Beneath the polaroid [BXB]

BENEATH THE POLAROID - 46 | More dangerous

JAMES SAT IN HIS room, the lights off, only the faint glow of the streetlights slipping through the curtains illuminating his face. He was staring at the Polaroid of Joel's mutilated body, holding it delicately between his fingers as though it were something precious. There was a thrill in him now—a fire he hadn't felt before. With each kill, it grew stronger, burning hotter. He had crossed off another name from his list, and the world felt more under his control than ever before.

Ethan, Trent, Joel. Three dead, and no one suspected him. The police were clueless, scrambling in the dark, while James navigated through his life like a shadow—seen, but unnoticed. He had become something beyond what any of them could understand. Each kill had been more intricate, more personal, and with Joel, he had perfected the art of pain. That moment when the wire tightened around Joel's throat, when his life slipped away in a strangled breath—it had been almost spiritual for James.

He tucked the Polaroid into a hidden compartment in his drawer, his chest tight with anticipation. He still had work to do. More names, more people who needed to pay for what they had done to him. But there was something else stirring in him, something darker, more obsessive—William.

James stood and moved to the window, peering out into the night. Elmwood Heights was quiet, still reeling from the shock of the deaths. School had been a surreal experience since the murders. Students walked the halls with wide eyes, whispers floating like ghosts between lockers. Teachers stumbled through lessons as if their minds were elsewhere. Panic was in the air, thick and suffocating, but James breathed it in like oxygen. He thrived on it.

But amid the chaos, William was the only thing that tethered him to some semblance of reality. There was something about him, something James couldn't let go. It wasn't just a crush anymore—it was an obsession. And now, with three kills under his belt, James found himself growing bolder, no longer content to just admire William from afar.

He would make William his.

The next morning, James walked into the school with a strange calm settling over him. The halls were loud with murmurs of fear, students huddled in small groups, their voices hushed but urgent. Joel's death had been the most brutal, and the details had spread like wildfire. People were terrified now. There were rumors of a serial killer, and the police presence had doubled overnight.

James slipped through the crowd like a ghost, unnoticed as usual. He had perfected the art of blending in, of being nothing more than a face in the background. But today, something was different. He felt... powerful. There was no anxiety, no worry about being caught. He knew what he was doing. He had mastered the art of killing, and now, he was ready to take it further.

As he made his way to his locker, he spotted William down the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze distant. He looked different now—haunted. There were dark bags under his eyes, and his usual confident swagger was gone, replaced by a quiet, restless energy. James felt a pull in his chest, his heart beating faster as he watched him. William was falling apart, and James loved it. He loved seeing the cracks in his armor, the way the deaths of his friends had started to eat away at him.

This time, James didn't just watch from afar. He walked down the hallway, deliberately brushing past William as he passed. Their shoulders touched for the briefest moment, a spark of contact that sent a shiver down James' spine. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting William's eyes for just a second—dark, hollow, and searching. 

The encounter had been brief, almost insignificant, but it was enough. It was a start.

In the following days, James found ways to insert himself into William's world. It wasn't hard—William was too distracted to notice. He was always with his group of friends, but James had learned to observe from the shadows, finding patterns in their movements. They had a routine, and James exploited it, showing up at places he knew William would be.

He started lingering near the gym after school, knowing William would be there, trying to blow off steam. James would wait by the door, pretending to scroll through his phone or rummage through his backpack, timing his exits just as William would leave, their paths crossing in the parking lot. Each time, their eyes would meet, and James would hold the gaze a little longer, daring William to recognize him, to acknowledge the connection that had begun to form between them.

And sometimes, William did. Sometimes, his gaze would linger just a second too long before he turned away, but James saw it. He saw the hesitation, the flicker of something in William's eyes—confusion, maybe. Or fear.

James knew it wouldn't be long before William became the center of his world.

The next week, the tension in the school had reached its peak. Another police officer had been stationed at the entrance, and students were being pulled into offices at random, questioned about Joel's death. James had been careful, slipping under their radar, avoiding eye contact, making himself invisible.

But even with all the chaos, William remained the constant in his mind. He had become the focal point of James' obsession, the one thing that grounded him in his escalating violence. The more he killed, the more he wanted William, as if each murder brought him one step closer to making him his.

One afternoon, James waited in the library, knowing William would be passing through after class. He sat at a table near the back, hidden behind a stack of books, watching the door with laser focus. When William finally walked in, James felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, the same rush he felt before a kill.

William moved through the aisles, looking distracted, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He stopped by the fiction section, pulling a random book from the shelf, his eyes scanning the pages without really reading. James watched him, the quiet intensity building inside him.

This time, he didn't wait for their paths to cross by accident. He stood up, moving toward William with slow, deliberate steps. When he reached him, he made sure to brush past his arm, the contact sending a jolt through him. William looked up, startled, his eyes meeting James'.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. James could feel his pulse in his ears, could see the flicker of something in William's eyes again. That same hesitation, that same fear, but this time, there was something else—recognition.

"James, right?" William's voice was low, strained, like he hadn't slept in days.

James nodded, feeling his heart race. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stare, his gaze locked on William's face, tracing every line, every shadow. He wanted him. Badly.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it was gone. William broke the gaze, his face hardening as he shoved the book back onto the shelf.

"Watch where you're going," he muttered, brushing past James without another word.

James stood there, the rejection hitting him like a cold wave, but instead of shrinking back, he smiled. It wasn't the time yet. He still had more work to do. But soon, William would be his.

And until then, James would make sure that everyone who had hurt him paid for it. Every single one of them. One by one, they would fall, and William would be the prize at the end of it all.

James left the library, his mind racing with ideas, plans, and the thrill of knowing he was getting closer to what he wanted most. His obsession with William burned brighter than ever, and with each passing day, he was becoming bolder, more reckless.

But he was also more dangerous.