After having to ditch the stolen vehicle, the killer had acquired a new one and proceeded to take his prey. The process had been a simple one: study her habits, realize she always walked home alone at night, then pull up alongside her and force her into the car.
It’d been a breeze.
Of course, the downside was that she’d seen his face, so the moment he’d taken action, he was committed to seeing it through. That was no problem, however—his anger only elevated to new heights with each of her sobs and shrieks. Did she recognize him, he wondered? Had she cried because she knew who he was and what was coming? Perhaps. Or perhaps it boiled down to fear of the unknown.
It didn’t matter much either way; she was going to die.
As he traipsed around the car, the overpowering stench of gas filled his nostrils. It seemed to burn his brain, piercing right through his sinuses and stabbing at his senses. That was fine—at least he knew the gas was really there, and this bitch couldn’t get out of it.
As long as he wasn’t caught.
That was easy too. Their position was hardly a subtle one, and the gas-coated car isolated on the side of a quiet street stuck out like a sore thumb. The killer had known it would be like this, and although every passing shadow at the far end of the street threatened to give him away, the thrill of it was enough to keep him involved. As if that wasn’t enough, that same urge to give a long, satisfying speech hacked away at him.
It was all he could do not to light the match.
Fighting the temptation, he kicked the empty gas can aside and doubled over, peering into the driver’s side window where the girl—fray-haired and makeup-smeared—sat with her hands attached to the wheel. Unlike last time, he’d found the time to dig out some handcuffs. That’d been one very stupid mistake he’d made last time, along with hanging around for too long. He wouldn’t make that mistake this time.
This time, it would be short and sweet.
“Any last words?” he asked her, not really caring what she had to say. Even if she could talk—which the filthy rag in her mouth prevented her from doing—there was nothing she could say to save herself, and frankly, he didn’t give a shit about her feelings. “I didn’t think so.”
Before his conscience could restrain him—before his sane former self could talk him out of it—he tore the matchbook from his pocket and slipped out a match. Enjoying the raw fear in her wet eyes, he struck the pink head and turned it black, a naked flame dancing on the tip. It flickered with a beautiful orange glow. As far as he saw, she was one of the lucky ones.
It wouldn’t hurt for long.
The killer tossed the match against the wet metal of the car. A high-pitched squeal came from inside, and he didn’t know if it was the woman or the groaning metal. The flame spread, covering the car like a plague and lighting up the street. The killer stepped back, the heat roasting his cheeks as they spread to form a smile.
Justice was being served.
It took less than a minute for people to arrive on the scene. It started with one, and the killer backed away into the dark cover of the trees before he was spotted. Seconds later more came, and that number doubled, then doubled again. Before he knew it, all their cell phones were out, some being used to call the fire department while others doubled up as cameras to capture every moment of his latest kill.
But they’d missed it all.
The woman was dead already, if her silence was anything to go by. Any chance of her being saved was now gone. And if she had survived it? Good—the bitch deserved to burn alive. In fact, all the better for it. After everything she’d done, it was the least she deserved.
And this? This was only the beginning.