The chandelier swung back and forth giddily as the man continued on his way down the usually busier main road of the town. He had been walking for just over half an hour now, but, in his plan, he had made sure to park far away from the crime scene. As he passed into the darker part of town, he removed his wig, his fake nose, and his colored contacts. They were all shoved in another coat pocket to be washed and thrown out in obscure locations later. Beneath the blonde wig he showed his light brown hair, and a pair of hazel eyes appeared awkwardly small for his rotund face. Very tall was he with a ground covering stride, but even that kind of movement didn't shorten the walk time very much. At some point, he made an abrupt right turn into an alley and walked all the way down until he was forced to make another turn, left this time, and there sat his car, a Cadillac that would have been better to put down many years ago. He placed a hand on the rusted handle of a back door and then struggled to open it. When the seals of oxidation broke apart, the man haggardly threw the briefcase to the other side of the car. He then carefully placed the elderly chandelier on the equally aged seat, and moved on to his seat behind the wheel. The car, after a struggle from the engine, started, and the man drove his broken down vehicle out of the alleyway, onto the main road, and towards the mountains on the outskirts of town.
For as nice and calm as an evening as it was, the man was quite uneasy in his car seat. It was only the weak hours of the morning. The roads were basically empty, and the sun wouldn't shine its rays for another few hours. The only sound to be heard was the car tires rolling on the highway and the occasional jingle of the crystals on the chandelier. The man looked ahead, almost pointlessly, like he was afraid to do anything else. After a while, he mumbled something to himself. He felt more than awkward at that moment. This is stupid, he thought. He almost seemed rational, but then he spoke again.
"Hello, sir," he said.
He paused. His eyes glanced left and right. Who's watching? he thought. But, no one was watching. Not a single soul had bothered to invest their time in studying the man, at least, not at that point, and, had they done so, they would have quickly looked the other way. This man was nothing that one would be able to ponder over for long, for he was the kind of human that would benefit from medieval medical assistance. There was no pity; there simply couldn't be. He spoke again to himself, this time more confident.
"Hello, sir."
He smirked at the sound of his own voice, but then frowned at his words.
"Sir doesn't work, he's not a sir."
The man thought again.
"Hello, Lucifer . . . no, too direct. Hello, your greatness . . . I sound like a Brit!" he exclaimed.
He looked in the rear view mirror to the chandelier.
"Well, what do you think?" he asked.
The chandelier sat blankly in the seat, for it was a chandelier, and chandeliers can't talk, but it had, since the murders, gained a liking from the man, so all it's involuntary movements were stamped with some sort of odd meaning. The car hit a bump, and the chandelier jingled a bit. The man smiled again, bigger this time.
"Lou," he began, "I like it, very informal, keeps things light hearted."
And so the car became quiet again, but the man was not so uncomfortable about his predicament. He was filled with pride, coupled with minimal nerves and ample ambition. There was a nature reserve just outside of the city that covered an extensive area of land in both the valley and the mountains. The reserve was open to the public on a twenty four-seven basis, but whoever had decided on those hours was partly to blame for what was to happen next. The old Cadillac struggled into the reserve entrance. In a security room, two guards sat, one asleep and the other fairly alert. As the car pulled in, the guard's interest was peeked. He looked at the car and made a note of it's presence. From his shared post, he stealthily watched the Cadillac and the man who was inside. It was still dark outside, so the guard could only see what the faint car light made obvious. Inside the car, unbeknownst to the guard, the man was changing into yet another disguise. He stripped from his suit jacket, and threw over himself a nylon trench coat. He stepped out of his car. He glanced at the guard post with eye movements so quick that they went entirely undetected. The man went to his trunk and fumbled around a bit until he found a large camping backpack. He pulled the backpack out, closed the trunk, and moved to the side of his car where the briefcase was. The backpack, already partially filled with an assortment of odd, seemingly unrelated items, was packed even more with the bodily parts that had been taken from the girl at the sorority house. From the suit coat pocket, the man retrieved the blood and the eyeball, and placed them gently into a zipper compartment on the side of the bag. With everything that he needed, the man tossed the pack over his back, adjusted the straps, and walked off into the forest. Back in the guard post, the conscious guard had woken up his coworker and made a formal report to their superiors. They had seen a myriad of people walk into the reserve, but never had they witnessed a man show up at three o'clock in the morning and walk into the woods wearing dress shoes.
