MURDERER'S CONFESSION I [✅]

A foreign place

About 10 minutes later...

          I think I see a cross road. To the right, a paved road diverges from this road to... no one knows where... I just passed a bloody red muscle car, probably recently after renovation. It stopped before the crissing. I think it's him... A pretty nice car for someone who deals with killing.

Saturday, July 21 - 10:25 PM

          I was led to the house. Actually a very nice home. It is wooden with a porch at the front and a stone chimney from the south, like an ordinary house like any other, but this one has some character. It seems dead when it stands in the middle of a garden, where there are lots of colorful flowers, a garden where it is full of life. That's the contrast that surprised me. I was also surprised that the killer has such a well-kept garden around the house. He could live in a caravan, or some old barrack that stands in an empty square. In addition to the house, there is also a garage for two cars. It is overgrown with ivy and you can hardly see it against the background of the forest.

          Getting out of my car I would not have thought that something else would surprise me, but it just happened a moment later.
           He got out of the car first. I got off when he allowed me to. He sat on the porch stairs and took off the hood, then the headscarf and the other scarf under which his dark-blond hair was hidden. It turned out that the killer is a young, pretty girl.
          She lit a cigarette and stared at me with an empty, and drained of empathy gaze.

"What's wrong?" she asked me when she released smoke from her lungs. "Did you expect a murderer from Harlan Coben's crime story or other fairy tales?" 

          I stood dumbfounded like an idiot and didn't know what to say, so she continued the conversation: 

"What the hell have driven you to interview me? You have too little experiences in life? Are you not afraid of killing you? Or maybe that's what you want? Do you want me to kill you?" questions came from her mouth one after another like from a machine gun.

"Nobody has ever interviewed a killer who lives in the wild and..." I said.

 "You know shit," she said sharply. "They even filmed this "interview." she traced her fingers in invisible quotation marks in the air. "Such a fiend, and you don't know that?" 

 "That's different," I said. "I'm alone here. I'm not going to record your "work"." 

"Why the fuck?" she interrupted me again. "What kind of interview are you going to do with me?" 

 "I want to live your life, I want to understand you," I said without thinking. " You're not a paid killer like them. I had a different plan, but you were the only one who agreed. Trust me."

"Another plan? That's bullshit, because you wanted to know the life of a killer. It makes no sense to me, each of us lives normally, and kills when the time comes."

          It sounded grotesque. 

 "That's what I want to know. I would like to know how do you live every day"

 "Then ask your neighbors about it," she added. 

 "That's not what I meant. I mean..." 

 "What do you want?" she seemed annoyed with me and I felt that he would throw me out or kill me in a moment. I had to choose a different tactic. 

 "I'd like to know what drives you, that you feel the need to kill."

         She looked at me weirdly but then smiled.