Chapter VII

He was in the office late that night. Going over the floor methodically, trying to wash that stain off the linoleum. The swish of the mop calmed him, the rough wood of the handle reminded him of his task. He tried to think only of the floor and the back and forth motion of the mop, but other thoughts intruded. Shelly’s death was unfortunate, but he was mostly annoyed that he had let her get so close to the truth. She had to be silenced and this was all he could think of doing. It was mistake to let it happen in the office, he knew that now. It had been hard enough to get in the first night after the investigators left. Luckily, he had left no traces, no fibers, no hair, but he shivered at the possibility. He gripped the mop handle more tightly, his teeth gnashing together. He hated Shelly for making him do that to her. Why did she have to know so badly? Why couldn’t she have just left him alone? He heard a cracking sound and loosened his grip. The handle hadn’t broken off, but it had come close. He sighed, another mess to clean up. He looked down at his reflection in the linoleum, he had done the best he could, but the dark stain was still there. Lingering under the floor, seeping into the foundation. He walked to the back storeroom to put the mop away.

Afterwards he methodically swept through the kitchen with a black light and a broom. Making sure that no hairs remained, cleaning up prints. He did this mostly out of habit; he had swept this room a dozen times. He knew it was clean, but he couldn’t resist coming back here. He told himself he was paranoid, but he wanted to in the prescience of the murder. He remembered the adrenaline rush, the sight of the red blood filling his vision. He had not been able to savor the moment, as he would’ve liked, he knew someone would come in at any moment. So now he came to this room to relive Shelly’s death again and again. But tonight was the last night. He couldn’t risk coming here again. He stopped at the stain again, remembered her shouting at him. The red haze clouding his vision-his only thought to make her stop. If she would just stop and let him think. The toaster oven suddenly in his hand, the dull thud as it connected with her skull, the spreading pool of blood, and her blond hair darkening. The splintering of metal as he dropped the oven and the sound of his footsteps as he ran out the back door.

He breathed in and out slowly. Letting the images fill his mind and then releasing them. He smiled in the dark room, his thoughts now turning to his new obsession. Anna fascinated him; he was a mix of feelings. His killer’s desire sometimes overwhelming him, but sometimes he thought that he could settle down. He imagined that Anna was the key to becoming normal. If he could be with her his urges would stop, they could start a family. He looked down at the linoleum one last time, the dark stain. I love you. Shelly had once said that to him. The dark hole seemed to suck him into in, he was being dragged down into a never-ending abyss.

He knew at that moment that he would have to kill again.