The killer obsessively checked the rearview mirror, catching sight of his red face. He had come so close to being caught, and he wasn’t sure whether that excited him or scared him. Probably both, and that was okay.
Logan Fox wasn’t chasing him anymore. He was almost certain of it, however, he continued to drive for the next few minutes, taking turns and merging with other cars in an effort to hide himself. It wasn’t entirely necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
After a while, he figured it was safe. The killer found a side street and stopped there, leaving the engine running just in case. He rolled down the window and let the cool, moist air fall in. He used his sweater sleeve to wipe the patch of sweat from his forehead, paying little attention to the shithole neighborhood he was parked in. All he knew was that the street was full of black youths, and he would never fit in. Still, continuing to drive while he felt like this was a far greater risk than being seen by that gang.
“He almost had you,” the killer told himself in the mirror, then chuckled.
That chuckle escalated into a loud laugh, euphoria soaking up the quietness of the car as he counted his blessings. Tears emerged from his eyes as he cackled like a wicked witch. Logan had come so close to catching him, and he was too exhilarated to care. Hell, he could almost say he enjoyed this feeling.
Not as much as he would enjoy killing the girl though.
That had its own reward, and the time had almost come. All it took was a little prep time to get the chores out of the way, and then he would be ready for her. He thought about how Logan would never be able to unsee the image of the young girl, parts missing and without a pulse. The killer enjoyed the fact he was winning, and short of being stopped too soon, there wasn’t a thing on this earth he could do about it.
He laughed again.