The Killer

The killer

He filtered the whiskey through his teeth. Enjoyed the burn from the alcohol, let it rest for a while on his tongue before he swallowed. Felt the warmth roll down his throat and land in his stomach. The heat spread through his body. He was relaxed now, all the built up tension gone.

He laid back, yawned and looked up at the ceiling. The early morning sun filled the room with a red glow. He took a deep breath in, smelled the blood, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

When he woke up it was midday, the sun had moved away from the window and the room was harsh and white. He rolled to his side and got out of bed. His body was soft, the stiff muscles gone, the need, the urge was sleeping. Walked out in the bathroom and stepped in the shower. He had of course showered yesterday. Couldn’t lie in the clean bed with blood on his hands, on his arms, on his face, his legs.  Wouldn’t want to ruin the white clean sheets.

In the hot water he remembered the day before. The tension had woken him up early, would not leave him alone.  He had gone out for a run, it did not help. He masturbated not once but three times but still the tension was growing inside. Eventually he had decided he needed to hunt.

He had shaved carefully, picked out his clothes prudently  and then driven to the closest town. He didn’t understand why but women liked him. Or at least until they understood what lay underneath the clear blue eyes.

The first bar was a disappointment. Nothing to look at, no one who caught his attention. The second bar the same but the third one was filled with prey. He searched the room for a moment. Then he saw her, she stood next to a friend, looked somewhat out of place. Maybe shy or bored, at first he wasn’t sure. She had long dark hair and kept pulling on her blouse. He always picked the ones who looked a tad misplaced; he figured that they had an emptiness, a void inside that needed to be filled with something.  An easy target!

 He looked at her for a long time until she started to react to his attention. But he never talked to them, didn’t want to be seen with them. Until they left the building then he waited outside and if she was about to go home by herself. Maybe catch a cab or walk, that was the moment he made his move. First small talk, charming and open, make them relaxed enough to let him a little closer.

Sometimes he couldn’t get hold of them and those nights were horrible nights filled with the urge, the need eating at him. But last night he was lucky, as soon as she felt the cold steel of the knife against her naked neck she did whatever he told her.

Driving home with her in the backseat, tied up, gagged. Oh, he almost came in his pants. The thoughts were so strong, the thoughts of all the things he was about to do. The pleasure, his pleasure. The pain, her pain.

She was light as a feather when he picked her up and carried her into the house. He dumped her on the bed and tied her to the posts. Her carefully applied makeup was smeared all over, he could tell she had been crying and when he removed the rag from her mouth she started to beg. The more they begged the harder he got.

By this point he was so aroused he had to take her, just simply fuck her. After that he could go slower, enjoy the process more. See how she cringed when he caressed her, hear how she cried when he cut her lightly with the razorblade on the inside of her thighs and listen to her sob filled pleading. After he had fucked her in every hole and every position he could manage without letting her go, she turned limp and silent. When there was no more resistance, no more cries for help and no more sobs, he lost interest for the night.

Now the hot water on his body and the memories woke up the urge again. He got hard, looked down at his cock and thought about what he would do with her today. He would of course water her first and maybe he could get her to eat something. Much more fun when there was some strength left in the body to put up the slightest fight against him. When she was worn down, used up he would dispose of her in the usual way. Butcher her, freeze her for a couple of months then he would go fishing far out to sea for a few days. The big fish seemed to like girl meat; maybe he would even be able to feed some shark.

He took his cock in his soapy hands, started to stroke the head with a firm grip. If he came now he would be able to hold out longer later. Faster, faster, the familiar tension started to grow in his groin. He panted, then pain. Hot, burning, all-consuming pain in his back. Confused he tried to turn around then more pain now in his shoulder, in his neck. He saw the blood pouring down his body. Mixed with the water, became an ocean in red by his feet. Strange weakness came over him and he started to slip down the tub. When he came down to his knees he turned around and looked up.

The girl stood before him, his big butcher knife in her hand, her face hard as stone. The blood dried on her body, rust smeared on her white skin.  Disordered he tried to figure out how this could happen.  He was sure he had tied her up carefully last night.  Why hadn’t he heard her come into the bathroom?  The sun shone in through the window, created a halo around her head. An angel, a Saint in white and brown.  The blood was pumping out of his shoulder and his neck,  the hot shower helped the blood along. He blinked a few times, tried to form a question, but he was too weak.

The last thing he saw was how the girl walked out the door and left.  Her dark hair a mantel around her naked body.