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After getting his coffee, he left quickly without another word or glance my way. I don’t know why I was surprised. I had taken the chance to look him over more through quick peeks while making orders. He was wearing faded jeans, black oxfords, and a simple dark button up with the sleeves rolled up. He wasn’t wearing anything particularly fancy or expensive looking but he had this air about him. As if he was the most important person in the room, regardless of the room he was in.
And here I was, a frumpy mess in three-day-old hair tossed haphazardly in a bun on top of my head. Stains on my clothes from the spots our work aprons don’t cover and smudged makeup.
Yeah, you’re a real catch.I think while staring up at the ceiling, letting out a heavy breath.
I need to stop obsessing over a man I’m never going to see again. Even if something in him called to something deep down inside of me. He felt…dangerous. But in an intriguing way. Like going to a haunted house, or sitting down to watch a scary movie. The anticipation and butterflies building up as nervous excitement increases until I’m screaming, high on the adrenaline.
Shit. Ireallyneed to get laid.
I can’t help but laugh at my pathetic self as I make my way back toward the coffee bar to start cleaning up for the evening. Brandi left for the day about an hour ago so it’s just me closing up the shop tonight. Which is totally fine, not a problem. Really. Just a little scary. As I run the cleaner through the espresso machine my mind wanders to the news article I read this morning.
23 confirmed deaths in the Santa Fe area estimated over the past 8 years. We are, again, urging residents to be cautious and not travel anywhere on their own, especially at night, as this seems to be the perpetrator’s preferred time to attack. With new information coming to light that connects all of these murders, we are treating this serial killer as a high threat and have called in additional resources in our manhunt to keep citizens safe.
Shuddering, I pull my attention back and finish wiping up the counters before moving on to the floors. I moved here a few years ago after a rough break up. Really I just needed a fresh start, somewhere no one knew me asSeth’s girland the drama that went along with it. Of course, I had to choose somewhere that would be the home to a serial killer.
And not just any killer, one that appears to be a ghost. Never leaving enough evidence behind to find him, even with the large amount of murders in such a short amount of time. The Blood Shadow is the “unofficial” nickname for him.
I shudder again, remembering why the nickname stuck.
As much as he ghosts in and out of the scene, like a shadow, the thing that has connected all the murders is the sheer amount of blood found at the scene. From the reports, it’s something out of a gorey horror film. Think Rob Zombie level gore. It’s almost as if the murderer gets off on the blood splatter. Shaking my head, I try to pull my thoughts away from murder. Seeing how I am all alone downtown, in the middle of the night. It’s not an ideal topic to ponder.
As I try to think of something else to distract myself from the menial tasks, my mind keeps wandering back to dark blue eyes and blonde curls.
Just great, all I can think of tonight is mysterious hot men & terrifying elusive murderers. Absolutely perfect.
Looking around, I see the only thing left to do is take out the trash. I debate leaving it for the opening crew but know I don’t want to deal with the fall out of that. Instead, I quickly scoop all the trash from around the shop and make my way out back to the alley.
Propping open the door, I peek around the corner to make sure there’s no murderers waiting to jump me. Softly laughing to myself to calm some of the hysteria growing inside, I rush toward the trash bin and toss in the bags. Facing the trash bin with my back to the alley, a tingling sensation starts to make its way up my spine. I swear I can feel someone staring at me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I don’t immediately see anyone. I look around and peer into the dark shadows the best I can, resisting the urge to call out “hello” like some movie bimbo. Instead, once I see there is no one directly between me and the back door, I bolt. Running like my life depends on it, I make it back inside and pull the door closed hard behind me.
I know I’m just being paranoid, I worked myself up and now my mind is just fucking with me. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.
Instincts are there for a reason, right?
After several minutes of panting and clinging to the door handle, I finally ease my grip and head to grab my things, ready to get home and finally end this godforsaken day.
Chapter 3
Mick
She’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen anyone so effortlessly beautiful. Her pale skin contrasting with the inky black hair she had tied up on top of her head. The curves hidden underneath that atrocious apron. I relished in the brief glimpses I got whenever she would bend over to pull something out from under the counter, her ass on perfect display in the painted on jeans she was wearing. And her eyes. Large doe-like orbs the color of liquid caramel.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, picturing her face, reddened from her blush.
God, blood flow looks otherworldly on her. I bet she would bleed so beautifully. I could probably orgasm just from the sight of it.
I shake my head roughly. I already have a victim planned for tonight and I haven’t lasted this long without getting caught by not sticking to my plans. Only the first time was unpredictable. After that, I’ve meticulously hunted, stalked, and planned out each of my kills.
The thing that really fucks over most serial killers is they have an M.O. Some pattern or preference in victims, which ends up with them getting caught. But that’s not me. Anyone can be my target. Well, except for children, there’s too much innocence in them for my bloodlust to be satisfied. But adults, we’re all fucked up - all have reasons that we don’t deserve to breathe anymore. Even the most seemingly pious person has their fair share of demons and skeletons in the closet. Perhaps not as many as me, but still enough to justify their sacrifice for my own needs.
I fiddle with the tip of my blade, pressing lightly into the pad of my thumb. Not enough to break the skin but to feel the slight prick of pain from the intrusion. It’s a calming habit of mine, something I find myself doing when the anticipation and nerves start to build the closer I get to my kill.
A noise makes my head lift and peer out the window of my car toward the front door of the house across the street. Harvey Mickels steps out of the opened doorway and heads toward his car parked just a few blocks down. I wait until he’s several yards away before turning on my own vehicle, careful to keep the headlights off. Once he has pulled away from the curb, I turn on my lights and begin to follow, keeping enough of a distance so as not to be suspicious.
I’ve gotten very good at hiding in the shadows over the past eight years. I always had a knack for stealth and have only enhanced my natural ability through disciplined practice. I can follow someone in their car for hours without even the slightest paranoia creeping into their driving.
Thankfully, I know where we are headed is only about 30 minutes away. Which is good as I can feel the need for destruction growing inside more and more with each passing minute. As predicted, Harvey drives straight to the park across from a small apartment complex. I pull up to a stop along the curb a few blocks down and flick off my headlights as I watch my next victim.
