Killer Can't Kill Me (Jeff the Killer fanfiction) *COMPLETED*

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The hooded one walked down the road, unblinking. Its body moved too fluidly for a human. The hooded one walked for hours, driven by instinct. It was tracking. Each dead body it came across had stabs, slashes, and the bloody smile cut into the corpse's face. Pity. The bodies seemed endless, twenty-three bodies were scattered throughout the city, and the hooded one was infuriated. Twenty-three broken, ruined families. The hooded one saw a glimpse of the culprit, but Jeff was too quick, and escaped its sight.

Jeff POV

You disgust her.

Being covered in at least a gallon of sticky blood, It was difficult to sneak around. I needed fresh clothes. A small clothing store was down the street. I burst into a run, pushing past a few people to get to the store. As soon as I stepped in the door, a female cashier screamed and stared at me with horror. Ignoring her shrill screams, I snatched a pair of pants, but then a man in the store tried to grab me, and I ran from the building. The stench of blood was exhilarating, but suffocating.

What the Hell am I doing? Juliet's window was unlocked, I opened it and crawled into her room. The sight inside the bed was unnerving. She lay sleeping in her bed, cocooned by blankets, with smears of make-up and tears on her face. She clutched something white in her arms, MY hoodie. A dripping sound made me jump, and I noticed the blood that coated my body dripping in the floor. My body was sticky with my victim's blood, and my clothes were heavier. The fresh, painful memory of Juliet's disgust reminded me that a shower would be best. I entered her bathroom, shutting the door, and removed my bloody garments. After a quick shower, where I scrubbed away years of blood and grime, I wrapped a towel around my waist. My bloody clothes lay in a puddle of blood on the floor. The pants I had stolen lay beside my bloody clothes. I yanked them on, they were brown cargo pants, kinda baggy. Brushing Juliet's hair from her face, I sighed, then sneakily snatched the hoodie from her arms.

She tossed in her sleep, and mumbled. I caught the words, "poor Jeff" and felt a strange, warmth in my chest. Was this......

No.

But I knew it was useless to think of any other reason why I followed the girl, was unable to harm her, and found her attractive. I. Was. In. Love. My mind spun, it all made sense, in a strange way. Juliet would never love me. My hand reached for my knife that was not there, and that's how I decided how to conclude my killing spree tonight. First, I tossed my bloody clothes in a garbage bag, cleaned away the blood puddles, then left. In a random alley, I checked my bloody pockets, retrieved a lighter, a knife, and a box with a final cigarette. The trash bag burned quickly, and I enjoyed a cigarette before deciding how to proceed with my plan.

The city's police department loomed before me, a taunting challenge. I walked up the concrete stairs, hood over my head. As soon as I stepped foot through the metal detectors, an alarm blared. Several officers walked over to me, hands resting on their guns. With inhuman speed, I raced past them. I saw a long hallway, and bolted down it. People began yelling behind me, I heard gunfire. The hallway was empty, two double doors to my left has a sign that read, Evidence Lockers. Kicking down the door, I run in the room as bullets whizz by my head. An officer inside the room stared at me with large eyes. Holding the knife out, I ran toward the cop.

He dodged my first lunge, but I stabbed him in the heart the second time. I jammed a metal broom in the double door's handles. Banging followed shortly. Skimming through the metal shelves full of boxes, I realized they were alphabetized. The banging grew louder, followed by a crash. I ran down the aisles of boxes, looking for the J's. Pain exploded in my arm, I had been shot. A whole aisle was full of boxes and my name. Boxes stuffed with plastic bags and labels. Each box had dates. A cop tackled me to the ground suddenly. Growling, I slashed his throat and shoved him off me. A box with the date from two weeks ago was before me. I saw my knife, the knife I had carried for eleven years. Snatching the plastic bag out from the box and yanking it open, I ran to the charging cops.