The Zodiac Killer

My First Endevour

December 20, 1968. 6:17pm.

I had watched them for a while now. Their young love was nauseating and overpowering. The boy seemed infatuated with his girl, unable to see beyond his affection for her – how pathetic. His mental vision was, in fact, so clouded that he was nescient to the fact his whore was fucking other men. She was no more than scum from the street, just as bad as the substandard white hooker. An abomination! Both of them.

December 20, 1968. 10:15pm.

They drove past me on Lake Herman Road – laughing, happy, in love seemingly. How egotistical did he appear, driving in his mother’s Rambler, some sort of arrogant mummy’s boy with his whore close by his side. I drove out of the lay by and slowly crept behind them, relishing over their unawareness of my dark presence. They drove in to a dim gravel turnout, more commonly known as a lover’s lane where prepubescent sluts ventured to have countless amounts of meaningless sex. This was my opportunity – they were alone. It was time.

December 20, 1968. 10:58pm.

I parked beside their run down motor, and not so subtly staring at them but they were too indulged in one another to be observant of their close approaching untimely deaths. Ha.  I stared lustfully, taking in every detail of her pretty little whore-face and his rather scrawny body, which was more than a disappointment. I exited my vehicle, and walked towards their Rambler, ordering them out of their car coolly yet forcefully. This was the part I enjoyed. The younger girl got out first, her long flawless legs - which no doubt had been opened many a time – swung hurriedly from the car, panicking. I fed hungrily on her manifest fear which was somewhat a turn on. Her witless man was only half way out the door when I emotionlessly shot him in the back of his head. The bullet slid past his slicked back hair, past his skin and muscle before it smashed in to his cranial bones. Bullets beat bones. His light was diminished before he had even realised what had happened. Gone. In a matter of seconds. Execution-style. The whore must have run no more than twenty-eight feet when I shot her. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.  I sauntered over and held my breath and could almost hear her blood pressure dropping. I counted the seconds until she lost her brain function – I could see her life flash before her in her eyes. And then she was gone too.