Richard finally snatched a seat as people exited the Blue Line at the Chicago Street stop. He planned to ride until at least a half dozen women exited. After getting off then, he would follow one or two to get an idea of the general area and his chances of success.
As the train jerked, slowed, stopped, and sped up again, Richard stared at each and every woman. They were a strange breed—self-centered and with an air of entitlement. They were weak—frail, actually—but insisted they were empowered and strong.
In numbers only. Alone, not one of you has a chance in hell. I’ve already proven that.
Most of all, they had no loyalty. Not to family, friends, or husbands. They’d cheat at the first indication that they weren’t the only person their spouse cared about. They needed validation from someone else, and in Amy’s case, that someone was a hotel room lover.
She should have known better. My remodeling business was thriving and kept me at the job sites longer than I wanted, but it was for us—our future—and she threw it all away. She wanted the perks of my income—fancy cars, designer clothes, trips to wherever—but while I was out making that money, she was spending it at expensive hotels and lying in bed with a different man every month. Stupid cheating bitch triggered the person I was in my past to resurface.
Finally, after the seven-year wait was over, Richard was able to have Amy legally declared dead, and he collected her life insurance. All those years had passed with the police thinking she had abandoned him. Richard had prepared well in advance with copies of her hotel receipts, photographs of Amy with other men, and phone calls recorded between her and her lovers as they exchanged sexual innuendos. After an exhaustive investigation, the police finally dropped the case and agreed she must have left Richard for another man. They couldn’t find proof that Richard did anything wrong, and he’d covered his tracks flawlessly.
Taking several deep breaths, Richard tried to calm himself. He didn’t want to give away the anger that still festered under his skin, and that night was only meant for seeing which stop would serve him best. Exiting the train half-cocked and killing someone because he was amped up would be reckless. With six murders under his belt already, he had no intentions of stopping—he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His hatred for women was stronger than ever.
Richard looked at the route map on the wall, and California Street was next. He would watch to see who exited when the doors parted and decide at that moment whether he’d jump off too. Although he preferred blondes, a perky redhead caught his attention. She was pretty and flaunted it. She was loud, and everyone heard her, and she was sexy, and everyone saw it. In Richard’s eyes, she was perfect, and although she didn’t resemble Amy, her attitude was spot-on.
I won’t kill her tonight, but I will soon. She’s going to be the focus of my next attack.
With luck on his side, Richard saw the woman ready herself to exit by grasping the pole nearest the doors. That was his cue, and he would get off right behind her. His pulse increased as he eyed her up and down and thought of creative ways to snuff out her life.