The Kill - Excerpt from Origin of a Serial Killer

THE KILL
EXCERPT FROM 
ORIGIN OF A SERIAL KILLER

I nod to George and retreat to the master bedroom, shutting the door behind me. The room is empty and I wonder if Ray thought to install cameras. Are you watching, Ray? The thought makes me smile, and I unbutton my blouse. My eyes seek and find my purse on the table beside the bed. Rushing to grab it, I retrieve my knife as the man enters the side door. I put my hand behind my back to hide it from his view.

“Oh, I thought I had a few more minutes to myself. You surprised me.”
“Um…do you want me to leave and come back again?” he asks, sounding unsure of himself.

I don’t like. “First, you missed some of the lines, and now, you fail to execute your timing cue. Did you read the source material for this role play?”

“Yes, I knew the lines, but…”
“Take off your clothes.”

He undresses and begins folding his expensive suit, but I touch his arm, stopping him. I look him over and find nothing remarkable. Grabbing his tie from the floor, I blind him with it and walk him to a stop in the center of the room.

“I found an irregularity in your file. It says you were found guilty of sexual assault. Please explain.”

His eyes show fear, and he takes a step back closer to the door. He’s thinking he is moving away from me. However, I am behind him now, and he steps within inches of my blade.

“I…” he starts to stammer but can’t finish.
“Are you guilty?”
“Yes,” he says. “I came here to confess.”

My arm begins the arc, and my knife almost reaches the target. But I stop.

“You wish to confess?” How odd. The men never admit guilt. Well, almost never. He’s not the first, but this isn’t what I expected.

His shoulders heave with effort while he tries to suck oxygen into his lungs. I hold the blade inches from his neck. Why do I hesitate? I scan the room though I don’t know what I expect to help me. My eyes lock on the bathroom with its floor to ceiling glass shower/Jacuzzi/bath combo, and I smile.

I drag him into the shower and turn on the water.

“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to cleanse you so you can confess. Men are filthy beasts,” I say, making him kneel against the wall and placing his torso over the drain.
“Will I be part of the story?” he asks.
“That depends on how you answer the question. Do you believe in God?” I ask him.
“What?” he asks in confusion.

I kneel behind him, pressing my dress against his back. “I want to know. Do you believe in God?”

Moments pass with no answer. His body shakes against mine, and I wonder what type of sexual game he thinks I’m playing with him. Does he have any idea at all what I am?

“No. I do not believe in God.”

With a smile, I press the blade against his skin.

“Then nobody cares about your confession. Goodbye, rapist.” I slide the knife across his neck.

Blood sprays against the wall, splattering on my dress. I hold him against me and feel his veins pumping. His heartbeat gets weaker with each second that passes.
​
“Call it sleep,” I whisper in his ear. 

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