

"I thought you didn't have feelings."

"I can still get annoyed at people. Maybe that's why I killed you."

"You know that's not true."

He scoffed. "Just go away."

"Make me."

"You're such a child."

"I mean it, make me go away."

"And how am I propose I do that?"

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Just say why you killed me. Say why you killed all those other guys."

"Because I could. Now go away."

"Not the reason," he teased, sing-song. "I'm still here."

He growled. "Go away!"

"Say it!"

"Go away!"

"Say it!"

"Go away! Go away! Go away!" He was stomping his foot.

"Who's being the child now? Just say it and I'll go away."

"You want me to say," he shouted. "I'll say it if you just go the fuck away!"

"Then say it!"

"I love you! I loved you and I loved all the others, but I loved you most of all." He began sobbing. "I...I had to kill you all. I killed you because I couldn't love you. I'm can't...I'm not..."

"Gay?"

"NO! I am not like that."

"Then why did you kill us." The room was full now, the occupants his victims, seven of them in all.

He grabbed a glass off the table and tossed it him, the blue haired one. His latest victim. It collided against the wall, shattering. He was the only one in the room now, alone. He slammed the lid on the box, shutting the blue hair inside. "I have to get rid of it." He looked at a shelf, full of similar wooden boxes, a lock of hair inside each one. He went over to the fireplace, wood crackling under the flames. He gripped the box tightly, squeezing it between his hands. 'Just toss it,' he thought. 'Burn it. Make him go away. Make them all go away.' His hands trembled, unable to toss the box into the flames. The door behind him slammed open and dropped the box, glaring back at the door with his red eyes.

Men dressed in full SWAT gear stood there, guns pointed at him. They were here to arrest him they said, for murder.

"I'll go peacefully," he said. "Just do me a favor." They handcuffed him. "Be careful with the boxes. The ones on the shelf, especially the one on the floor. They're very special to me. They each contain a little piece of the men I love. Take special care of that one on the floor. He meant the most to me."