The Online Profile of a Serial Killer

Posted on July 6, 2022

In the elevator, Will's luggage leaned up against my leg. Will carried a gym bag at his side. The elevator doors opened and the sound of the rolling luggage fell silent on carpeted hallway.

Walking into my apartment, we headed straight to the spare room. I laid his big luggage on the bed and dug a set of keys from my pocket – a small brass colored key and a larger nickel plated key held together on a keychain that read: "Amit's Engravables"

Will's face looked different. His eyes spaced out and he was sniffling, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Allergies?" I asked.

"Huh?" Will jumped, almost startled. His stoic frame was bent now, leaning over and unsteady, as if I could tip him over with a shove. This wasn't the Will I had met two nights before, and for a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake – inviting this stranger to live with me.

"No. Just a bit hung over," he said.

"Here," I said. "Your keys. The bigger one is for the building."

"Thanks," he bent over and reached into the side pocket of his gym bag and took out a bank deposit envelope. In the envelope was two thousand in cash for four months in advance, which was a pleasant surprise – I didn't ask for an advance. We agreed to keep the rent under the table. It was a good deal for me, I thought.

"I'll unpack later. You got a beer?" he said.

"Sorry. I got some vodka though. And Coke, if you want," I said.

"Yea, sure."

In the kitchen, I mixed him one Coke and vodka when he insisted I made one for myself, too. Will faced the bookshelf, eyeing my row of novels. I handed him his glass and the ice clinked as he swirled it around.

"These any good?" said Will, looking at the novels. With each sip of his vodka and Coke, his back straightened. He began to resemble the Will I had first met.

"Pretty good," I slurped in the vodka Coke with a sharp breath and coughed. I added more ice.

Will grabbed a paperback novel from the middle of the shelf and flipped open the back cover.

"He threw his arms wide, and the feeling of freedom made him almost giddy," he read.

"What's that?" I said.

"It's the last line of this novel," he showed me the cover and I saw it was one I hadn't yet read. "I love skipping to the last line. It's like cheating."

"You read a lot?" I said.

"I read the world, man. Our lives are stories, and we're just characters in it," Will placed the book back on the shelf upside down, but didn't notice. "I always wanted to be a writer, I just don't have the talent."

"It's a craft. You can learn it."

"No, it's raw talent, man. Some people have it, some people don't. You have it. You have a way with words -- I can tell you that. You said the word 'unreality' once -- I remember. I didn't' even know the word existed. But you did. Such a fuckin' beautiful word -- unreality." Will let the word roll off his tongue.

And I wondered for a moment -- I didn't remember ever saying that word to him --unreality. I doubted I ever said that word out loud in my life. It was something I'd write, but never say.

"Are you working right now – acting anywhere?" I changed the subject.

"No, I'm takin' a break. I don't really need to work for a little while, if you know what I mean."