Page 16 of XO Karma

A sickening thought settles in my stomach. There’s a very real possibility I was face-to-face with Violet’s killer. That I could have ended all of this with a simple unsheathing of my blade.

Would he be my first exception to the “no murder” rule?

I spend the rest of the night rereading each article for any hope of a clue. For every answer there’s another question, but I’m convinced of two possible truths about this man:

He’s the Kodak Killer.

Or…

He knows something that could lead me to the Kodak Killer.

Either way, answers are so close I can taste them.

Aster Blake, I’m coming for you.

5

LILY

Suspect: Aster Blake

Age: 34 Years Old

Occupation: Journalist

Degree: PhD in Forensic Analysis - Minor in Journalism and Photography

Home Address: TBD

Roommates: TBD

It took me four days, twelve hours, and twenty-two minutes, but I found his address… after waiting outside the Solarium News building and following him home. The internet was useless. I understand why a journalist would want their private residence hidden given the state of today’s media, but the lengths I had to go through felt excessive.

Well, joke’s on you, Aster Blake, because here I am.

The sun has long set, and I sit hidden in the truck across from his house.

According to the listing I found on a real estate website from the last time this place was on the market, it has four bedrooms and two bathrooms, with a large backyard and a spacious basement.

Plenty of room for nefarious shit.

The street is quiet and quaint, but there’s enough traffic that my vehicle shouldn’t attract any attention. Hours pass, the sky fading from black to a deep blue hue as the sun fights to rise from the east. I’m grateful remnants from the camouflage of night remain when his front porch light flicks on.

Show time.

The door opens, and a tall man with glasses steps out wearing a backwards baseball cap, button-down polo with the sleeves rolled up, and a messenger bag slung over his broad shoulder. As he approaches the sidewalk, I sink in my seat to avoid discovery.

Though his appearance is dissimilar from the night we met—tattoos wrapping around his arms and nerdy little spectacles adorning his face like Clark Kent’s sexy alter ego—it’s certainly Aster.

My internal bias argues there’s no way a man who looks like that would spend his free time using a corpse as a muse. As Elle Woods put it, “Pretty people don’t kill people.” Or maybe she said happy people? Then I think of Ted Bundy and how easy it was for him to lure his victims due to his charisma and looks, and that fury flows right back into my veins.

Aster strolls down the path, none the wiser, and I contemplate my next move.

To stalk, or not to stalk, that is the question.

The further away he gets, the more my skin buzzes. This could be my one chance… I snatch my tote off the seat and slip out of the truck, then close the door gently behind me.

Let’s see what this suspicious son of Krypton lookalike is up to.