The woman returned to the kitchen while he was staring at the gloves. He hadn’t noticed her come in. He snapped his head up and stiffened. He felt her watching him, judging him. Her eyes burned into him the same way that Bitch’s eyes had burnt his soul. They had the same cold fish eyes, only hungry for the next drink. She turned to put the kettle on. His hand reached into the pocket of his jacket and felt the wire. He could feel the grooves and notches through his cheap gloves. He caressed it. He could feel his cock harden and his breath quickened in anticipation. He pulled the wire out of his pocket, savouring every second. He felt himself rushing the moment. He wanted to slow it down and enjoy every detail. But she would turn around any moment and things would get messy. He didn’t want that to happen again. He wrapped the ends around his hands and pulled it taut.
He watched the back of her head bob up and down as she made the coffee, humming happily. The kettle was too loud. Her humming was out of tune and pulled his last nerve. She chatted about how rare it was to come across someone as polite as he was, but all he could hear was the sound of the piano clanging in his head. He crossed his wrists and slipped the wire over her head and pulled it around her throat. His heart lurched and the beat quickened. The excitement of the impending kill made him a little light-headed. A surprised groan escaped from her mouth. She tried to grab the wire, but her chewed fingernails were too short to dig in. She tried to grasp his gloved hands at the back of her head, but she was too slow. Her arms flailed around trying to hit him. Her foot connected with his shin. That would leave a bruise, he thought. He pulled the wire tighter. Its sharp edges cut into her flesh, slicing into her like a hot knife through butter. Her breath came in gasps; the more she struggled for breath the bigger and harder his erection grew. His breathing became harder and faster. The wire was swallowed up by her larynx. Blood ran down the front of her clothes. Her end was very close now, he could feel it. It was about time too. His muscles were killing him. The drunken old bitch had put up quite a fight.
Her struggle became feeble. She stopped fighting as her last breath left her and the wire cut through the arteries in her throat. Blood from the severed artery spray-painted the cupboard and his face. He felt her final breath escape. The sound of her last breath tickled his ear like a lover’s whisper. Blood and spittle dribbled out of her mouth. He smothered the need to howl with pleasure as he came in his pants and allowed a loud moan to escape from between his lips.
Her body fell to the floor with a thump. Looking down at her, he thrust his gloved hand inside his pants. He felt the leatherette of the glove slipping against his cum as he rubbed his fingers against each other. Her blood and his sperm mixed on the leather. He fondled his now-limp penis, hoping to feel some flicker of excitement. Not even the thrill of having her blood on his cock excited him anymore. He felt nothing. He always hoped, with every victim, that he would feel something: something that would make sense. Something that would stem the flow of anger and hate he felt. But he never did and he would have to keep searching until he felt it.
Retracting his hand, he stared at the creaminess of his semen against the black of the glove. He slowly licked his fingers, relishing himself, savouring the sour, acrid tang that was his. He wondered if his diet really did affect its taste. He’d read that it did in some health magazine, but like most magazines they were probably full of shit.
He stared down at her body. Blood pooled around her head and his feet. It trickled into the grooves between the tiles, like red streams wending their way across the kitchen floor. He remembered the other two women who had taken her place. He’d killed them the same way and wished that each of them had been his mother; it was all her fault that these women were dead.
He remembered the first one he’d killed. It seemed so long ago now, but it had only been a couple of weeks. He’d watched her for months before he’d built up the courage to take action after that evil witch had gone after the only person he cared about. It had sent him over the edge. In a way, he’d hoped that someone would stop him – the cops, a random stranger walking past – but nobody did. They’d all been deaf, dumb and blind to his intentions.
His senses had been heightened during the time he’d stalked his prey. Everything tasted better and smells were so much more potent. Every sound was amplified as he followed her around Sunnyside.
He watched the back of her head bob up and down as she made the coffee, humming happily. The kettle was too loud. Her humming was out of tune and pulled his last nerve. She chatted about how rare it was to come across someone as polite as he was, but all he could hear was the sound of the piano clanging in his head. He crossed his wrists and slipped the wire over her head and pulled it around her throat. His heart lurched and the beat quickened. The excitement of the impending kill made him a little light-headed. A surprised groan escaped from her mouth. She tried to grab the wire, but her chewed fingernails were too short to dig in. She tried to grasp his gloved hands at the back of her head, but she was too slow. Her arms flailed around trying to hit him. Her foot connected with his shin. That would leave a bruise, he thought. He pulled the wire tighter. Its sharp edges cut into her flesh, slicing into her like a hot knife through butter. Her breath came in gasps; the more she struggled for breath the bigger and harder his erection grew. His breathing became harder and faster. The wire was swallowed up by her larynx. Blood ran down the front of her clothes. Her end was very close now, he could feel it. It was about time too. His muscles were killing him. The drunken old bitch had put up quite a fight.
Her struggle became feeble. She stopped fighting as her last breath left her and the wire cut through the arteries in her throat. Blood from the severed artery spray-painted the cupboard and his face. He felt her final breath escape. The sound of her last breath tickled his ear like a lover’s whisper. Blood and spittle dribbled out of her mouth. He smothered the need to howl with pleasure as he came in his pants and allowed a loud moan to escape from between his lips.
Her body fell to the floor with a thump. Looking down at her, he thrust his gloved hand inside his pants. He felt the leatherette of the glove slipping against his cum as he rubbed his fingers against each other. Her blood and his sperm mixed on the leather. He fondled his now-limp penis, hoping to feel some flicker of excitement. Not even the thrill of having her blood on his cock excited him anymore. He felt nothing. He always hoped, with every victim, that he would feel something: something that would make sense. Something that would stem the flow of anger and hate he felt. But he never did and he would have to keep searching until he felt it.
Retracting his hand, he stared at the creaminess of his semen against the black of the glove. He slowly licked his fingers, relishing himself, savouring the sour, acrid tang that was his. He wondered if his diet really did affect its taste. He’d read that it did in some health magazine, but like most magazines they were probably full of shit.
He stared down at her body. Blood pooled around her head and his feet. It trickled into the grooves between the tiles, like red streams wending their way across the kitchen floor. He remembered the other two women who had taken her place. He’d killed them the same way and wished that each of them had been his mother; it was all her fault that these women were dead.
He remembered the first one he’d killed. It seemed so long ago now, but it had only been a couple of weeks. He’d watched her for months before he’d built up the courage to take action after that evil witch had gone after the only person he cared about. It had sent him over the edge. In a way, he’d hoped that someone would stop him – the cops, a random stranger walking past – but nobody did. They’d all been deaf, dumb and blind to his intentions.
His senses had been heightened during the time he’d stalked his prey. Everything tasted better and smells were so much more potent. Every sound was amplified as he followed her around Sunnyside.