Jack wiped the knife on his sleeve. Another house done. Sure, he enjoyed the chase, blood and the fear in his preys' eyes. But it was just getting boring.
He chases them, he stalls for a minute as they run around and hide or try to call for help. Then, he runs after them, makes a remark or a pun ("Knife to meet you, Martha!"), stabs them, savors the glory, cleans the knife and exits.
Same thing everytime. But oh well, onto the next house then.
He turns around and smacks into a chest.
"Aren't you too short to be a killer?"
Jack pushes away the man in front of him and glares. "No."
The man towered over his five foot three frame so although childish, he holds his head higher.
"You're Mr. Red ain't ya? Must say, the name is kind of... dull."
Jack's temper flares. "Dull?"
The man nods at him. "How about you change it to Gentleman Red?"
He gaped at him. "That's like disrespecting Gentleman Gray!"
Then it hit him. He stares at the old man and compares him to a mental image. Uneven shoulders. Once dark eyes now turned into a light blue due to age. An asterisk tattoo on his half pinky. Gentleman Gray, the greatest serial killer, stood in front of him.
"This house is mine son."
And Jack had killed his family. What a way to meet his hero.
"Holy crap. I'm so sorry sir, I didn't know it was your family. I swear." He looks up just as the man moved.
"It wasn't."
With a step and a flick of his wrist, Gentleman Gray buried his knife in Jack's stomach.
"This was my target, son. No one ever disturbs my fun time and gets away with it."
Jack lay on the cold floor, watching the man he looked up to walk away.
