Song: Hungry Like The Wolf by Duran Duran

"Even psychopaths have emotions, then again, maybe not."-Richard Ramirez

February 14th, 2014

A groan escaped from my lips as my fist collided with the edge of my desk. I banged my head on my computer keyboard. My boss and my computer probably hated me because he kept giving me more work to do and my computer kept acting up.

I ran my hands through my hair down my face; stubble was present. Bags beneath my eyes. The only thing that remained was for me to start begging for money, then I would look like a vagrant.

Sleep had been the farthest thing from my mind for the past five days. Coffee became my best friend and companion.

Files stacked on my table that I hadn't started working on. He still went ahead and booked me for another job. He must be insane.

Thank God for my last victim. Thinking about her kept me sane. Her reactions, the way she begged and cried, gave me butterflies in my stomach.

To make matters more interesting, the police were after me. Well, they had no clue I was the one responsible. All they knew was that they were searching for "The Midnight Killer."

The name made me seem mysterious, and I liked it. Every time I remembered why the media dubbed me 'The Midnight Killer', it sent me into a fit of laughter.

Apparently, I killed and disposed my victims between midnight and early hours of the morning. Who would have guessed? Did they think I would be hauling a body around town during the day? Such ignorance.

"Skinny, don't you have somewhere to be?" my boss shouted from across the room, interrupting my thoughts.

Anger coursed through my veins when he called me such an outrageous name. No matter the number of times I hinted to him about my hatred for the name, he still wouldn't stop.

"I'm on my way," I yelled back. He wasn't the only one who could yell. He grunted a few words in reply, then turned and walked away.

As usual, the things I needed were already in my bag. I grabbed it and left. This time around, I wasn't going to a company. Instead, the client requested I come over to her house. Yes, you guessed right. The client was female. The thought of meeting her made me giddy.

The car radio played "If I die young by The Band Perry," and I sang along as I drove to my destination. My love for the song couldn't be described. That was the way I wanted to be buried. How many of you can relate?

Sometimes, I wished I could leave New York and move to another state. Because, there I was, stuck in traffic for over thirty minutes. It reminded me of the time I visited India. Although I loved the country, the traffic was terrible. In fact, if I was racing with a snail, it would get to the finish line before me. Yes, the traffic was that bad.

After what felt like eternity, I arrived at the address. Before me, stood a white and yellow fair-sized house. A white picket fence bordered the property. Daisies and jasmine flowers blossomed in the front yard.

With a smile plastered on my face, I pressed the doorbell. The door swung open revealing a woman with long and lush winter-white hair. Her face timeworn and wrinkled, with blood-flecked eyes. She had the most angelic smile I have ever seen. That wasn't who I expected to see. My heart sank like the titanic.

"Hello," she said, her voice fragile.

"Good day, ma'am. I'm the graphic designer you asked for," I said.

She leaned in close to me and squinted her eyes as if studying me. "I don't remember asking for any graphic designer," she said as she moved back adjusting her eyeglasses.

"Ma'am, please try to remember. You called the company I work for saying you had a project you needed a graphic designer to do," I said.

"Oh! I remember now." She laughed. "Pardon me. My memory is not too good. Come in," she said, opening the door so I could enter.

"Thank you."

As I walked into the house, the aroma of freshly baked cookies hit my nostrils. This was what a home should smell like. Not like the one I grew up in, that smelt like cigarette smoke.

The place was deathly silent, not even the sounds that houses made. Such as that of the furnace burning or stairwell creaking. Just utter silence that drew one in.

"Sit down wherever you choose. Do you care for some cookies?" she asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

The temptation to say yes crossed my mind, but I pushed it away and refused her offer in the politest way I could. I was there for business, nothing else.

She smiled, nodded, and sat opposite me.

"Could you tell me what kind of project you have in mind?" I asked.

Her eyes twinkled. "Oh, honey, I don't really have any project. I just wanted someone to talk to. I'm sorry for the inconvenience," she said with a hint of sadness.

My heart shattered into pieces like a broken plate. I couldn't believe what she just said. How could such a sweet lady not have anyone to talk to? What about her husband? Children? Something pulled at my heart, so I indulged her. She just wanted to talk. It's not like I had to be back at the office.

"Okay. What would you like to talk about?" I asked.

The smile that appeared on her face made me realize I made the right decision. Or not.

"You are not what you portray to the world," she said.

My heart raced. Was I that easy to read? Did she figure out what I was? I panicked inwardly. But I kept a solid expression. "What do you mean?"

"You don't want to reveal the sweet and caring side of you, so you distance yourself. Let me guess, you had no love in your childhood," she said.

Relief washed over me. Words wouldn't leave my parted lips, so I nodded.

"It's okay not to be too trusting, but you have to open your heart for love now. You are no longer a child." She gave me a reassuring smile.

My eyes danced around the room as I adjusted on my seat. I didn't want to meet her gaze. The conversation had become uncomfortable.

I forced a smile. "Thank you."

She smiled with obvious self-satisfaction.

"You live in such a nice neighborhood," I said.

Her blue eyes sparkled and she grinned as if I just told her she won a lottery.

"Oh, it is. Such lovely neighbors, and there is this sweet old man across the street..." She blushed.

Suddenly the blush turned to a frown.

"Why the frown? A beautiful woman like you should not be frowning."

A deep shade of pink tinted her cheeks. "I just remembered one of my neighbors, they live down the street. You wouldn't miss their house, it's the only house with lots of noise. Several times, we have called the police about noise complaints, yet the husband and wife still fight. If they hate each other so much, why don't they divorce? My husband and I were never like that. We were happy until God took him from me." Her voice cracked.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I said.

She cleared her throat and nodded. Nevertheless, the neighbors piqued my interest. I most definitely would be checking them out later that night.

Her head rose and she glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh God!" she exclaimed as she stood up. "It's getting late. Sorry for keeping you."

I smiled. "It's okay, but I have to be going now." I stood up with my bag on my shoulder.

She followed me to the door. "Thank you," she said as I stepped out.

"No problem." I bade her goodbye as I got into my car and drove away.

**********

The sun had gone down by the time I returned to the neighborhood, but I parked my car in an alley a few blocks away. No one was outside, but I still didn't want to take the chance that someone would recognize my car.

I hid behind a bush outside the house of the neighbors the old woman told me about. Just as she said, male and female voices screamed at each other. Most likely, the husband and the wife. Do they ever take a break from fighting? The sound of shattered glass echoed in the darkness. The children cried and screamed at their parents to stop fighting.

"Shut up! You do not tell me what to do. When you get married yourself, you will understand," the woman screamed at her children. "I'm out of here. I can't stand any of you in this house."

She slammed the door behind her.

I crawled out from behind the bush and followed her. In most cases, anger clouds people's judgment or instincts, so she probably wouldn't even notice that she was being followed until it became too late.

Bless the heavens! She entered the alley where I parked my car. My pace increased, so I could catch up to her. However, I remained as quiet as I could be.

I walked up behind her, placed my hand over her mouth to hold in her screams. She struggled but I quickly injected her with the syringe filled with sodium thiopental into her bloodstream.

As she lost consciousness in my arms, I dragged her body into my awaiting chariot.

"My consuming lust was to experience their bodies. I viewed them as objects, as strangers. It is hard for me to believe a human being could have done what I've done."-Jeffrey Dahmer

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