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The sound echoes through the room as I examine the body, clean kill, a smooth almost surgical incision to the throat. Blood now covering the floor makes it difficult to get out of the room without leaving footprints; then again I always love a challenge. She was fun, they all are. Never once have I left unsatisfied after one of my callings.
One town, one victim, this is how it must be. I have to be invisible to avoid detection. That is the only way I can spread my message to the world. They have to know why I do this, without them knowing exactly who I am. This is the second kill today. The other was much less methodical, his death didn’t matter. I simply needed his identity for a cover, the power company goon that reads your meter.
Well, it's almost three thirty; her children are going to be barreling through the door in about ten minutes, time to get out of here. I take off the painter suit revealing the uniform I procured this morning and stuff it and the knife - now glistening red in the light - into the tool bag and walk out of the back door of the garage and read the meter before I hop into the work truck and drive around aimlessly for about twenty minutes before slowly driving by the house to catch a peek at my work.
I drive by the house slowly as not to arise suspicion. After all, there are two police cruisers in front. Who wouldn’t want to see what happened? In a town this small, everybody knows everything just minutes after it happens. I happen to see two children, Kaileigh and Trevor Paulsen, knees and hands covered in their mother's blood and tears in their eyes being escorted out of the house by two of Boothbay’s finest. The look on everyone’s face is tantalizing, such grief, it’s simply amazing. The two officers’ faces are the greatest part. I mean, kids love their parents, but only in a small town would this affect seemingly complete strangers so powerfully. They probably went to high school with Karen; maybe one of them even had sex with her after prom, who knows? All I know is it's time to leave town and pick my next martyr, somewhere far, somewhere smaller. I wonder what the weather is like this time of year in Mammoth, Wyoming.
Written by XanCrews