The Serial Killer in My Mind

No... Maybe

"No." I stated firmly, staring at Detective Rio. He looked disappointed, but then he peeked up.

"Another time then?"

Yes..
Shut up Steve.
Prude.
I'm starting to think you were a whore in your lifetime.
I waited for a response but there wasn't one. I either offended him or I was right. The silence was nice.

"Did you hear me?"

Dammit.

"Maybe..."

"Maybe you heard me, or maybe you'll get coffee with me Friday."

This guy doesn't give up does he? I half expected Steve to answer, again he stayed silent. Maybe he gave up on invading my head space.

Fat chance sweetheart.

"Your silence tells me that I have a potential coffee date Friday. Have a nice rest of your week, Stella."

He flashed a boyish like grin then turned back to walk into the building. He was smug as hell with his little trick. Even though it wasn't much of a trick... I just wasn't paying attention. It was like Steve knew when to interrupt me.

Maybe...

Figures.

The walk home from the police department was a long one. I disappeared into my thoughts and found myself to be reliving the nightmare all over again. I could practically see Steve bathing in poor Tobias' blood. Believe me it's a disturbing image.

Have you figured out the initials?

Uh... all that comes to mind is root beer and cream soda. Steve went silent yet again. He decided to give me the silent treatment all the way until Thursday.

When I woke up in an alleyway holding a man's severed head like a teddy bear. Like last time my blood ran cold. I hurled the head across the way making an awful squishy thud sound against a dumpster. Then I threw up the contents of the night I couldn't remember.

Yet again I find myself in heels, a skin tight leather skirt and a piece of cloth with strings for a shirt. How I wasn't cold right now is beyond me.

Wait... if I was holding the head...

Steve started giggling hysterically. It was the most obnoxious sound ever. He was clearly overjoyed with his work.

Something dripped on my forehead from above and it took damn near everything for me not to lose it when I saw what it was.

Blood...

The body was hanging from a ladder directly above where I had been resting. Again I threw up.

Dammit Steve!

I think this is my best work yet.

I jumped up, taking off the blasted heels and I ran like hell.

I could smell the stench from the dumpster as the street lights flew by in a blur.

"Hey slow down!" Screamed an old lady with a walker. She was slouched over with multiple bags of groceries attached to her. Any other time I would help. But, I'm covered in blood mixed with dumpster water and whatever else you can think of.

I slammed the door to my apartment hard. Sliding down the back of it, defeated. I don't know how much more of these I can take. This being the second one. I can't imagine what he would do next... nor did I...

The sound of a chainsaw played through my head and endless screams until dead silence. Ice cold fear plummeted deep into my stomach.

You are sick.

I'll take that as a compliment, sugar.

I cringed at the name, standing up to go get in another scalding hot shower. My one way to torture this man. In hopes he'll vacate my head.

In the shower I listened to his protests of the flaming waters as he called them. All the while calling him a big baby. Listening to his idle threats about how he would kill me if it wasn't for the fact he needed my body. He's almost like an alien. Have you ever read the book "The Host?" Steve is just not loveable.

Opening the shower the mist from the shower invaded the tiny space of my bathroom. Fogging up the mirror making it impossible to see my reflection. Good... I really didn't want to see myself right now.

What was the guy's name, Steve? I asked the man who was still pouting about flaming waters from hell. Although I feel like he knows one day he will go to actual hell himself.

True...

Name?

Why does it matter?

Just tell me

Adam something or other. He got handsy before I could get the rest. So, you know... I handle things. Threw him out his apartment window. He got stuck in the ladder. That's when I climbed down, severed his head and passed out.

What the fuck?!

Language young lady!

You sound like my mother. I stated flatly feeling my stomach turn at the recollection of the night.

:buzz:

New message from Ollie: You are fucking up big time! What would your dad say??

That stung. She knows my dad died in a vehicle accident three years ago. She was there for me and my mom when our family turned their backs on us. Steve hurt Ollie. Ollie thinks I'm the cause.

To Ollie: what do you mean?

Ollie: I'm coming over.