Strength Of The World

The New Guys

The wintry breeze streamed throughout the shadows of the luminous moonlit streets of New York.  The nightly sounds of the world never seemed to fade; metal clanking together as the vagrant animals rummaged through the garbage cans lining the streets, glass shattering from attempts of a burglary, and sirens that echoed by the mile as police made an effort to imprison the delinquents in which they could find.  Of course I took it upon myself to take care of the ones who assumed they were fortunate enough to escape their crimes.

A quiet moan escaped my throat as I licked the remaining blood from my lips.  The lifeless man’s body slipped from my grasp, collapsing onto the earth’s surface as though he were made of mere putty.  I placed a cigarette between my lips, turning to rest against the old brick wall that stood tall beside me, bending my leg slightly to position the flat of my foot alongside my knee.  He had been a tad feistier than the others I’d killed before.  However I wasn’t complaining.  I enjoyed toying with my meal before the feast, it helped me to work up a better appetite; and besides, the more adrenaline rushing through their bodies, the better they would taste.   

I scanned the surrounding area briefly before letting my gaze fall back upon the man.

“You were absolutely,” I paused, searching for the proper word to use, “scrumptious.” 

A smirk played at the corner of my lips and I was far more than satisfied with my kill, or as I so liked to call it, ‘nightly duty’.

Leaning toward his body, I let my hands scan through the man’s various pockets, abstracting any material that could later help police identify him.  There was one thing I loved more than the kill itself, and that was leaving a challenge to anyone who wished to identify my victims.  It had almost become a game, waiting to see how long it’d take before the news could conclusively state a name release.

“You won’t need this,” I skimmed through his wallet, taking note of one of the first pictures placed inside of what looked like his wife and children, “pig”, I murmured, before tucking his wallet away into my own pocket. 

I’d caught this man sexually assaulting a woman in one of the shady back alleys behind my favorite tavern just hours before.  He’d stabbed her repeatedly within his attack, leaving her for dead once he was satisfied with what he’d received; I could tell this wasn’t his first assault.  I blamed myself for not catching him sooner, saving her from his iniquitous acts.  However, I’d dropped her off in front of the local Emergency room in hopes they could save her in time.  She’d lost a vast amount of blood, her heart beat so faint it had become hardly audible.

I wrapped my arms securely around his torso, pulling him up over my shoulder before tossing him into a nearby dumpster.  Grabbing my jug of fuel, I proceeded to douse his body beneath the fiery liquid, tossing my lit cigarette inside.  It didn’t take long before the fuel ignited, flames spewing over the edges of the dumpster.  I knew by the time the fire would be extinguished, his body would be far too disfigured for the police to identify him, let alone be able to tell he’d died of an unnatural blood loss due to an exotic bite. 

This was my technique, my nightly method in which held so many bewildered.  I’d accumulated numerous news clippings from the Sunday paper over the years, most titled with ‘Brooklyn Killings, Suspect Still Unknown’, the others of the victims’ names once they were publicized.  I’d even managed to snag some clippings of the few times the police allegedly had new leads, however it was never mentioned again after.

I had learned over the years how to cover my tracks.  I’d tried dismembering the bodies, scattering different parts in numerous regions, miles apart, but incinerating the bodies seemed as though it were the most effective way to disguise my work.