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Chapter 11
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This had been a frustrating week for George Howard Skub. What started with him finalizing his plans to close in on his latest victim had quickly disintegrated into complete failure. She'd escaped him at the last second, and had probably told the police quite a bit of useful information about him. Although he had been patient, he clearly hadn't been patient enough. He had struck too soon, and now victim number eight was still out in the world, probably telling people tiny little details she figured didn't matter much to the case, but that would eventually end up getting George caught.
Each of his chosen targets had required a degree patience, but this one had proven to be one of the most frustrating. He hadn't tried and failed to kill someone ever since his first kill, and that one had been sort of a test run. He thought he knew better by now. Perhaps he had gotten too cocky. Maybe failure was just what he needed to remind himself to work more carefully.
Over the past months, he'd been getting better and better at quickly and effortlessly killing. His murders were becoming more frequent as his confidence built. He'd developed strategies to keep his victims from being able to fight back, was learning the best ways to get into various houses, and was pretty sure he had the actual act of strangulation perfected. His plans were virtually foolproof. He felt unstoppable... Failing like that had been a much-needed wake up call. It had been embarrassing.
No one knew George was the killer. To the world, George was just a random, uninteresting, regular guy. It wasn't George's own reputation he worried about tarnishing, but rather his alter-ego's. The notorious Scranton Strangler was not going to be remembered as a murderer who tried and failed to kill a tiny five-foot-tall cat lady. She should have been his easiest kill yet, and she would have been if her boyfriend hadn't shown up. He had destroyed what could have been a very satisfying thing. George hadn't planned this one for as long as the others. That had probably been his problem. He thought he knew her schedule, but he'd been wrong.
He first noticed this particular target about ten days ago. It was less than twenty-four hours after he'd killed his previous target. He'd started shopping for a new one right away, and had happened upon her at the grocery store. She was climbing up on a shelf to reach a large bag of cat food and George had offered to help her. She had declined, and looked annoyed that he'd even suggested that she might not be capable of retrieving the item herself.
Right away he was drawn to her. She was very petite - and so would be an easy target. Overpowering her would be painfully simple for him. She was also by herself, which didn't necessarily mean anything, but certainly didn't hurt. He wasn't sold on her though until he made a joke and she responded positively to it. He asked her if her cat had taught her to scale shelves the way she was doing, and she'd briefly smiled.
The change in her eyes from one second to the next had lured him the rest of the way in. George didn't choose who he killed based on any sort of hatred or revenge. If anything, he chose people he actually kind of liked rather than ones who pissed him off. It wasn't about anger or sexual attraction. He was no rapist... He just got a rush when he killed, and the rush was more intense when he chose victims who he knew would be the most satisfying. He mostly chose them because of their eyes. If he saw something he liked there, he itched to destroy it. He purposefully chose people with expressive eyes. When this woman was angry, her eyes showed it. When she was amused, they showed it. He liked that. He wanted to watch those expressive eyes convey fear, panic, desperation, and then finally nothing at all.
So he'd followed her and watched from afar, found out where she lived, and took note of when she was home. During the five days that he'd watched her, no one had visited her at home. She spent every evening alone with a bunch of cats. He figured this would be the easiest one yet, and it was at first. But getting in a hurry had tripped him up. He didn't know her life as well as he thought. Closing in on her so quickly had been a mistake.
George could tell his compulsion was spiraling out of control. He was feeling less and less satisfied each time, having to kill more and more often in order to feel the thrill he was chasing. He had only watched this woman for about five days before attacking her. He'd moved in too soon, and it backfired. It was frustrating, but he had a feeling finally killing her tonight would be all the more satisfying as a result.
