Chapter 25 HIM

Chapter 25

HIM

I scan today's articles. A headline in the middle of my news page reads: FBI AGENT SHOT IN RANDOLPH COUNTY HUNT FOR SERIAL KILLER.

I skim the content. A thrill zooms through me. I'd thought I was shooting someone in the sheriff's department. After all, her vest was emblazoned with the word SHERIFF on both sides. As it turns out, I shot an FBI agent.

Cool.

I'm pleased that my plan worked as well as it did. The sheriff followed my "tip" and walked right into my trap. I took a few potshots at what I'd thought was a deputy or plainclothes detective. I'm not ready to kill the sheriff outright. Not yet. I'm not done playing with her.

I add think of new ways to fuck with the sheriff to my mental to-do list.

But shooting an FBI agent? Could my luck have been any better?

Hell no!

Good thing I am an excellent shot.

There's a photo of the agent receiving medical treatment from an EMT at the scene. I was long gone before first responders arrived. I zoom in on her face and her lovely long dark hair. She's taller than I like, but I still take a moment to imagine her wearing just a collar.

I think of the girl in the next room. She's been easy to train, to mold.

To break.

Is she too easy? I thought a senator's daughter would be more defiant. After all, she's been raised to think she's better than everyone else. But it seems that spoiled life made her soft and naive instead.

I've become a better teacher through the last few experiences. It is a learn-by-doing activity and requires practice. But with greater skill I might want to try a more challenging subject. I'll let that idea marinate. So far, I've lured my conquests. Then again, I lured the sheriff to that vacant house too. I just did it in a different way. I like it when they come to me, when I manipulate them and they are unaware.

I scroll through more headlines, almost surprised that no one has named me yet. The public and press haven't come up with anything interesting. They've been a disappointment. I read the list I've been working on.

Randolph County Killer? Nah. Boring.

Echo Road Killer? I roll my eyes at that one. Sounds cheap.

The Suitcase Killer? Too sensational and obvious. Not original at all.

I want something clever. The name is how I will be remembered forever. It should be both clever and catchy, like Ted Bundy's nickname, the Lady Killer. Dennis Rader named himself the BTK Killer, his own clever take on bind, torture, kill. Maybe naming myself is the way to go. If I leave it to chance, an embarrassing name might catch on, a name not worthy of my accomplishments.

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

I vaguely remember that Rader taunted the police and kept them at bay for many years—until he lost control and made a mistake that led to his capture.

Control is the most important aspect of this game. Control is what I seek. Control of the women, control over myself. I think of the excitement I felt watching the sheriff arrive at the location where I'd led her, of lining up the sights on my gun, of choosing my target, of pulling the trigger, of my bullet knocking the FBI agent to the ground. I play the shot over and over in my mind like a GIF.

Control over the press and police investigation is critical. Soon, they'll realize I'm in charge, not them.

My gaze roams to my anonymous email account, and my name comes to me. Why didn't I think of it before? It's so obvious. I already know who I am. I've been using the perfect moniker forever. It says everything about me and what I want to accomplish.

I am the Master.