Chapter 4 HIM

Chapter 4

HIM

They found the suitcases while I was at work.

I probably should have concealed them better. Like my first kill, the act had been impulsive, but the smell had been getting worse.

I replay the press conference on my laptop. I'm not worried about being discovered. I'm too smart. No one would ever suspect me. But a female sheriff? I almost want to laugh at the absurdity.

The bitch is obviously incompetent. She won't get in my way.

I open the fridge and stare at the contents. I'm low on food. I grab a pack of bologna, a bottle of ketchup, and a beer from the door compartment. Wishing I had better options, I close the door, drop the food on the table, and assemble a sandwich. The ketchup looks a little like congealed blood.

I bite into the sandwich. The bologna tastes weird. I check the expiration date, which is fine. The meat must have absorbed odors in the refrigerator. I make a note to add a box of baking soda to my shopping list. A swig of beer washes the taste from my mouth.

What doesn't kill me, right?

I watch the press conference again while I finish my dinner. The cops' confusion amuses me. They're a bunch of bumbling idiots. My attention focuses on the sheriff. She has dark hair. I wonder how long it is? Long enough to wrap around my hand and give me a great grip? I pause the video and enlarge the image, but her hair is pulled back. I can't judge its length. Her nails are bare and cut short. Too bad. I prefer them manicured.

I push aside the paper plate and drain my beer. A noise from the next room catches my attention. I freeze, listening. The soft whimper sounds again.

I told her to be silent.

Equal parts anger and excitement course through me. She's led a privileged, spoiled life and thinks she's important.

She needs to be taught a lesson.