As Samuel slid the last of his books into the briefcase, the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. The pipe burning the fresh tobacco. The fear he sensed in the officers outside his mothers house invigorated him. They thought they were onto something—foolish little pawns in a game they couldn't even begin to comprehend. Laughing out loud. taking another drag from his pipe. Leaning back in his chair once more.
He allowed himself a chuckle, taking a moment to savor the thrill. "Just a little longer, my dear, and all their efforts will be in vain," he muttered to no one but himself. The janitor in the hallway, oblivious to the sinister undertones of Samuel's musings, continued to buff the floor with rhythmic determination, a mundane sounding contrast to the chaos about to unfold.
Taking a glance at the grainy footage on his phone, he saw Mia—an old flame with a knack for sniffing out trouble. Her determination both fascinated and irritated him. "You think you play well, don't you? But this is my game," he whispered, almost affectionately. In the silence of his office, he imagined the conflict between light and darkness as a chess match, each piece meticulously moved by his design.
He stood, gathering his thoughts as he flipped through the passports hidden within the secret compartment of his briefcase. Each identity he had crafted served as an escape route, a chance to start anew, like trying on different skins. "Let's see..." he mused, contemplating each persona he could step into next. He could be Marco, the retired professor the wine connoisseur, or perhaps Albert, the talented painter hiding from the shadows of his past. Looking at each one, knowing either would fit the best.
"Maybe I'll even take up a new hobby," he snickered, envisioning afternoons spent under the Italian sun, sipping Chianti and laughing with strangers who could never comprehend the depths of his depravity. "Yes, I haven't been to my villa in Italy in a while, I think its time to go play a visit." He paused for a moment, feeling the pull of darkness creeping back into his thoughts. "Ah, but to leave it all behind—what a delicious thought." He leaned back against his desk, a conspiratorial smile spreading across his face as he imagined Mia and Interpol busting through his London Flats door, only to discover the carefully concealed horrors hidden away, far from prying eyes. "They won't find anything—yet," he mused with wicked delight. "Not until, i push the button."
He glanced at his phone once more. The notifications were buzzing of movement in his mothers house—time was running out, and the clock was ticking away his chance to escape unscathed. "Ah, Mia, my dear, we've only just begun the Game," he finally concluded, the darkness in him relishing the challenge to come. The thrill of the chase would be reignited, and he couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect of outsmarting them once more. "I am in control," taking a deep breath. "I am in control."
With one last look around the office, turning off the light, "Another day completed." he whispered. Hanging on to his brief case walking briefly out of the building, the thrill of his escape coursing through his veins. Outside, the morning air was crisp, a stark reminder that freedom was a fragile illusion—one he intended to keep.
YOU ARE READING
Shadow of the Mind
General FictionA FBI Agent, working a high Profile Serial Killer case, finds out that her own past is tied to the killers. Will she catch him in time, before he strikes again.
