The room is dark and he can't see a thing. He shuts his eyes and listens.
(Ha! There she is!)
He could have heard her breathing from down the street.
(Stupid bitch.)
He takes a few steps in to the darkness and then stops.
(Why, exactly, am I chasing this poor girl? I forget so easily these days. Hmm, let's see...Oh, that's right. She and her moronic friends laughed at me that night at the bar.)
He chuckles under his breath.
(I spend way to much time there. But, who cares where I stay? Who cares how much I drink? Mom used to you. Mom...)
A rustling in the corner brings him back. He reaches in to his pocket and pulls out his 45. He walks slowly towards the noise. He can hear the girl trying to quiet her sobbing.
(That won't do you any good, sweetheart.)
He stops in front of her. She's curled up in the corner and has her head in her hands. She looks up at him and screams. He holds up his gun and fires twice.
(That will teach you to laugh at me.)
He turns around and goes out the door again. He heads back on to the main street, starts towards his apartment, and then stops.
(Wasn't I supposed to go somewhere? I guess not.)
He starts, once again, for his apartment.
(I kind of miss Mom. But she got what she deserved. She of all people should know not to bother me. And she wouldn't stop bugging me. I mean, how many times did I have ignore her questions before she got the picture? But, no. She had to keep asking me, "Did you kill that girl? Did you kill her?" It was the easiest thing in the world to do. I've thought about doing it for a long time now. All I had to do was pull out my gun and shoot. How simple is that? )
He opens the door of his apartment building and starts up the steps. As he comes to the landing, his landlord burst out of an apartment and says, "Do you have my rent yet?"
He stops and stares at his landlord. Then walks right by him in to his apartment and slams the door behind him. He can hear the fat slob of a man yell from behind the door, " I need that rent by the end of the week or your ass is out of here!"
(Like I care, asshole. Your next.)
He's been thinking about this one for a while too. He liked to plan out his kills. He was always planning something.
(This one will be easy. I live next door to him for christ's sake, it doesn't get much easier than that.)
He lays down on his couch, the only piece of furniture he owns. And that's only because it came with the place.
(I'll wait until night fall, then boom. It's done. Killing is too easy these days. What happened to the good old days when murder required a little effort, a little planning, possibly a little cunning? Now it's just aim and shoot. Too easy.)
With that, he falls in to one of his deep sleeps. He hated his deep sleeps because that was when he dreamt. And he hated his dreams. They were haunted by the faces of his many victims. He also relived things that had been buried away in his mind long ago. Things he didn't even want to think about, never-mind relive.
By the time night came, he'd been through three murders, two near death experiences, and four accounts of abuse. He awoke in a cold sweat and jumped up.
(Finally, night.)
He reached in to his pocket.
(Yep, got everything I need.)
He walks over to the door and slowly opens it. He walks out in to the hallway and, as quietly as he can, closes his door. He slinks over to his landlord's door and sneaks inside. He walks through the living-room and towards the bedroom. But, he hears a noise in the kitchen.
(Fat bastard. Probably up for a snack.)
He walks in to the kitchen and sees his landlord stumbling around in the dark, looking for something.
(Showtime.)
He walks slowly over to his landlord and holds his gun to the back of his head.
(See you in hell.)
He fires. His victim hits the ground with a thud.
(Should probably dispose of this one.)
He picks him up and carries him over to the open window in the living-room. He starts to push him through when he hears a noise behind him.
"Daddy?"
He spins around and drops the landlord. He sees a little girl. No more than six years old.
(Shit.)
He would never hurt a child. That's his only rule. Children are innocent in his mind.
The little girl looks at him and then down at her father. She starts to scream. He runs out the door and in to his apartment.1
Two weeks later, the police show up at his door. Fully armed and prepared to arrest him.
"Police! Open up!"
Hearing no reply, they break open his door. They pour in to his apartment and start to search.
"Your under arrest for murder! Come quietly or we'll shoot!"
After five minutes of searching, they find nothing. 2
Meanwhile, somewhere outside the city...
(Well, one more city off limits. Where to now?)
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