Meet Mr. Murderer

One

Psycho Killer.
He's been all over the news for weeks. After Detective Holmes was assigned the case, the media blew it out of proportion as every death was revealed. So far the body count was up to 137 and the only thing connecting them was the severe lack of evidence (physical and witness testimonies), their time of death, and how clean of a getaway there was, meaning that any possible evidence was hacked into or stolen by the time the police bothered looking into it.
One of the most recent theories is that Psycho Killer is actually more than one person, a cult of some sort. I'm one of the few who believe otherwise. How else could they still be on the loose? A group of people would either be gloating from all the attention and get sloppy with their work as their ego soared, or they'd crack under all the pressure and sell one another out to law enforcement.
Professor Johnson droned on in front of all 263 of us about the dangers of staying out between the hours of 9 p.m. to 3 a.m., about the random selection of victims, the next one could be someone we know, blah blah blah.
I rolled my eyes as her voice rose to match the pitch of her inner turmoil tightening its grip on her rationality.
Within the folds of my pocket, my phone vibrated with an incoming text. I pulled it out enough to see who messaged me, smothering a laugh as Morgan's name popped up.
A few rows down I saw Morgan's blonde curls lolling about the back of his chair.
I snickered as I pulled my phone the rest of the way out of my pocket to respond.

Morgan F.
8:12 A.M.
Baaabe. This is the third time she's lectured us on this. 😢😴😩 Love me enough to unbore me plz.

Hermione B.
8:13 A.M.
How can I unbore an insatiable brat, like you? It's virtually impossible.

Morgan F.
8:13 A.M.
Insatiable brat? Me? But . . . but that's not true.

The person next to me roughly pinched my thigh.
I hissed as my hand went and pinched his thigh in return. "What was that for?"
"You seem like you know people, so I want to know who the blonde male in the front row straight in front of us is."
I looked him over, eyeing his dyed hair, lip and nose piercings, ripped skinny jeans. I hummed before going back to my phone.
"Are you going to answer me?" His red hair fell into my face as he leaned over my shoulder in hopes of seeing my screen.
I flicked his ear before sending my message.

Hermione B.
8:17 A.M.
The guy next to me wants to meet you. I'm pretty sure he has a pinch kink. So yes or no?

Morgan F.
8:17 A.M.
That was an abrupt change of topic.

Hermione B.
8:18 A.M.
I just got abruptly pinched to figure out who you are.

Morgan F.
8:18 A.M.
He's looking at you like a kicked puppy.

Hermione B.
8:18 A.M.
I would never kick a puppy.

I raised my head to look at the official pincher next to me. He had his bottom lip sticking out in a pout as he blinked repeatedly to make his eyes water.
I sighed. "That blonde down there says you're looking at me like a kicked puppy."
He flinched back into the auditorium seat, his teeth sinking into the plump skin clashing with his piercing. "You're texting him! Oh sh-"
My hand reached out to flick his ear again. "No cussing. And yes, I'm texting the blonde in Seat 16 whose head has been lolling about since he sat down. He's now fully aware of your existence, but don't worry you'll meet him after class."
I then clicked the power button on my phone before slipping it back into my pocket, slowly letting Professor Johnson's ranting filter through my head.
"Psycho Killer will come after us all! Why are you wasting time in class when you should be learning how to defend yourself?!" Her voice screeched.
I raised my hand, semi patiently waiting for her to turn around again.
When she saw my hand up, she paused mid-sentence to pant out rushed breaths. "Young lady with her hand up, do you have something to add?"
I straightened my spine, my hands coming to rest in my lap as I thought of a polite way to speak my mind. "Professor Johnson, your rants and warnings are very hypocritical. How do you know those victims are entirely innocent? If the police don't have any new leads, then I doubt you have any proof to back your words. I recommend that before you start judging someone's actions and suspecting their future decisions to declare to your Literature class, try talking to them to see if they actually kill at random. I bet it'll be quite the eye-opener for you."
Morgan, being Morgan, thought it fit to stand up while everyone else was dead silent and yell, "Heck ya! That's my nerd girl!"
I rolled my eyes. "Says the gay guy."
He laughed.
Professor Johnson got over her shock, raising her voice over the chaos that ensued upon Morgan's outburst. "You haven't been dismissed. Sit down, now!"
The door to her left slammed open as Mr. Grice, the dean of Maxontrice University, made his overly dramatic entrance.
Professor Johnson cowered as he stepped up to the podium. "Class dismissed." His voice, low and gravelly from too much whiskey, rang throughout the room clearly.
All of us started pushing and shoving in our mad dash to get our stuff and leave.
Outside the door, Morgan was staring at his wristwatch, tapping out a rapid rhythm with his foot.
I pulled the guy who was sitting next to me forwards until him and Morgan were face to face. Then I cleared my throat obnoxiously loud.
Morgan jumped, confusion twisting across his features as he gazed at the pale toned male in front of him. His vibrant ice colored eyes slid to my own slowly. "Huh?"
"Meet What's-His-Face. This is the guy who sat next to me and unreasonably pinched me." I patted him on the shoulder before turning to the guy who still hasn't introduced himself. Lowering my voice to a stage whisper, I slowly enunciated, "Please, just don't break him. I don't know how many surgeries I can take after getting my bones dislocated from a required session of his Breakup Cuddles."
His mouth gaped open, looking between me and a red-faced Morgan. I smirked as I pulled my satchel strap higher onto my shoulder. "And I've heard names are a great thing to share. Unless you like your temporary one, of course." I slid past them to continue onto my next class of the day, shrugging nonchalantly at their embarrassment.
What's-His-Face stuttered as his cheeks turned a deeper red than Morgan's.
I walked with a brisk pace across campus to reach my Mythology class before I was late once again.