The last pale stripes of light were fading quickly behind the city’s expanse that evening. The street, still damp from a recent rain, glimmered thinly. The streetlights had not yet flickered to life, and the street was hanging suspended in that breathless squinting moment between light and dark.
I was on my way home from what had been a difficult job, leaving me exhausted and grim. I took long steps, my hands balled into fists, shoved deep into my pockets. It was chilly. Not a biting cold, but a murmuring one. A cold that sent its pallid hands lightly creeping along your skin, whispers of touch that raised goosepimples, hair and suspicion. I felt my heart rate quicken, my breathing become labored. I paused, eyes fluttered shut, and I heard the muted crunch of a single footstep behind me. Then nothing.
There was someone following me.
I set off at a dead run, all springs and gears turning, and now there was no mistaking it. I most certainly had a pursuer. I didn’t look back, I only ran. My feet slapped pavement hard, jarring. We ran together, my pursuer and I, a manic, high-stakes dance. Through side streets, back alleys and over garbage cans. Finally we reached my street, I jumped one-handed over a fence, through a back yard and ran to my front stoop. I reached my front door, a mad scramble with my keys. I knew, if I could only make it to the basement before I was caught, I would be home free.
I ran to my basement door, shoved it open, then tore down the stairs, jumping down the last two steps before hiding into the shadows.
My pursuer slowed as he crept down the steps of my basement, each foot fall descending him further into the murky gloom. A weak ray of light shining down the basement stairs allowed me to see my pursuer’s hand brushing and feeling his way along the cold basement wall, searching for a light switch. I heard his every breath, ragged, heavy and wet.
As his hand met with the light switch, he quickly flicked it on.
I watched as the man in the blue uniform stood frozen in terror as his gaze swept over the room. From the blood stained walls to the gory freezer in the corner to what was left of my previous dinner on the surgical table.
He didn’t hear me creep up behind him, but he must’ve felt the throbbing bulge in my pants as I emptied a full syringe into the flesh of his neck. “Well, officer,” I whispered into the policeman’s ear as his body went limp “looks like you’ve solved this case.”
A maniacal grin crept its way across my lips.
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