Serial

Diary Entry: October 30th

October 30th

I'm being followed.

I haven't actually seen the person yet, but I've stalked enough girls to know when it's happening to me. The only difference between them and me, is that I know it's happening.

I can also make it more difficult for my shadow to do his—or her—job.

I've been laying low for a while now, an annoying side effect of losing Tina. She still hasn't shown up anywhere, dead or alive, which means that my stress is just being prolonged. But as the days pass, and the cops still aren't beating down my door, I'm starting to feel like I may have gotten away with it.

That I've been lucky after all, and the problem has taken care of itself.

Yet, it hasn't stopped the nagging feeling that I'm being watched.

Maybe it's Tina, come back to enact her revenge. Or the cops, just waiting for me to screw up and build their case for them. Or someone else altogether? A fellow predator following his prey?

Whoever it is, I know they're there. I can feel their eyes on me, studying me, trailing right behind me, but then slipping into the shadows just as I turn to catch them.

It's infuriating.

I've started to switch up my commute, stopping off at random stores to poke around in the hopes of catching my tracker in the act. I speed up to lose any cars that stick behind me for more than a few blocks. I refuse to visit any of the places that could tie me to the murders. I even stopped going over to Emmy's. This hurts the most. But the last thing I want is for someone to go after her, too.

Emmy is all mine and I intend to keep it that way.

But doing all of this, looking over my shoulder, worrying about someone coming after me...it's not in my nature. I'm not the hunted. I'm the hunter. I don't like being fenced in. Being forced to deviate from my routine. In a way, it's like being in jail.

Screw it.

I've decided I don't care. If someone's watching me, then let them.

And if they want to catch me doing something, I'll give them a show they'll never forget. And then I'll kill them, too.

I've already found my next victim.

I've seen her walking her dog in the canyon the few times I've gone hiking the trails. She's tall, with shoulder-length brown hair that's always meticulously in place. Her outfits are color-coordinated with her sneakers and her pants have things written across the butt. Words like, "juicy" and "cheeky" and "hot."

If I had to guess, I'd say she's in her early 30s, recently divorced or maybe even some old guy's trophy wife. Definitely a trophy wife. The yappy dog she always has with her seems more like an accessory than a companion. And she was always talking on her cell phone.

 wore my headphones in my ears to make it seem like I was listening to music, even though nothing was coming out of the speakers. This way I could listen to the conversations around me without people feeling like they had to censor themselves.