After the failure her boyfriend caused him, George had spent the next several days watching from a distance, and up close when he could, planning how he was going to finish this. He couldn't let her live. Not now. Not after he'd put so much effort into this. If he allowed her to go on living, it would be an insult to his very existence and a threat to his future. He didn't think she had seen anything to incriminate him. He hadn't spoken, had covered his face and hands. There should have been no fingerprints or hairs left behind. She couldn't see his face or even his hair color... But it was always possible that she could have seen something, no matter how small, that could incriminate him. If she hadn't told the police yet, she certainly would. He needed to get rid of her sooner rather than later.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for her, she and her friends were kind of idiots. They'd developed a plan to catch him, but it was so thinly veiled that he almost felt embarrassed for their sake. Over the past two days, he noticed them talking loudly and with a suspicious degree of specificity about their plan out in the open, in stores, at restaurants, out in their parking lot... They mentioned over and over again how she would be working late all by herself on Friday night. They talked about the parking lot being dark and dangerous and went out of their way to mention that there were so security cameras there.
It was all disguised as a conversation between them, but it was so awkward and unnatural, making it very clear to him what they were up to. They knew he might be listening, so they attempted to fool him... but he wasn't fooled. He could tell what they were aiming for - they were planning to have her leave the building late, seemingly all alone, but were going to wait in the parking lot, because they thought that's where he would strike. But that wasn't where he was going to strike...
Thanks to their poor planning skills, George now knew that his target was going to be all alone up in the office, with no one at all expecting anything to happen until she went downstairs. He only needed a few minutes to strangle the life out of her. While her boss and boyfriend lingered around the parking lot like morons, he would be up in the office finishing off his eighth victim. They'd never know until it was too late.
George wasn't usually one to make his kills personal. He normally just chose a good target, and went after them. It wasn't meant to be cruel. He wasn't trying to get even or prove a point. He just got a rush from watching the life drain out of another human being's eyes. But this time had become something else. Knowing that they had attempted to turn this around on him pissed him off. He was beginning to actually despise all three of them, and knew he was going to feel a certain degree of satisfaction knowing that they'd come up to the office to see why she never ended up coming out, only to find her lifeless body. They'd know their stupid plan had gotten her killed. It would serve them right for trying to capture him.
He'd been waiting patiently in the ceiling above the men's room in the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin literally all day. Interestingly enough, the outside door to the warehouse didn't always end up getting locked, which gave him the opportunity he needed to sneak into the building. Then he only had to wait until everyone except his target left. She was finally all alone.
George carefully moved the ceiling panel and slid down from his hiding place, landing on the floor as softly as he could manage. He pressed his ear against the wall and listened. It was five fifteen. Everyone except his target should have been long gone by now. Even so, he wanted to be careful. He wasn't careful enough last time, which was why he was here right now in the first place - cleaning up the loose ends his carelessness had created. He wanted to do it right this time.
He heard no commotion out in the office. He would need to move fast as soon as he chose to strike. He was confident he could outrun her, but even still, he needed to make sure she didn't get the chance to pick up a phone and call for help. Even though he could probably still do the job before police arrived, he would prefer to not be restricted by time, so that he could quietly slip out of the warehouse the way he came in and leave before anyone ever knew he had done anything.
Slowly and quietly, he made his way out of the bathroom and into the little kitchen area. There was a window there, and he could see his target through it, but fortunately, she didn't see him. She seemed very invested in whatever she as working on, which was strange considering her over-time had all been a ruse. Did she even actually have work to get done?
As quietly as he could manage, George opened the kitchen's door and sneaked around some of the desks so that he could come up more directly behind her instead of from her side. It was lucky for him she was so focused on her work. He lingered near the reception desk for a second, watching and waiting. She wore a conservative dress with a button-up sweater over it and a silky scarf around her neck - probably covering up the bruises he'd created a few days before. He wondered if it would be easier or harder to strangle someone with a scarf versus his hands.
He continued staring at her. She was so put together - so precise. Her hair was perfect, her clothing was wrinkle-free. Even when she'd almost been violently murdered, she was still concerned with what she looked like. She wouldn't be for long though. These were to be her very last moments. She'd been given a second chance, but she and her friends were too foolish to take it. Now she was all his.
