The Last Person You'd Expect

They would never find her body, no matter how hard they tried.

            He had done it so well, ensuring that no evidence was left behind. For Christ’s sake, she had been murdered in the apartment right next to the landlord and still no one had heard them.

            The bloodstained clothing had disposed of properly. He had tossed them into a garbage bag, drove out to an old field, and burned them. The remaining ashes were thrown in the river, where the heavy current would no doubt scatter them in a thousand different directions.

            Several days had passed and the police were no closer to finding him then they were the day of the murder. This gave him an odd sense of joy--being able to watch the news from the safety of his recliner.

            It was titillating.

            It was arousing.

            By now, his routine was set in stone. Every evening after work he would catch the end of Wheel of Fortune, eat a TV dinner, then watch the news from a spectators point of view.  It was his favorite part of the day.

            The parents of the girl had raised their reward to fifty-thousand dollars for any information on the whereabouts of their daughter. It was almost enough for him to think about turning himself in … almost. But that meant going to prison, and that just wasn't an option.

            As he watched the most recent live pleas from the desperate parents, their looks of worry and fear gave him the urge to bust out in roars of laughter.

            In his dreams at night, or during his afternoon naps, he would often revisit the murder. He could remember how her soft, smooth skin had felt against his rough, callused hands, the way her low, weak voice had tried to scream for help before being silenced, the way she had tried to run before he grabbed her. She had begged for him to spare her, saying she wanted to see her fiancée and family again.

            It was ridiculous--from his standpoint--how some people just couldn't accept the way things are and just let them be. They had to try and change the inevitable.

            He awoke in the morning feeling refreshed, went downstairs and drank a steaming cup of coffee as he read the paper. The front page headline was about the girl’s disappearance. He read it before taking a steaming shower.

            He toweled off, grabbed his police uniform off the bed, and dressed quickly. He didn't want to be late--he had a long day of fooling his coworkers ahead. Another day he would get to look them in the eye and act as confused and concerned as they did.  

            He got into his squad car and made the same drive to the station that he did every morning. As he came to the four-way stop at the end of Wexford Avenue, he caught the red light. He thumbed the steering wheel and couldn't help noticing an attractive brunette strolling along the crosswalk. His eyes locked on her. She would be a great improvement over his last victim.

            The light turned green. He gave his signal, made a right-hand turn, and followed her.

 

THE END

 

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Good story, well told! I like how you keep that he's a policeman till near the end. But I think he will have made some mistakes!
Well done!
Alan
I have my own little story of nasty goings on called 'the Gardener' if you have time to read it.
Thanks

[Strawbs]

wow, had my heart going there a bit. good read for sure

[Muse]

Putting yourself in killer's shoes. What a daring, provocative, and dangerous place to be. I always wondered how writers like Stephen King functioned in the real world. Bloody hell I think I'd go insane if I had to keep it all in. Writers/artist, they all feed off different emotions...some urges/feelins may seem sickly and unwarranted...but who are we to ask what inspires?

[Elvalight]

O-O
nice, now I think I'm going to go hide in a closet >.