I woke up on the floor of the living room. My living room. I sit up, looking at the woman before me. On the couch was a dark haired lady that stabbed me with a needle and pumped me full of something, at the same moment I covered her mouth with a chloroform rag. She was waking up too. I managed to get to my, no wait. I managed to get to my knees as she stirred, and fell off the couch. Damn, my closest weapon is past her, beneath the couch. I fall over her, crawling painfully as I fight the fogginess in my mind. “Damn, jess.” I mutter. She was a dentists assistant or maybe a nurse? I couldn’t remember now. I reached under the couch and gripped the machete. I felt Jess push me but didn’t make it very far.

I tugged against the restraints on the blade, then remembered that I needed to unlatch it from it’s holster. I clicked it open, just as I heard the ringing of a small knife against her jewelry. I twisted out of her clumsy stab. Pulling the machete with me I rolled off of her and once more rose up. I managed to make it to my feet this time, but so did she. She held an army issue combat knife, probably from a surplus store or something. I had a machete I bought online. Reach was on my side, but if she rushed me… She did, and tripped over her feet. I slammed the blade down, hitting my carpet and shearing through it. Dammit! It was shag, and expensive.

She got to her feet, the chloroform was wearing off faster than what she stuck me with. I stare at her eyes, trying to get a read. And I couldn’t. Just cold dead calculations behind her baby blues. Just like me. “Did you just to kill me in my own home?” I ask incredulous. “You we’re gonna kill me in your own home?“ she demanded back. We stare at each other a moment. I shifted, not liking her tone at all. I smirk, “that much easier to dispose of you,” I explain, keeping my machete between us. “Drop your car off at your house tonight while you scream your lungs out behind the false wall in my basement as you melt into goop.” I gloat. Realization dawns, “chemical factory,” she says, “that’s brilliant!l” she relaxes immediately, knife dropping to her side. I did work as a waste disposal working for the local chem plant. Got lots of free shit when the books are kept by a dyslexic chimp.

I slowly lower my machete. “What’s your plan?” I ask, now curious. She grinned wide, a frightening madness in her gaze. She opens her purse, “We EMTs deal with so many ODs.” she says revealing several pieces of drug paraphernalia. “What’s one more?” I nod, and she had access to plenty of shit as an EMT. “Alright, respect earned.“ I acknowledged. She wasn’t like the filth out there. She was a predator like myself, a good one at that. I look over at the sink, the dishes from dinner still unwashed. I needed to get those done. ”Professional courtesy then?” I ask turning back, and finding her 2 inches away from my face. I don’t flinch, even as she kisses me. “Fuck no.” She whispered, “Now we fuck.” I frown, so not exactly like me.

"So, cards down?" I coldly asked whilist not breaking eye contact with his hands.

Rule #1

Serial killers hate predictability. They believe they have the upper hand. Their hands are their tools and their most vulnerable place. Stare at them to disarm them.

*Possible outcomes

They will either attack you or let you go.

"You have a style, I see?" he chuckled. His expression then turned serious, "Not to worry, I do the same," he offered with a side smile.

We sat down six feet from each other. None of us spoke a word because none of us wanted to break the silence.

Rule #2

They thrive on pain and vulnerability. Do not show emotion.

*Possible outcomes

They will force it out of you.

"So, the date last night was great," he started but seeing me not breaking my composure, he groaned, "Come on. We both do this. Why are we even here?"

"You called," I nearly spat out but caught myself at the last minute. God, I hated this man.

"Why do you do it?" he questioned.

"Why do you do it" I repeated back, refusing to break. He was up to something, I could feel it.

"Very well, I will start. I do it for the thrill, and you were supposed to be next, but seeing our situation, you won't be."

"How so?"

"Um, hello. We both do the same."

Rule #3

If they feel you slip away from them, they will try to lure you back in. Narcissism 101.

I got up from the chair and pointed my gun at him, "I am sorry, but date night is over, forever."

Rule #5

Some of them are tricksters. Act smart.

Before I could pull the trigger, I pointed it at my head, and bam - just as I suspected - empty.

"You are way smarter than I suspected," he said, "However, not smart enough."

Rule #6

Serial killers will try to convince you they are better than-

"Rule #6?" he questioned, a toothy grin appearing on his face, "You know, it took me a lot to find out your gimmick, sister," he continued while pointing his finger at me and slowly getting closer.

"This entire thing is a setup," he said while slowly circling me.

He stopped in front of me, took my hands in his, looked me deep into my eyes, and asked through gritted teeth, "Care to enlighten me on rule #9?"

I found myself speechless. For the first time in my life, I felt like one of my victims, helpless, cold, scared, and alone. Even the rage of being caught couldn't outshine the terrible feeling I'd had.

For the first time in my life, the voice inside me was wrong. And at the worst possible time.

If it was a victim, I could run away and hide. But when you lose your composure in front of a predator, you can only prey your end comes fast.

