Hello Friends!
We're so sorry about the delay of this chapter. We are both teachers, and around June real life ends up being pretty insane.
Thank you all for your patience!
Chapter 5
The bloom of red against his palms is bright and fresh, spreading almost too quickly for him to control.
It's been one of those mornings where everything is going wrong.
First, the sink backing up, then his cup of coffee spilling in the car, the unusual traffic making him run twenty minutes late, the emergency umbrella he kept stashed in the car snapping and breaking the moment he tried to open it in the sudden downpour when he finally arrived at work, his meeting that got changed to an hour earlier, which meant he was late for it, and now the pen.
This fucking red pen that is seeping like a wound across his desk.
He wants to admire the bright color, wants to document the contrast of it against his paperwork, his desk, his skin…
Instead of pulling out his little notebook, he gets up from his desk, making his way to the bathroom. He heads straight to the sink, flicking on the faucet before rubbing his palms together under the stream.
The water runs pink as the pen is washed from him.
When he's done scrubbing his knuckles, he grabs a wad of paper towels, sticking them under the stream. He carries them back to his desk, trying to mop up the rest of the pen mess.
"It's just awful."
He hears two of his co-workers gossiping at the next desk over, but he tries to block them out. Anything anyone here has to say is trivial and irrelevant to him.
"I know. Channel 9 said they think it's a serial killer."
His body freezes, his spine-tingling with awareness.
There is a gasp from the other person. "Did they find multiple bodies? I missed that!"
"No, just the one, but who else is out there strangling people? It has to be serial, right?"
No, no, no, no!
He drops his red-stained paper towels on his desk, standing upright. He can't tell who was gossiping, but it doesn't matter.
There is a ringing in his ears he can't escape.
He tries to leave his desk as quickly and quietly as he can. He has to force his body to slow down, to not make it obvious how rattled he is.
Because what is the likelihood that a strangled body found in this city isn't one of his girls?
He takes refuge in the stairwell. No one ever uses them, and when he's alone, he pulls out his phone, doing a quick internet search.
He finds an article that is trending, and he leans back against the wall as he reads.
A body of a young woman was discovered early this morning in Puget Park. Authorities believe that the victim—who has yet to be identified—has been dead for several months. Though the lead detective on this case was unavailable for comment, it is likely that due to the extreme elemental exposure of the body, any lingering evidence would be since washed away. This is an ongoing investigation that has thus far produced very few answers.
The article goes on, rehashing the scene and what the writer—one Jasper Whitlock—speculates might have happened, but there is nothing concrete, nothing to tie it back.
He is still in the clear.
He lets out a breath, then another, reading the article again. Now that he knows they are not on the hunt for him, he finds himself enjoying reading about the discovery of one of his girls. They were meant to be private—memories for him to share with no one else—but he can't help the thrill that runs through him as he reads the horror in each article he comes across.
I did this, he thinks. I've made people feel like this.
He is nearly dizzy with pride.
For once in his life, he is not just being noticed, people are obsessing over him. They are tripping over themselves, dying to know more all about him.
It boosts his ego in a way he has never felt.
He leaves the stairwell, returning to his desk only to fetch his wallet and keys. He leaves work without telling anyone, heading down to the garage where he climbs in his car. He hasn't felt this good since the first time he took a life.
He wants more.
He pulls out of the parking garage, whistling along to the radio. The rain has eased up outside, and though the sky is still dark, he rolls his windows down, enjoying the breeze.
In his mind, words from articles he read repeat in his mind, over and over again.
Heinous crimes… depraved mind… fiendish…
He will be infamous.
He drives around the city, for once enjoying the sights as he cruises around. He feels a moment of ownership over this city; these are his hunting grounds, and he will hunt as freely as he likes.
It's at a red light that he sees her.
Dark hair twisted up into a bun to expose her long, creamy neck. She's in blue, and he can't help but think how beautifully it pairs with her fair skin, but how red would look even better.
She's at a crosswalk, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand as she waits to cross the street.
When she moves, it's like she's dancing, calling to him to follow her.
He is absolutely helpless in resisting her call.
He parks nearby, his eyes trained on her as she crosses the street and climbs into a small dark car. He makes a note of the license plate, pulling his little notebook out to write it down. By the time she pulls away from the curb, he stashes the notebook again, turning his car illegally across double yellow lines to follow her.
She will be his next girl. His gift back to the city for finally seeing him.