(A/N: THIS FIC IS CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN❗️please forgive if you stumble across a chapter that is utterly cringe and different.)
I was casually scrolling through Instagram while riding the bus home. Since I got off work so late, there wasn't really anyone else on the bus, my legs and arms exhausted as I leaned back into the seat. I sighed and randomly liked another picture, finding all the posts boring.
I need to spice up my life, it's getting too repetitive.
I shut off my phone and pulled out my note pad, reading over the notes written in it. I work as a homicide detective for the local police department, and I'd been chasing the same criminal since I started.
An infamous one, that pretty much everyone knows.
Jeff the Killer.
He's 25, a year older than myself. Black hair, blue eyes, stands at 6'0, and has his famous smile carved into his face.
Hard to miss, right?
So you'd expect me to have noticed that he was 3 seats behind me on the bus.
Well, I didn't. Exhaustion had completely consumed my brain from staying up so many nights in a row, desperate to get some kind of lead on him.
See, while I was trying to tracking him down, he'd been watching my every move for the past 7 months. And no, I hadn't noticed, at all. I'd been too busy completely obsessing over the changes in his patterns. His kill count had slowly depleted, his method becoming even messier than before.
In fact, I hadn't even glanced at anyone else on the bus, still wracking my brain for answers about his newest stunt. So, when he moved to the seat right behind me, and put a knife to my neck, I was pretty startled, halfway assuming a homeless person had decided I looked like I carried cash.
"When the bus stops, you're gonna stand up, and walk out of the doors, then, you're gonna keep walking until I say so, got it? Make one wrong move and I'll slice your fucking neck open." I felt cold metal touch my neck, pressing against it harder as he spoke. His voice was gravelly, entirely harsh and grating against my ears.
I tried not to gulp, and nodded lightly, fear gripping me harsher than his rough hand on my shoulder ever could.
"Good little detective." He said, his tone sending a cold shot of fear down my spine.
The bus came to a stop, and I slowly stood up, he came up right behind me and held the knife against my back. I walked slowly, my eyes pleading for help as we walked past the bus driver.
He didn't even glance at me. Bastard.
The bus doors closed as soon as we got off, the bus beginning to drive again. As my shoes hit the concrete of the sidewalk, I was tempted to fight back, knowing exactly where my gun was and how quick I could be to shoot this psycho.
"I've been chasing you for 5 fucking years, and NOW you decide to show up?!" I muttered to myself, genuinely feeling kind of pissed off that all my horrifyingly detailed and hard work wouldn't pay off. The irony of him being the one to end my life didn't escape me.
"What was that? You've been looking for little ol' me?" He asked sarcastically, the knife returning to its place against my jugular. His teasing did nothing but fuel the anger more.
"You know I have you sick fuck." I snapped, not able to keep the bite from my voice. It wasn't the smartest thing, showing anger or fear, but when faced with someone so excruciatingly dangerous, it was hard not to.
"Don't get snippy with me. Keep walking, back to your house. Home intrusion is my staple." He said, tapping the back of my knee with his foot. He was entirely too upbeat and happy for my liking, it was unsettling. Seeing the difference in his violent behavior vs his almost playful tone, it was stark.
I began walking, knowing we were only a few blocks away from my apartment. I sighed as I walked, feeling my phone vibrate in my back pocket, a call coming in.
"Answer it. Say anything about you being in trouble and I'll slit your throat." He threatened.
I reached into my pocket and brought my phone out, seeing that my mom was calling me.
What could that bitch want?
It's 2 in the morning.
I clicked the decline button and shoved my phone back into my pocket, my pill-addict mother calling me right before my inevitable death? God was laughing in my face, wasn't he?
"Why didn't you answer? Do you want to keep talking with me? How sweet. I might even consider letting you live." He whispered seductively into my ear, utter disgust rushing through my veins.
"Don't patronize me you asshole. I don't talk to that whore anymore." I muttered, voice quiet as I considered bashing his nose in against the sidewalk. Not to slut shame, of course, anyone would say that if they knew what she'd put me through.
"Who's a whore? Her or me? Cause I sure as hell ain't." He spat, sounding offended, clearly not fully hearing me.
