His crimes outnumbered his many years of life and he smiled whenever one of his victims unsuspecting faces crossed his mind. It had been a long and productive life in the city, but it would soon catch up to him. Looking through the last of the boxes that the movers had yet to take out to the truck, he noticed his most prised possession, sitting exposed at the top of one on the untaped boxes. A scrapbook, which he had learned how to make from watching his mother.

Granted his was a little different, but it still preserved the memories he held most dear, as had hers. While hers had baby photos of him and his cousins, his had blurry images of people who did not yet know him. Hers had flyers from childhood events, his clips of hair. Hers buttons and paint swatches, his blood stains and torn clothing.

He decided it best if he moved this box himself.

He carried the box out into the crisp air, passing the movers on their way back in.

"You have the address?" he asked one of them.

"Yessir," she replied.

"Alright, I'm going to head out."

She nodded and continued into his old house. He would miss the memories made there. On a better day he might have lured one of the movers down to the hidden room and had some fun, but he just wasn't feeling it today. Having finished the arduous task of fitting yet another box into the backseat of his car he sat down in the driver's seat.

"Can we get going already," The ancient and as impatient as ever woman in the passenger's seat asked.

"Yes mother," he replied as he started up the car. "The movers will meet us there once they have finished up here; we can leave now."

"Good," she said as she readjusted herself to face away from him, arms still crossed. "I still don't see why we have to go through all this trouble."

"I told you that this was the only job I could find," he said calmly, as he knew she had just grown grumpy with age. "Besides, we will be much happier out there."

"Bullshit," she grumbled. "If you had been better with your money and didn't spend all your time out doing god knows what at all hours of the night."

He didn't react and kept his eyes glued to the road. All his practice for denying his actions to the police, if they ever managed to catch him, came through for him when his mother was in one of these particularly grumpy moods. She never did react to his emotions as a kid, and showing none at all seemed to work wonders for their relationship. Her ramblings no longer mattered to him. Unlike when he had been a child, he was in charge now. If she wanted to rant about how he spent his money, he couldn't have cared less. At least he wasn't spending it all on booze like she had been doing his whole life.

They drove in silence for the rest of the trip as buildings turned to trees and the wide roads narrowed. They passed signs directing them to the national park that their state was known for, and he turned towards a small dirt road near its entrance labeled "Employees Only."

"Are we nearly there yet?" His mother asked.

"Almost. The house is at the end of the road here."

The gravel cracked beneath the tires as he came to a stop. Before them was a small cabin built into the side of a small hill with part of its stone basement exposed on the lower side. He scratched his beard in contemplation before shutting the car door and picking up his personal box to bring inside.

"Let's see what this shack has to offer," his mother said and she hobbled angrily towards the front door. He followed her in, placing his keys and box on the kitchen counter. "This is horrible!" he heard her shout from down the hall.

"Well I was expecting it would need some work, it's-"

"Where's the other one," she interrupted. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"There should be a bedroom down in the basement," he said, "maybe it is a little nicer." He walked over to a door that looked a little different from the rest, pulling an old key out of his pocket to unlock it. "Here it is."

"Let me see," his mother said, shoving him out of the way and barging down the stairs. "There's nothing down here!" she shouted back up.

The man shut the door behind her, turning the key in the lock and walking back to the box he had brought in with him.

"Dennis!" she shouted, banging on the door. "What the hell is this! Let me out!"

Ignoring her, he pulled the book out from his box and flipped to a fresh page. Tucked between the back cover and the last page was a photograph that he had been waiting to include for far too long. He cut out the little boy from the image; no need to include him in this, and pasted it to the page. Again he found no joy in the thought of killing today, so there was nothing to do now but wait.

He heard the unmistakable crash of someone falling down the stairs.

"I told you we would be happier out here," Dennis said when the banging finally stopped. Finally, he could smile when he thought of his mother.