She must have heard him breathing, or otherwise sensed his presence, because a few seconds before he was actually ready to make his move, she turned toward him. It wasn't a frightened turn. It was more curious - like she didn't think anyone was there, but was casually checking just in case. She looked genuinely shocked when she saw him.
Letting out a small gasp, the little blonde woman quickly stood up from her chair and reached toward the phone on her desk, probably to call for help.
George had wanted to avoid that, and fortunately for him, he was already close enough to do something about it. He lunged forward and grabbed her, squeezing her hand hard in his fist so that she dropped the phone with a small wince. He then roughly pulled her away from the desk so that she couldn't go for the phone again. From there, he went ahead and violently pulled at the phone until it was unplugged from the wall before tossing it across the office.
"Dwight!" the woman screamed as she struggled weakly under his hands. That was her boyfriend's name, but he wasn't close enough to hear her. No one was. She wasn't getting away this time. George would make sure of that.
Before she had a chance to cry out again, George hit her very hard across her temple. He was going to do this right this time, and that meant no screaming.
As planned, he'd hit her hard enough to temporarily make her lose consciousness. She immediately crumpled to the floor. George followed her down, turning her over onto her stomach long enough to tie her wrists securely together as he had before. His first kill had taught him to do this. She had been small and he figured overpowering her would be easy, but she'd reached up and scratched at his eyes with her fingernails and punched him in the nose before running off. He had wrongly assumed just being bigger and stronger was an automatic win for him. Some people, no matter how small and weak-looking, knew a couple self-defense tricks that could be pretty debilitating, not to mention the potential to leave behind DNA evidence... The second time he attacked her, he'd tied her wrists behind her first thing, and the rest was easy as cake.
He looked back down at his present target as he finished tying her arms, rolled her over onto her back, and produced a roll of duct-tape from his pocket. He tore a piece off and pressed it over her lips. She wasn't going to scream this time, but he did want her to wake up before he finished this. He wanted to watch her eyes while he ended her life. That was his favorite part of all of this.
As he stared down at her, waiting for her to wake up, he untied her scarf from her neck. He still wondered if he should kill her with it. It would be something new... Maybe he'd like it. It seemed foolish to change what was working so well for him right now though. This kill was important. He had to get it right this time... Maybe he could keep this scarf and kill his next target with it. He balled it up in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket before bringing his gloved hand down toward her neck. The scarf had indeed hidden bruises. He ran his fingers carefully over them, knowing that he'd be creating more in the next couple minutes. He needed her to wake up now.
"Angela," he used her name in a soft tone as he put his hand carefully against her cheek. He didn't normally talk to his victims, but it didn't matter. She wasn't getting away this time. He also didn't usually use their names. He didn't want this to ever feel personal, but since she and her co-workers had made it their mission to catch him, it had kind of felt that way now. That wasn't his fault. It wasn't meant to be personal and would have never become such if they hadn't set up this horribly flawed trap. Now, this was a lot about doing what he'd originally wanted to do, but a tiny bit about showing these people who was in control here and teaching them a lesson.
He put one hand against her neck and the other against her cheek as he spoke again. "Wake up, darling," he said in a deceptively gentle and optimistic voice. It was cruel to wake her up just so he could kill her, but he didn't care. He wanted to do this his way, and that meant she wasn't going to get off easy. He was going to make sure she looked at him one last time with her expressive eyes before he forced them to never see anything ever again.
Slowly, she began to stir, moaning softly, probably at the pain from him hitting her, as she blinked her eyes open. As soon as she became more aware and saw him hovering above her, she began to panic. Her dark eyes widened and she squirmed under him as she cried out muffled whimpers behind the tape he'd silenced her with.
George grinned as he stared into her eyes and moved both of his hands around her throat. He didn't say anything else as he tightened his grip. He almost wanted to comfort her, to promise her it would be over soon, but he kept quiet. He'd felt a certain degree of guilt for a grand total of three of his victims, including this one, but he would never outwardly display that. He did want them dead. That desire far-outweighed any small amount of remorse.
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