Ahh... this is the life. He thought as he continued on his trek through the dark, nothing but a can of spray paint in his hand. Or course he had other items in his leather coat and a few more in the hoodie he wore under it but well, those didn't count.

He took a deep breath in, enjoying the crispness on the night air. It almost smelled like rain and he could feel more moisture in the air than normal. Water clung to his skin, making little beads in his hair. He looked like some glittery fairy. Or a Twilight vampire.

And yet this girl ran from him. He always thought girls were into vampires.

Maybe it was something he did. Maybe if he hadn't broken her ankle. Or... killed her boyfriend. He giggled. She wouldn't be getting too far on that ankle. Nobody could run for long with a break like that.

It was time to kill them and end the game of cat and mouse.

The girl was afraid of him and when he finally caught up with her she'd be even more afraid. She would take that fear to her grave. Along with his identity.

His mouth pulled up on one side into a crooked grin. It looked more like a snarl. He could hear her blubbering. Crying. Begging for her pathetic life.

She wasn't part of his original plan. But unfortunately the girl was a necessary add-on. She had seen him. Maybe not quite enough to identify him, but that was not a risk he was willing to take. Part of being a successful serial killer was letting no victim alive to tell what they had seen. Who they had seen.

And it was her fault anyway. If the girl hadn't gone looking for her boyfriend. If she had just stayed in her house watching mind numbing TV, she wouldn't be in her current situation because she wouldn't have seen him on the way to the park in his hoodie and leather jacket. On his way to kill her boyfriend. Murdering the kid in between, the one he made look like he had been huffing, had given him time to learn this girl's routine and fit her into his plan.

And the police still didn't have any suspects. Well, he supposed they did have some. The usual: parents, girlfriend, boyfriend, neighborhood sex offender, but all their leads ran flat.

He supposed he shouldn't be too disappointed. No leads meant they were no closer to pinning the murder on him, and that meant he could continue to kill. But part of him longed for the next part of his plan. A few more murders and he'd lead them right to him.

He could see the girl now. Never had a more beautiful sight existed than that prone form scrambling to get away.

And he knew how to make that sight look absolutely...

Breathtaking.

Oh, wait, that had been the last victim.

He already knew how he was going to kill this one, and he thought only of that was he continued toward her. His gait steady, calculating. He was in control.

"Ki, ki, ki, ha, ha, ha," he couldn't resist. Always wanted to do that. And his efforts to make the girl as scared as possible didn't go unrewarded. She started crying harder.

Actually that might have been because she was up against a fence. And on the other side...

A two story drop.

That led to a beautiful cherry tree orchard of sorts. Everything was going exactly the way he imagined.

"Why are you doing this?" she screeched.

He just smiled and continued walking toward her. After all it wasn't fun to talk to victims until he was really close to them. Until he could read every fear, every doubt in their eyes.

She was a blubbering heap on the ground by the time he reached her. Her eyes big as saucers.

He wanted to rip them out of her head. But there was no need for that. That would only prolong her inevitable death. Which honestly he was all for. He loved prolonged suffering. But he had a timed schedule to work with.

So instead he bent down to her level and placed his arms on either side of her quivering form. As he kneeled on the ground he vaguely realized that his pants were getting wet from all the moisture that had already settled on the grass. His pants would probably be ruined, the fabric was temperamental. Well, that's the price you pay for murder, he joked to himself.

"Please just let me go," she begged, snot dripping from her nose.

How... cute. He placed a gentle hand on her head and she looked up, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Oh, Abby," he began the same way someone might begin telling a child the tooth fairy's not real, "I can't let you go, love. You've seen too much."

                                                             ~GP~

He positioned her against the fence, arranging her so it looked as if she was merely resting, blood running down her face like sweat after a hard jog.

He stepped back, admiring his work, and felt desire rush through him.

They always looked more beautiful with red. If he was into necrophilia, he'd fuck her. But, alas, he wasn't. So it'd just be him and his hand again.

He sprayed the ground by the break in the fence with the number 1:13.

"Another day's hard work done," he sang feeling satisfied with himself.

Now all he had to do was return the shoes he had borrowed to their rightful owner and, of course, call his buddies at the police station. He dialed the familiar number.

"It's 1:13 am. Body number three is waiting by the fence and the cherry trees."

He threw his pay as you go phone down and started on his way to return the shoes.

Despite the fact that it was an add-on killing, he considered the night a success and his high spirits showed as he whistled one of his favorite melodies, O Fortuna (he just loved Orff) as he walked off into the night.