Chapter 10: Routine
Max had spent most of the night, as he often did, in retracing his steps. The act of killing was easy for him. Once he had found his match his instincts kicked in and when the opportunity was right, he jumped and never missed. But the aftermath took time. Max was very meticulous in his routine to commit his perfect crimes. He wasn't sloppy in any way, and although he wished he could think of a better and more dignified way to dispose of the bodies, he knew that he could at least make his ladies look like they were models to everyone, not only himself. In Max's eyes, each one of his girls was perfect. It wasn't usually until after or right before his ritual that he realized that they might not have been, but he had the ability to fix that once he was through with them.
His murders occurred always in the very same way. He would touch them first, by accident and his body would react to the girls with whom he had spent that one silent moment, and then he would hunt them, profile them, and grow hungry with lust. He would follow them home, sneak in, and over power them. His acts, though premeditated by his unquenchable thirst to taste their blood and to spill his seed, were usually acts of passion. One touch lead to him following his lady home and committing the act. There were many occasion when he never knew their names, but knew from that one touch, that they were perfect.
Once everything was over, however, Max spent a great deal of time in the ritual of remaining with the body. He could never bring himself to look beyond the flesh to see what he knew as within his victim. He could see the gold glistening through the body, he sensed it, and believed that the gift that he had given was more than life could ever give to the girls that stole his heart. He would remain, for a long time, naked with his victim. He needed to feel her grow as cold as stone; his body demanded it, and more than the sensation of intercourse, this time spend naked touching and caressing was more arousing for him. When it was over, and the passion had cooled, so did his feelings for the victims. They became nothing to him but the memory of what they were. He could still taste the blood that he had sucked at so desperately before the blood no longer circulated into the victims digits. It was strange how the reaction occurred, a kiss, a nibble, and the taste of blood was all it took, but those were slow and arduous for Max. He knew that he would not be able to wait, that his beloved did not deserve to suffer long and before he came completely into the body that struggled and strained against him, he cut off her air and with every thrust of his passion his grip on her became tighter until, she was dead and he was satisfied. Things cooled quickly after that and then the real work began.
After dressing the body, because he didn't care to see the naked corps, Max would then dress himself and take the body, in the victim's vehicle, and drop her where ever he could find a busy street and an ignored alleyway. He would then return, and walk through the living space as if he belonged there. Cleaning was a terrible ritual for Max. He hated that he was so dirty. That his skin was oily and his hair unruly, he hated it that no matter what he did, he could not be completely clean, but the girls were always as pure and as perfect as gold. We went to work then, making their living spaces as clean and as perfect as he imagined that they should be like. Ever speck of dust, every bottle and tissue had its rightful place and between the hours of his killing and the dawn, that sometimes came too quickly, he cleaned and when he was satisfied with the state of affairs he left never to return to the scene of the crime again. His work was done and his lust for that one particular lady had moved on to the desire and the unquenched thirst for another, and another. It was a vicious cycle that he just could not be rid of. Even if he wanted to stop killing his body would not let him because could not find relief in any other way.