Читать книгу The One Who Got Away - L.A. Detwiler - Страница 9

The pencil between my teeth, I gnaw and gnash, closing my eyes and thinking about how it all transpired. A surge of warmth flashes through me as I recall the supple flesh between my teeth. I recall how my tongue danced at its surface. The gnashing of my teeth against her flesh quenched, if only for a quick moment, the primal urge within me. The suppleness of her arm, her chest, her inner thigh – all so satisfying yet also stirring of a deeper hunger.

I’d known that first kill would be delectable – but I hadn’t realised just how so.

I sit back in my chair, my fingers finding the tip of the pencil as my teeth incessantly chomp down, almost as if of their own volition.

I’ve done it.

I’ve accomplished the first.

I’d always imagined the first to be the hardest when I’d gone over my plans. The logistics of it, sure. But also the feel of the life exiting a body. It had excited me, the mere thought of it driving me to a place of utter joy rarely known in all of my years of living. I’d worried, though, if it would meet my expectations. What if the taste of death wasn’t enough?

It was a fear I’ve always battled with, a question that often held me back. But there was no more holding me down. I’d finally risen up. I’d finally done what I’d always needed to do, what I’d always been capable of doing.

I’d found myself, my strength. A grin paints itself on my face. Brilliant. There is no other word for it. I’m finally brilliant.

Bloody brilliant.

I’ve done it, after all. I’ve finally achieved it. I carried it out, succeeded in the first step of the master plan. I finally feel a surge of life pulsing in my blood. It’s as if her death has incited a new energy, a new sense of life within me. It’s a foreign feeling, yet it’s one that I feel like I’ve always been craving. All of those years of being lost, of searching. I found it. It’s paradoxical yet it completely makes sense. I finally feel excited about something. Dazzled by the feel of death, I now know I can be the one to wield so much power. I can choose when and how they leave this world. And I get to be there in the final moments, to see them beg, to hear their desperate pleas for another day. My lips curve into a crooked grin.

I’m the one in control. Who would’ve ever expected it?

They wouldn’t have. It’s always the quietest sheep, the ones on the outskirts, that surprise you the most. Aren’t you surprised now? I think, my mind flashing over her stoic face. She would be so surprised now. My hand rubs my forehead, leaving the pencil.

I had been patient, my plan reviewed over and over for months before claiming the first one on the list. I’m no fool. I’m not. I’m sensible and smart. I’m capable. I’d taken my time after picking the girls. I have my list of chosen ones. I know the order, the plan. I won’t ruin it or rush it. I’ll be successful. I’m no quitter. I’ll do it right.

I’d been observant for months. It isn’t hard to learn about others if you just pay attention. Few people pay attention, I’ve come to realise. But I do. I always do. I watch. I study. I learn routines and entrances. I examine the possible entry routes and the escapes. I peruse timetables and plans to find just the right time. It has to be exact.

I’d determined Elizabeth would be first because she was the least exciting. She was a quiet, submissive girl. I knew she wouldn’t resist much. Which I knew wouldn’t be as satisfying – but it would be less risky.

Still, she wasn’t as gratifying as the final one will be. I know this already. I’ve thought ahead, you see. I’m saving the exciting one, the wily one, for last. Oh, yes, that last one will be a masterpiece of a kill. I’ll work hard and perfect my craft. I’ll master the rules of the game before I tackle the final one.

Patience is a virtue. That’s what I always learned. Patience. Patience. Patience.

She’s special, that last one. Even before I allowed myself to recognise the thirst in me and welcomed it to the top of my consciousness, I’d perhaps known it would be her. She’s always drawn me in. Why? I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s her spirit, that zestful way she walks and talks. Maybe it’s the fire in her eyes that reminds me of her. I don’t know. It’s hard to pinpoint. But when you know, you know, whether it’s love, lust, or some other form of the two. For three years, she’s drawn me in, a moth circling the flickering light but never getting close enough to get zapped.

Soon enough, she’ll be the moth, entangled and entranced by me. I’ll be the one wielding the light and then snatching her wings before she can get away. It’ll be me. All me.

I shake my head, taking the pencil from between my teeth and tossing it across the room. Dammit. I’m getting ahead of myself now. Bloody hell, it doesn’t do to get ahead. The plan is carefully laid. It’s why I spent so much time plotting it out. It needs to be perfect. One misstep, and that glorious, final moment of power won’t come.

I must be patient, stay calm. The task has started. I can’t lose my mind now. I’ve got to keep with it, to be careful. It won’t do to get caught now. It’ll ruin everything.

I tap my fingers on the edge of the table, calming my mind, lasering it in on Elizabeth. Recall the details. Think about it all. You need to perfect this. You need to master your craft. Do a good job.

Elizabeth. My mind trains itself on her, and I think back to the tale I’ve written, the ending to her story that began with my meticulous, godlike planning.

Once I’d learned of the dinner invitation, I knew my opportunity would arise. I’d overheard Elizabeth talking about the evening with some friends in the town centre, complaining about all the fuss her parents would make her go through when she’d rather just stay home and spend time with her fiancé. She made a plan to feign illness, and I knew my time had come.

The night of the dinner would be the perfect time to strike, I’d decided quickly. I knew how girls like her worked. I just had to be calm and collected. I had to be sure. I’d do some watching and waiting, just to ensure I was correct and that she didn’t back out of her plan. And then, once all was set, I had to make it fast. No luxuriating in the actual kill this time. The first would have to be efficient. This would not be a pleasure kill, not completely. I told myself I would not afford myself that bonus. It would be all about the craft, the tactic, the mastering of the art.

There would be time enough to feed my fancies and to bask in the excitement of it all.

Taking her life had been the easy part, much simpler than I’d once imagined. I am strong, and she was so weak. Females are all so, so delicate. It makes them beautiful, but so easy to kill. Moving her to another location to handle her body, to leave my mark – that had been more challenging. But I know all the alleys in town. I know the most inconspicuous routes. I know a lot about West Green that so many overlook.

And I’m also always up for a challenge.

I fold the newspaper article and tuck it into the wooden box underneath the unopened post. I close the box shut with a grin, wiping my hands on my stiff trousers. I’ve done it. And they have no clue it was me. The fools have no clue.

‘Deranged killer’. They think it’s the work of a ‘deranged killer’!

I laugh at the thought. They think they know. They think they have it all figured out. But they have no idea. They don’t know my master plan.

And I can’t wait to show it to them, one by beautiful one.