The killer was thirsty. The dog had not been enough. His hunger had taken over and it was like a living thing. No cat, or raccoon, or lost dog was going to satisfy his urge and he knew the time had come. He had been under control for a very long time now, and he thought his routines had left nothing to be desired. He knew now that it had all been just a ruse. He had been fooling himself and delaying the inevitable. He may have even made it worse.
He lay in wait at his chosen place, like he had done numerous times in the past. Fortunately, he had not followed through then, forcing himself to see things as they were and letting the urge pass. Tonight, that was not going to happen. His lust for this release was going to win and he could feel himself on the verge of total bliss. He lay in wait.
The boy approached. Alone, distracted, not a care in the world. The blood rushed through the killer’s veins and he could hear it sing, the notes a cacophony of tension and anticipation. As the boy drew closer, he imagined the blood of his victim and the notes it would play as the pulse slowed and the pressure waned. He’d heard it before and thirsted to hear it again.
As the boy passed, he spoke the words and knew there was no turning back.
“Help me…”
The boy stopped.