Cold Blood

❥ Chapter Three ❥

Written by ChemicalWonderland

Everett's POV

The air in my house is cold, chilling me to the bone. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I work. The axe in my hand is not nearly sharp enough. I feel like I've been in my bloodstained basement for hours, trying to get back the gleaming, jagged sharpness that makes my blows so devastating. But not matter how much I try to return my axe to its former glory, nothing works.

Eventually screaming in pure frustration and throwing my preferred method of killing onto the ground, I turn toward the row of guns that line one wall. The sleek black weapons are placed neatly on racks, like proud trophies that I love showing off. Maybe I'll have to use one today. Even the thought of my finger pulling the trigger makes me feel pure ecstasy. I can't wait.

It feels like I haven't had my hands on a gun in ages, as I usually use my axe. But maybe it's time to change things up, it'll get law enforcement off my ass at least.

My heavy breaths fill the dank, moldy air, the only noise to break the silence. The scent of blood still lingers everywhere, a lasting reminder of when I kidnapped victims and took them to my basement. But I've found that there are more interesting methods to use since those days. It's strange to feel nostalgic about something so morbid, isn't it?

Heading over to the shelves of guns, I reach for the first one that catches my attention. A Winchester rifle. Back when I was primarily using guns, this one was my go to, for whatever reason. But it's not the one I want to use today. I need something smaller. My eyes skim over to a small pistol that looks like I've never touched it before.

Grasping the handle tightly, it feels like a perfect fit. My victims will love it. I've been studying this couple for a few days now, and they're perfect for me. Middle-aged and living in a small cabin in the woods similar to mine, they're as isolated as they can be. As vunerable as they can be. I had been taking a stroll one morning and happened to stumble upon them.

Hidden behind the thick trunk of a tree, I managed to listen into their conversation. My interest was immediately piqued, and I could already picture myself spilling their blood. But I held back because I knew I didn't have any weapons on me that would do the trick, so I just followed them home to see where they lived instead.

I've also constructed a schedule for them so I know where they'll be and when to strike. They take walks through the woods every Tuesday for approximately a half-hour to an hour at 12:00 in the afternoon, which gives me enough time to kill them.

Getting a good feel for the gun in my hand, I pull open a drawer where I have all the bullets organized. As I load the gun, I peer over at the old clock on a wall across from me.

It's 11:59.

▸▸▸

The sky is a brilliant turquoise, and there are no clouds in sight. The blue expanse seems to stretch on for eternity. The heat of the sun's vibrant rays beats against my back, causing my shirt to stick to my spine uncomfortably.

The forest around me is alive, a breeze rippling through tall, looming evergreen trees as they bow toward me as if I'm a king. Ebony black crows fly away from the rustling trees, soaring into the air. The pines of the trees scratch annoyingly against my arms as I quickly walk through the woods. I stealthily avoid twigs and sticks lying on the forest floor, staying as quiet as possible as I keep my targets in sight.

The air is fresh and seems to bring me power and make me feel something different flowing in my veins, something far more than adrenaline. The couple ahead of me is blissfully unaware of the killer on their trail, talking and laughing freely without any knowledge of how limited their time is. I find it amusing how ignorant humans can be sometimes of their own surroundings. It's bad for them, but good for me.

Picking up my pace, I try to get closer, but not too close. My steady breaths and the chirping of birds fills my ears as I edge myself on. I can't slip up. I won't. It's not like the police would be smart enough to figure it anyway. They spend all their time chasing their tails, it seems. I mean, I've gotten away with ten murders in this town alone, so how good can the police really be?

"Aww, that's so sweet Tom," the lady says, laughing and pushing her husband's shoulder. They look so carefree, so peaceful.

I'm so close now that their voices seem projected a thousand times more. This is my chance.

Getting my pistol into position, I aim it at the woman's blonde head. I shut my eyes and try to keep myself under control as I find the perfect spot to hit. One small movement of my finger and she'll be dead. That's all it takes to end thirty-something years of someone's insignificant life. I laugh in spite of myself. The noise escapes my lips before I can stop it.

"Hey, what was that?" the man says, looking around at the surrounding forest.

It's go time. There's no room for mistake. Pulling the trigger, a loud, emphatic bang erupts from the gun. Birds scatter and the mood in the air changes. The noise seems to echo on forever. The bullet lands right in the back of the woman's head. She instantly drops, and I already know she's dead, her frail and dainty figure absent of life before she even hit the ground. Blood slowly seeps from the impact of the bullet and onto the dirt like a trail of dark crimson paint.

My heart beats wildly in my chest, and there's a pounding in my ears that drowns out all other noise. I keep my arm raised, and I realize that I'm shaking.

The husband whirls around to face me with a mixture of horror and anger on his stark white face. "You sick bastard! What did you just do to my wife!?" he screams harshly.

"I shot her in the head," I reply matter-of-factly, quite happy to carry out a conversation. I've already got a gun pointed at his head, so I've already won.

"Why!? We don't even know you! Wait, are you going to shoot me too!? Please, please, please dont! I'll give you all my money, just leave me alone!" he cries, tears now streaming down his face. He kneels on the ground, cupping his hands together and pleading with me.

"Leave you alone? So quick to just care about yourself are we?"

"I-I just don't want to die! I won't tell anyone what you did if you just let me go! And you can have all my money if you want!" he wails desperately.

I cock my head to the side, tightening my grip on the gun. My glance shifts to the dead woman for half a second before returning to him. "A husband so willing to spare his own life that he's offering to keep his wife's murder a secret? You're a coward. I guess we know who the real sick bastard is here, now don't we?"

And with that, I look right into his steely gray eyes and pull the trigger. His face morphs into one of pain and shock, the bullet lodged into his wrinkled forehead. He then falls over face-first into the ground, dead. A stream of blood slowly begins to surround him.

Begging won't save you.