A Descent into Darkness

Murder Exile

I will not fall in love with anyone tonight. I will not fall in love with anyone tonight. I will kill someone tonight. I will kill someone tonight.

As I sit at the bar of The Little Cactus, I repeat those lines over and over in my head, as if it will actually have any impact.

I don't know why I'm repeating the line. It's stupid. I don't even know that what I feel for Eve is love, rather than some moronic hormonal infatuation. Second, I really don't need any extra motivation to kill someone right now, my urges have become unbearable, despite having just killed Mark last week. There's a couple reasons for that I suppose.

One would be that, let's face it, that kill was pathetic. The poor bastard probably didn't even realize what was happening to him before the lights went out. It's no fun if they don't have time to catch on to the fact that the end is near. If they don't have time to be scared. If they don't get a full blast of the real me.

Second, my frustration with the power Eve has over me due to the blackmail has proved greater than I previously noticed. Serial killers don't do well under someone else's control. I'm already frustrated enough being under MonkeyLover's thumb. But at least with that asshole, I don't have to look him in the eye while he makes me his little bitch. With Eve, I have to endure that humiliation to the maximum extent. I need to have absolute control over someone. I need to properly extinguish the light in the person's eyes. Anyone will do.

But now, despite sitting in a Mexican style bar with dozens of potential victims, I'm hesitant to choose one after what happened with Eve. I mean, I doubt I'll feel for any of these oblivious idiots what I felt for Eve. But I didn't think I would develop such an obsession with her either.

I also had to move all my shit out of that Best Western hotel room and shunt it all to the cheaper Holiday Inn down the street from this place in Pickering, a small city just east of Toronto. which is not helping calm me down. Normally, the location doesn't bother me. I'm quite used to killing in less than five star hotels, shabby roadside motels, or other establishments where the safety inspector leaves with their wallet a little heavier than when they arrived. And the Holiday Inn is certainly no dump, even if it is for the budget minded traveler. What I hate, is the reason I had to move. That I have allowed myself to be put in a position where I'm scared I'll be caught if I were to kill in my previously selected venue of the Best Western, or anywhere in Toronto.

First, if anyone were able to track my victim to that room, dead or missing, an annoyingly hot police officer named Eve might just realize why I had gone to so much trouble to get such authentic looking identification.

But it also may not be just that room which puts me at risk. I have no idea what else Eve may have found on me. What flags she may have put in the Toronto Police systems. So, until I have something on her, I'm steering clear of the whole city to be safe. It's as if I'm in murder exile.

I find it so funny that on TV, characters like Pinocchio or Data from Start Trek want to be more human. I hate having these human feelings like love or affection, or maybe just plain old obsession. It's wrecking everything I've worked so hard to achieve.

After Chloe, when I decided to make the transition to full blown serial killer, I knew I would have to be careful. I was lucky with her in that even after the prime suspect of Juan Carlos was cleared, the police never had any way to narrow down the list of suspects comprising of the dozens of people at the dance who hated Chloe's guts. But, in hindsight, killing someone with a connection to me, even a mild one, was a tactical error. I may never have been a serious suspect, but my name is associated with that case now. If my name ever comes up in a missing person or homicide case again, no matter the context, someone might notice that I happened to be in the same building of a previous brutal homicide.