PREYS AT PLAY

︱PROLOGUE︱

I've never met anyone this fascinated by death.

Lord. I enjoy seeing her stressed out, trying to connect the dots, which will never connect.
Why? Because I made sure of it. 

I'm not a serial killer. Neither am I a vigilante, doing this for a higher purpose, other than to cleanse my life of the people that form a direct or indirect hindrance to it. Occasionally, I add a name to my list and If I do, then they probably deserved it. This isn't about vengeance; it isn't about playing hero either. But nothing I do is random. Nobody that I get rid of is a random person. 

Fear kills the mind. For me, it keeps things interesting. Every selected subject has a common fear, the skeleton within their closet. I love seeing them paranoid when they realize that I know what they thought, only they knew. Their paranoia drives them crazy, and just like that they have lost their entire lives before I've even taken it. The humiliation that they put themselves through— it gives me ecstasy, a feeling similar to finishing during sex. Seeing them run and try to hide, when I'm aware of their every move— it makes me embarrassed for them.

See, I don't care for the news or articles that follow up on my activities. But knowing that she is paying close attention to my every move, hoping to uncover my identity intrigues me. She'll argue with detectives about their inability to do their job properly. A twenty-two-year-old psychology student, who has no actual experience in detective work. Such a pity no one takes her seriously, considering her hard work and the fact that her information is usually correct.

I do.

For me, this means that I need a change in my movement. A pattern is never good unless you're doing it to throw them off. This cat and mouse game that we're playing is almost more exciting than committing the crimes.

Verena's interest in my activities is fed by her need to always be right; that my actions are due to some kind of personality disorder, that she wants to study and possibly solve. What is to expect of a future psychologist? 

I fill my mouth with popcorn as I closely watch her overcome with sleep. She's alone in the library and they are closing soon, I know because I see the librarian packing his bag. Watching Verena through the cameras is becoming a guilty pleasure. 

She isn't aware, but she's actually obsessed with me.
I wonder how she'd react, knowing that it's ME.

"We're closing up." The librarian announces.

"Already," She yawns, "It's nine, already?"

He nods and walks off. She gathers her stuff and leisurely walks out of the building. I quickly switch to the cameras outside the building to watch her walk to her car.

Fuck, she's alluring.
Did I mention that I fantasize about fucking her on top of the cut outs of the news articles she's gathered, right there in the library? And as she cums I want her to scream the name she's so obsessed with knowing.

I want to watch her desperately try to convince the cops that she knows who I am, but when they ask her to describe me— the flashbacks of me deep inside of her is all she can think of....

PREYS AT PLAY

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