"Never leave traces behind," I finally muttered.

"That is right," he roared and kissed my temple, "But why is it rule #9? Why not number 1#?" he curiously questioned.

The way he looked at me, I knew he didn't care about the rules order. He asked this for a specific reason. But what?

I couldn't focus or concentrate. He was playing with me, slowly torturing my mind until I fall into madness. Until I break for him.

And he was succeeding.

"Predictability, my love," he whispered in my ear. "I am not predictable for you", he sang.

He backed to the shelf near the door, pulled out a sledgehammer, and slowly dragged it toward me.

"I guess you surrender, no?" he asked.

Now or never, I thought and threw a knife at him. It was a special knife that could successfully cut deep if you threw it the right way.

It ended right in his heart.

He fell, and as I came closer, he spoke, "I saw the knife shining as soon as you entered."

He was honest? Now I was really taken aback.

"Why didn't you-" I asked but he interrupted.

"Predictability", he said. "I really liked you Carrie, and I wanted to keep seeing you, but I knew you wouldn't find peace until you ended me."

He pushed the hammer and a small key toward me, "But I can give you my legacy."

With these last words, he died with the same toothy grin on his face and the same wide-open eyes staring lovingly? into mine.

I shed a lot of tears that night. For the first time, I felt love, and I lost it. For the first time, somebody cared for me.

Now, well now, I guess I have to do much more work to heal those wounds, or at least suppress them.

And the legacy Greg left me in his basement gave me new projects to work on.

Content Notice: Somewhat graphical

It was getting cold in my car while we were talking outside of his house. "Well, would you care for a drink at my place?" he whistled with that sloping smile that I pretended to enjoy so much and called "cute" the whole evening. He will soon find out that I did not enjoy it enough to not let him die on the pointier end of my knife later - but, you get the idea. "I indeed would love to see your place" I answered with my most charming voice, turned the car keys to stop my engine and opened my door. I was waiting for that moment; that moment when I could observe my pray. I stared with muffled, lusty rage when his slender, muscular body emerged over the roof of my vehicle, his shoulder long hair bouncing when he stretched.

I mean people often proclaim that they have a "type" but their type is unlike mine. They kinda have preferences often born from social pressure. "Men have to be at least this tall!", "But she needs to have a thick butt!", "Non-Binary persons need to be androgynous!" - screw all of that. My desire goes deeper than that, for I am not looking to improve my the class or status through a person; mine is sole based on their ethics. Sure, others claim that their preferences aren't simply based on a phenotype but, gosh, they are nothing but shallow. All those complicated courtship ceremonies they are willing to do over and over again to find "the right one", that meat inspection in bars or apps. Nothing but excuses, in the end they just look for somebody that they can stand long enough to procreate with.

I never understood love and I have no desire to ever do so - mostly because my heart only really starts beating when I cut them open. I was so lost in that train of thoughts that I didn't even heard what he was saying. I saw his lips moving and his face suggested that it was another question. "Sure", I replied. It wouldn't matter anyway I was nearly ready to make my move. I didn't expect him to grab my hand and move me over to the side of his house. "It's not that far. I am glad that you want to see my observatory in the garden. You look lovely and you smell so good, you know?" he said while half way pulling and shunted me to the garden entrance. Well, he clearly spoke about a lot of half way interesting nerd stuff, about how much money he spend on his professional grade "nearly scientific" equipment to see stars. What a bastard.

His money was mostly made from letting near ruins in an disadvantaged neighborhood while pushing prices and his constant bragging tonight got annoying real fast. I did my best to diligently follow the stuff he said all night long - after all I'd be needing to "judge" him before the night ended - but it nearly made me throw up. While he boasted about which cars he collected, how much he paid for his new watch, the vacations he took I reminded myself about the kids getting sick from living between moldy walls, breathing the exhalations of black fungi, taking their chance of ever living a healthy life. I am not on some sort of crusade or whatever. I just extremely enjoy to take away the power of people that are used to having it. Seeing them plea for their lives, hearing their cries, untying them when I've cut open their bodies, watching them try to stuff their intestines back into their abdomen - gosh, that's the shit I am living for. And I was very accurate in researching my victims before the act to make sure they would fit my desire.

Huh. Another heavy train of thoughts. I realized that it was highly untypical for me. I should be tense, eagerly awaiting the moment when I'd finally had him gagged in my trunk. My trunk... Why did we even take my car? Also why is this light so... bright?

"Welcome to my place." he said. "What kind of observatory has butcher knifes on the walls?" I asked. "The one where the rich eat the poor. Look, we had a very nice date. But my desires are going beyond what a girl like you would expect. You should be about to peak, you're disoriented and maybe even a little tired. Here, take a seat - you look... incredibly tasty today." This sloped smile again. I finally understood what it was reminding me of: A hungry hyena.

--

English is not my first language yet I am trying to get better. Critiques and pointers are extremely welcome!

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