It added so much purpose to life, being able to plan out something so serious.
The plan had come together perfectly. Even with the added element of this man holding a makeshift weapon in the form of a flashlight, he'd been able to pull it off without a hitch. That flashlight hadn’t stood a chance.
After such a long break, doing this again felt good. It was an accomplishment, a moment of victory that he hadn't thought he'd be able to experience again. Now, he was back in the game and continuing with his important work.
And this had been a good kill, he thought. He'd been careful with everything, and the victim had not put up a struggle. It had been a clean kill, and he was proud of it. Okay, he had to use the knife a few times, but even so. At least the guy had died quickly.
He'd wiped everything very carefully, and now, he was heading straight for the nearest laundromat to put the bloodied and dirtied towels in on a long, cold cycle. For good measure, he was also going to wash the jacket and pants he'd worn at the time.
He had watched enough crime documentaries to know that the police could get evidence from anything. From anything! There was no telling what might bury him if he wasn't careful enough. He intended to be careful.
After all, there would be other situations like this one, where he would need to step in and do the right thing. There were other times ahead.
"First time in a while," he muttered to himself. "I still remember how to do this."
The thrill of the kill had been exhilarating. It felt like he was back in the game, and he couldn't help but smile a little at his own success.
He stopped outside the laundromat and headed in, with his soiled items carefully bagged up in black bags. He chose the machine right at the end of the row, got the items in as quick as he could, slammed it shut, and activated the wash cycle.
Only when the water filled the machine, and the clothing and towels began to turn in the soapy bubbles, did he start to fully relax.
Now, he could be sure that no trace evidence—that scary word—would remain. He was safe.
He smiled as he watched the machine work its magic and thought about what he would do next.
Time to start planning for the next one. It was nice to have a plan in place. It calmed him.
"You come here often?"
The woman's voice broke into his thoughts, and he spun around. At first, guilt filled him, because he was only human and the first thought he had was to worry about what he'd done and that someone had seen. Had she followed him here? Could she see in his face who he was?
Then luckily, common sense asserted itself. Of course, she didn't know. She was just trying to make conversation, using a tired old line that he could see even she thought was going to fail.
"Yes. But obviously not at the same times as you," he said. He barely took her in now, as he turned away. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a nervous-looking smile. He guessed she was quite pretty in a way. But she was leaving, and that was fine with him. She was on her way out with her load of dried laundry, and that meant he'd hopefully not see her again because he tried not to use the same laundromat too often. For obvious reasons.
As he waited, preferring not to leave his clothing alone but rather sit and monitor it for the wash cycle, he took a look at the people strolling by outside. In this small town, the laundromat was just down the road from a couple of restaurants and fast-food outlets.
He watched for a moment, keeping his head down and his face covered, the black baseball cap pulled low over his brow.
He watched the people coming and going, his gaze flitting to each person and then back, just in case he recognized anyone. He didn't want to be recognized right now. He was a little jumpy after his last kill, and he was anxious about the police investigating it. The killer had considered that. He'd considered how he could deal with the police, and he'd decided that he would be up for that. He was sure he could handle it.
Not wanting to think about that topic anymore, he focused more closely on the passersby.
It was a strange feeling for him, watching people go about their business, completely unaware of just how close they were to one of the most dangerous killers in the country. Surely, he was among those numbers? It was a point of pride to him that he might be. He'd never, ever thought he'd feel so proud of himself. Or that he would have become that person.
His eyes strayed to a couple who walked by. It was exactly the type of couple that caught his eye for all the wrong reasons.
The man was a real body builder type: tall, strong, and muscular, and the killer's eyes narrowed with resentment as he observed that. This guy had it all—and he couldn't even be grateful for it. Look at how he was frowning at that pretty girl walking with him. It was as if he didn't even appreciate her. That was the kind of man he was, the kind of man who would treat a woman like dirt. That made him very angry.
This was exactly the kind of situation where he felt himself compelled to act. He needed to! It was wrong, totally wrong, that this man got away with such behavior. Not only was he tall, well built, and muscular, but he also had the girl of his dreams on his arm. And did he appreciate her? Hell, no. You could see how ungrateful he was. Okay, now they were laughing together and holding hands. But he’d seen that frown. He was sure he’d frowned at his woman. Well, almost sure.
And that brought back, strongly, the reasons why he was doing what he did. Because he had another face in his mind. And for that, he knew, he had a few demons to defeat.
That was his battle, and he was going to fight it with everything he had. He had his plan in place, and once he'd done what he needed to, he was sure the rewards would fall into place. They had to. All he had to do was defeat all the demons. There weren’t that many. The last one would be the most difficult, of course.
He knew that he had to be even more careful now. He had managed to get away with it this time, but he couldn't be sure how long his luck would last. He had to be extremely cautious and stay one step ahead of the police.
The killer walked back and checked on his washing. That, at least, was doing what it was supposed to, churning around, getting out every last drop of the blood and the evidence. He'd be washing his hands of this one and then he could get on with the next kill.
