The paper showed the woman’s face perfectly. She’d tried to copy his art, such an act would make her his next model. He saw red each time he thought of what this woman had attempted. One thing he prided himself on was the quality of his art. This woman had just hacked at the man. That wouldn’t do. Her actions would make her his next model.
It would take planning to catch her alone on the streets. She thought she’d gotten away with it until this morning when the papers had her face plastered all over their front pages. He had watched her move through the park almost at a run to get home. In the shadows of the trees, he followed her to her brownstone. Normally he wouldn’t have followed her that far into the city, but he wanted her. When she came out a few moments later with a bag, a smile spread on his face. This was easier than he thought. When she headed back toward the park, he stopped her.
“Can you help me?”
“No, I have to go.”
“Oh you have little choice in the matter.”
“Get away from me.”
“Or what? You’ll scream for the cops?”
He watched the horror dawn. The look of fear washed over her. The slight blush she had was now replaced with a pale ghost white in her skin.
“You’re him!”
“Who?”
“The Rembrandt Ripper.”
“Come with me, or you can scream for the cops.”
She started to throw her bag at him, but the handle was wrapped around her arm. When he grabbed the bag, he pulled her into his body. She didn’t try to scream or fight him when he moved toward the small cluster of trees.
“I gave you the best compliment ever.”
“You, little girl, were sloppy and they never believed for a moment that I killed that man. I don’t kill men.”
“It doesn’t matter!” She almost stomped her foot but stopped when she saw the spot he took her to. It was away from the main path and out of sight of the street. Fear made her heart jump into her throat and tears rolled down her face because she knew she wouldn’t live through this. “Please, I want to live!”
“Should have thought of that before you tried to copy my art.”
In that moment, she started to struggle, then tried to scream. The scream was cut short when the knife slid between her lips. She wanted to bite down on the metal but feared what he would do. All her attention was on the knife in her mouth so she didn’t notice the broken mirror piece cut into her shirt and into her skin. She jerked against the pain as the knife in her mouth cut deeper. Blood started too ooze down her throat, gagging her.
When she had copied his work she never dreamed she would become part of it. The scream caught in her throat again and she couldn’t stop the fear that raced across her eyes.
“I’ll make you a pussy cat,” he whispered into her ear as she struggled against his chest feeling parts of his body start to harden, then she stilled. That was one horror she didn’t want to happen. The sting of the mirror was making her see black dots in front of her eyes. When he slid the knife out of her mouth she tried to scream but couldn’t move her lips. He had cut the muscles in her face. He let her fall to the ground. She turned over to see he was smiling down at her. He took pride in the fight; the way she tried to get away from him.
She could feel the life draining out of her body. Is this what Mike had felt? She felt fear and anger that she would never grow old and have children. Her mother would never see her again, not that the old bag loved her much anyway. Everything went black and she knew she was going to die.
“Nice, pussy cat, sleep in the dirt like you should.”
It was the last thing she would have heard as watched her chest until it stop rising and falling, leaving her dead.
As he looked over his work, he snapped off the outer gloves. He placed them by her hands to show the world that he was the killer, not her. The cops would know he’d killed her and not some copycat. He moved through the park making sure to stay within the shadows of the trees. The papers would show her the way she was, if the cops allowed pictures. He thought about writing a letter to the papers to make sure she was shown for what she was. A copycat killer tried to copy a master. The handy work was different and the master killer didn’t always appreciate someone copying them. He wouldn’t write to the papers this time, her body was close enough to the street someone would find her.