"Her. I don't wanna know about your past encounters. I'm still surprised we never found any signs of rape in your victims." I fired back, nearly stopping in my tracks upon seeing my apartment light was on. Great, someone had broken in, too. What a great day.
"I'd never rape anyone. I'm sick but not that sick. I've even taken care of a few of those bastards for you." He shoved my shoulder, pushing me forward as I slowed. He noticed where I was staring, his eyes following.
"Oh, look, your lights are on. Expecting someone?" He asked, leaning in closer to my ear. It took everything in me to not elbow him, feeling his breath against my skin.
"No. And it better fucking not be-" Jeff cut me off, perking up a bit as I glanced over to him, purely annoyed to be interrupted by someone literally threatening my life in the moment.
"Your stupid ass ex Jacob? Hate that prick. Your guys' breakup was so messy. And he was abusive, anyways. I'll even kill him for you, and I'll dispose of the body." He offered, his words surprising me. I blinked, the shock evident in my face.
"...No, thanks. I'll deal with him. And why the hell am I making casual conversation with you?! You kill people!" I questioned loudly, wishing someone, anyone would hear and call the department. Unfortunately, and expectedly, the streets were empty. It's Chicago, how the hell was no one else around?
"Quiet down, bitch. And you don't hate me because I only kill people who deserve it. We happen to live in a city with a lot of sick fuckers." He narrowed his eyes at me, roughly grabbing the collar of my shirt and shaking me a bit. I shoved his hands away, wiping my palms on my pants in disgust.
I went quiet for a moment, studying him now that I could actually get a look at him. His hair was a bit longer than expected, his cut smile seeming to have began to heal on the insides of his cheeks over the years. He'd been at this for a long time, and I'd been studying his case for nearly as long.
I didn't want to admit he was right. A lot of his victims had turned out to be downright horrible people, even if he himself was nowhere near a saint, a lot of them would've ended up in prison eventually regardless, had we caught them first.
"I'll give you that." I replied with a small sigh, glancing away in annoyance as I crossed my arms. My fingers brushed against my holster, quietly reminding me it was there. I was extremely tempted to grab it, to just end this right here, even if I went down with him.
However, the thought was immediately ripped from my mind as his eyes flickered down to it, seeming to read my mind.
"I see your gun, you could easily choose to unholster it and shoot me, why haven't you?" He asked, voice cocky and low. If he could smirk, he surely would be. His hand holding the knife eased away from me, making my brows furrow.
He was essentially giving me every chance I needed to kill him. I swallowed, feeling like this was some kind of trap. There were so many things I still wondered about this man, if you could even call him that at this point. How could he possibly travel as quickly as he does? How does he choose his victims? How does he know they're so horrible before he kills them?
How the fuck has he gotten away with so many murders?
If the PD found out I was face to face with him, not acting on my one opportunity to shoot him or bring him in, I'd immediately be treated like a suspect.
Like an alibi.
"I've got a few questions for you. And the questions can't be in my report, or I'll be taken off the case, and won't get credit for any of my work." I practically glared up at him, upset with myself for any conflict of interest. I wasn't doing my job, and he knew it, based on the way his eyes studied mine. I held back a shiver, feeling like he'd just read into my soul.
"Hm. Fine. But it's cold, let's take this inside." He said, putting his knife away. I blinked in surprise, not expecting him to agree so quickly. After all, he had to know I'd been the one straight up hunting him for so long. I'd been so close at one point, arriving at the scene mere minutes after he'd left.
Yet, I sighed in relief as the blade left my sight.
This is gonna be a rough night.
"Well, you probably already know my name but I'm (Y/N) (L/N), or Detective (L/N)." I felt awkward, my voice formal as if I was talking to a coworker or interviewing someone for a case.
"You already know me. Jeffrey Woods." He said casually, glancing at me while we walked side by side now, towards my apartment. He clearly knew his way there, making my skin crawl as a murderer led me to my own home.
I could feel warmth radiating off him as we continued in silence, the heat feeling somewhat nice in the chilly air.
What?
No, it did not feel 'nice'.
I shook my head a bit, making him give me a weird look. I was not just thinking that about someone so downright evil.
We approached the front of my building, glancing at each other as I sighed, still not fully believing this is how my Wednesday night was about to go. I walked in front of him this time, throwing open the glass door.
He followed, putting his hood up.