Until he reached out and took them.
So what if he enjoyed them a little…expired?
It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
That was between him and his maker. Since they couldn’t catch him killing them, they wouldn’t catch him enjoying them.
Like tonight.
About a week ago, a woman was found sitting behind a dumpster with a needle in her arm. Yes, he drugged her, pumping her body full of meth to make it look like an overdose.
Spoiler alert.
It wasn’t.
It was him.
It was always him.
As she twitched and convulsed on the floor of the building where he did his dirty work, he enjoyed the show.
That beautiful dance at the end…
It sent chills down his body, and made him giddy with watching life dissipate.
There was something so gratifying about watching the beautiful woman meet her maker.
By his hand.
And his hand alone.
Watching her lost in the drugs, when she’d never touched them in her life, was something so deliciously wicked.
She was a virgin for him and his depravity.
And he loved it.
Watching her be tainted, but how the pleasure cascaded over her face as that wash of drugs took over.
That made it special.
That made it beautiful.
She blossomed like a flower for him on that dirty floor.
As she writhed, frothing at the mouth as her heart gave up, he enjoyed seeing her last few minutes. Pebbled nipples, tensing thigh muscles, it was all a delicious dance meant only for him.
In life, she never would have tried the drugs, but she’d never forget how good they made her feel.
Now, in death, she was his captive audience, and if he could, he’d make her feel even better.
Or she would be when he finally unearthed her.
Later.
It was a staging masterpiece to take her to a place she often frequented with her friends, and to place her behind the building by the dumpster.
Never let it be said he wasn’t observant.
