I originally signed up for Search For Your Soulmate to find potential victims. It was risky as I had to use my actual email and a real picture of me, but I used a fake name and I put some dumb, innocent stuff in the bio.

After doing all that, they matched me with her.

Raven Mathers.

Her profile said she was a writer. I wasn't sure what we had in common at first. She almost seemed to have more in common with the real me than with fake name. Though, I was sure she wouldn't exactly appreciate the murderer aspect of me.

Oh, well. She was pretty and in the right age range.

I messaged her, and after a nice conversation we decided to meet up for dinner the next night.

So, that night, there I am, sitting across from this girl that thinks I'm a normal person looking for my "soulmate".

"So, James," she said, using my fake name, "your profile said you're an English teacher?"

I nodded. "Yeah, it did - and you're a writer?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Makes sense that our search histories would be similar, then."

"Yeah, it does," I replied. But it didn't. After I signed up for Search for Your Soulmate, I looked up flowers and cute couple photos - stuff like that. Sure, she could've been searching that, but then why would she not mention it? I searched the same stuff.

The waiter came over and my thoughts were interrupted. As she ordered, I decided not to care about why she lied. I mean, I was planning to kill her later. If anyone was lying, it was me.

I ordered, too, and then we made small talk while waiting for the food. She told me she was from Seattle and she was an only child. I told her I was from Boston and had three brothers and one sister. Just because I could.

We talked about other stuff, too - general stuff that I don't remember too well.

Then, the food came, and somewhere along the way I asked about her writing.

"Oh, I write crime novels," she said, twisting her fork in her pasta. "Murder mysteries, actually. It's a book series."

I stopped for about half a second, shocked. I never looked her up - I did absolutely no research on her. I just saw her, thought she'd make a good victim, and showed up. I pretended like I wasn't reeling from this information. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I've written about eight now, I think. I don't really know when I'm gonna end it. They're fun to write," she replied.

While she was talking, I was panicking.

This is where the search histories came in. It wasn't the couple stuff or the flowers - it was everything I'd searched before signing up for the website. I didn't know it had access to that.

How long does it take for a person to die from a stab wound?

The best places to hide a body

How long does it take for a person to asphyxiate?

How to prevent leaving fingerprints

She'd searched those up for her books. I'd searched them to plan my murders. And the website knew.

What if she knew? What if she was an uncover FBI agent? What if the FBI made her come to get me to confess and are planning to arrest me as soon as I do?

I screwed up.

I really screwed up.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

I looked up at her and shook my head a little. "I'm fine."

I was just being paranoid. Nothing had happened yet. Nothing was going to happen. She had no idea, and there was no way she was an undercover FBI agent. I was going to get this date over with, then deactivate my account. I wouldn't even kill her. I just wanted to go home.

We talked some more, and then I paid the bill. I went to leave, but then she smoothly asked if I wanted to go back to her place.

I decided I would; I might as well kill her now that she's invited me into her house. I just deactivate her account, too. It'd be fine.

She drove, and when we entered her house (it was pretty big, and mildly fancy; she definitely had money, which I was planning to take to make it look like a robbery gone wrong) she told me to make myself comfortable and went to get me a drink from the kitchen.

I surveyed the living room while she was gone, finding something to use a weapon. If it was going to be a robbery, I had to use a weapon of connivence.

She came back with two glasses of something, and I didn't bother to ask what it was. I just took one and started drinking it.

We sat down and continued talking, and she even flirted with me and little bit. I waited for the opportunity to strike. She kept going to get drinks, and she got drunker and drunker. I drank, too, but not as much. Just enough that she wouldn't notice that I was trying to stay as sober as possible.

I misjudged, though. I drank too much. My vision started getting blurrier. I felt sluggish. I never really drank much, so I figured I'd just overstepped my limit. It could easily happen.

Maybe I really wouldn't end up killing her.

Oh, well. There was plenty other women I could choose from.

I looked at the one sitting next to me. She was leaned over onto my arm, a half-empty glass in her hand, laughing at something. I was laughing, too.

"You have no idea," she'd said. I'd zoned out for the last part of the conversation, so I didn't know what she was talking about it.

"About what?" I asked, still laughing. She took her time in replying, laughing along with me. Her face was really close to mine, and I'd almost made up my mind to kiss her when she replied.

"About what's in your drink."

I stopped, confused. My words started slurring together. My vision was swimming. "Wh-what'sin my drink?"

Her words weren't slurring at all. She stopped laughing, though she was still smiling and half-breathless. "I put something in it."

"Wh-What'sin it? Wha-What did youdo?" I was panicking, trying to stand and get out of there. She wasn't drunk at all.

"I drugged you, obviously," she replied, stone-faced.

I remember falling off the couch, then. "Wha-?"

She stood and went to grab something. "A lot of the time, Google doesn't provide you with the substantial research you need. Sometimes, scientists haven't done their research on things, seeing as it would be inhumane to do so. I have to take matters in my own hands to provide my readers with accurate information."

I was about to pass out. All I saw was dots and her behind them, standing over me. I felt like I was going to puke.

"Now that I know how this drug affects the human body - and that it doesn't change the taste of cheap wine - I think it's time we clean this mess up," she said.

I couldn't reply. I couldn't form words. I heard banging, and she groaned in pain. I heard a crash. Then running footsteps. Then, silence.

I desperately started crawling away, towards the door. I was numb, but I was fighting for my life. I absently thought if this was what my victims felt like.

I managed to get my phone out of my pocket and lay it on the ground in front of me. With shaky, numb fingers, I dialed 991. I could only make panicked noises into the phone. I was going under.

I heard footsteps again. Coming down stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" She was back.

She walked over to me and turned me over on my back. She had a gun in her hand. The 991 operator was still talking. She noticed and started screaming. "Stop! Stop! Get off of me! Please don't kill me! Please! I have money - whatever you want!"

I heard sirens blaring outside, then she cocked the gun and shot.

I felt nothing. I wasn't sure if that was because she missed or because my entire body was numb. I heard police shouting, and someone leaned over me and started asking me questions, but by that point I was too far gone. I lost consciousness.

I look at Raven after telling all of that to court, handcuffs dangling off my wrists. She's sitting next to her lawyer, looking right back at me. Fake tears are pooling in her eyes.

They'll have to find her guilty now. I may be a serial killer taking a deal so that I don't get the death penalty, but I'm not lying. The hospital fought to keep me alive for about thirteen hours. I almost died. But I didn't.

And once she's found guilty, she will.