Page 6 of Stalking Christmas

I print out their tab when I notice them putting on their jackets, and Nic packing up his laptop. I walk over and place it down on the table, and without a word of thanks for their patronage, I walk away. I know the likelihood of getting a tip from that table is probably going to be nonexistent, and I desperately need the money, but I can’t make myself act pleasant. I’m all out of fucks. They both walk towards the door, Micah exiting first without a look back, but Nic stops, his sexy eyes meeting mine before his lip quirks, he winks at me, and then he’s gone.

Shit, did they just stiff me on the bill?I wouldn’t put it past two assholes like that. I rush over to the table, and the tab is sitting there face down, and below it is a stack of bills. I count the money underneath, and my legs threaten to give out. I recount it, in case I’m imagining shit. He left me a three hundred dollar tip, on a thirty-dollar tab of food that I spit in.What the fuck?

My eyes search out the large, dirty diner windows to see if I can spot him, but he’s long gone. I pocket the money, a moment of regret filling me at my salty behavior. This money will help towards what I’m short on rent, and there’s no way I would have made this much in tips today. I bite down on my lip, as I contemplate whether I’ll ever see either of them again.

Probably not, although if I’m honest, I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on Nic again. I would even try to be friendly, well, maybe.

Chapter 7

Santa

The shadows hide my form as I disable all of the security measures for the morgue. I’d already digitally broken into the police mainframe, and made sure to erase any trace of the hit-and-run victim, not to mention I spent a miserable morning destroying evidence in the police lockup, and bribing officers with lots of dark secrets to hide. The prostitute who had the misfortune to suck my brother’s cock is now lying in pieces in the Quabbin Reservoir. To be perfectly safe, and ensure my idiot brother isn’t going to end up behind bars, and as someone’s cum rag, here I am, slipping into the morgue after dosing the medicalexaminer, and his morgue technician, with a sleeping agent in their shitty coffee. Honestly, they deserve it for just willingly consuming that crap, not that I’m one to talk, since I drank that coal-tasting shit from Chrissy’s diner.

My body is here, completing my tasks that’ll get my malignant father off my back, but my mind is with the auburn beauty who had the audacity to tell me and my brother off this morning. A small smile breaks across my face, as I remember her‘fuck around and find out’attitude.My cock stirs in my black pants, at the thought of forcing her to her knees before me. Would she still hiss venom out of that sweet mouth of hers? There is so much anger inside of her, and it calls to me, like a moth to a flame.

I can’t wait to see her again, to allow my eyes to feast on her features, and marvel at how soft her skin looks. I bet it’ll mark so prettily once I start using my favorite toys. Will she beg me for mercy? Somehow, after witnessing her once again in action today, I doubt it. If I can just get this shit done, and out of here, I might still be able to make it to the strip club before she’s done her shift, and watch her from the shadows for a bit before I dare to capture her.

A part of me doesn’t want this game of cat and mouse to end too soon, I’m enjoying playing with my food, and I just know she’s going to taste like the rarest delicacy, once I get my teeth into her.

I approach the temperature-controlled containers, and locate cabinet 2C, the one with my brother’s unfortunate victim. I pull out the drawer, and on its metal surface lies the still and cold body of a forty-three-year-old, naked white male, who was on his way home to his new wife, and crossed my brother’s drugged-out path. If I was able to feel any emotions, I would probably feel sorry for the sap right now. Fate is a fickle thing, and it looks like this guy just didn’t have any luck. Fortunately, none of this actually moves me. The only thing I feel is pressed for time, andthe urgent need to get out of here, so I can move on to more enjoyable things. Specifically one Chrissy Cranbrook.

The problem is that my dark desires also beckon; they lure me to commit heinous and unspeakable acts. The sickness in my veins beats a deep tempo, one not unlike the human heart, as it forces blood to rush through my veins. That tempo is a delight to someone like me, and I’m finding it harder and harder to resist it, even though I know it will lead me down a perilous road, one I may not find a way out from.

I pull back the sheet and look down at the damage my brother’s Mercedes caused. There are visible bruises and lacerations over the torso, where the largest part of the impact took place. I’m lucky the medical examiner hadn’t commenced any type of autopsy yet, and the body is still intact. My eyes trace over the slack face before me, the skin already appearing gray and dull, lifeless, an empty vessel. My gloved finger skates over his bloodless lips, then across the bridge of his hooked nose, and over the closed eyelids that hide the windows to the souls, or so they say. I press my thumb firmly against the lid, and feel the squishy eyeball below. With a little more force, I rupture it, and it makes a popping noise that has my cock twitching in my pants. I repeat my actions to the other one, and dark brownish blood squishes out from below the caved-in lashes, and coats his upper cheeks.

I wipe the surface of my gloves against his hollowed-out cheekbone. Leaning forward, I pull down my mask, press my head against his, and take a deep breath of his decaying scent. I draw back, my head tilting as I look at him from all angles. My work isn’t inspiring me, at least not yet. He could be so beautifully tragic. A work of art, really, but my brother did an amateur job of sending him to his maker. I’ll have to remedy that. I reach into the pocket of my dark pants and pull out a scalpel, the sharp metal glinting in the muted light. How I wishI had more time with him, and, at the same time, I wish I was never here. It’s no fun when they’re already dead. You can’t make the dead scream, and I long for the sounds of misery.

A spark of uncontrollable rage rises within me, like a flicker from an electrical current. My arm slashes forward, the blade slicing through dead tissue, cells, and nerves, until a deep gash opens on his cheek. It doesn’t bleed like it should. There’s no spray of crimson to coat me, no rich metallic scent to soothe my lust. There are no tears and words for mercy, just silence.

GODDAMMIT! I slice again, this time cutting through one side of his mouth, and then repeating the action on the other side, until he looks like some grotesque silent version of the‘Joker’.Still, it’s not enough; I could slice every part of him up one section at a time, and I know with certainty that it would bring me no joy. My cock deflates, not getting what it needs to push me over the edge of my depravity, and the feeling of numbness overtakes me. I resign myself to just getting this over with, so I can find some living prey to assuage my wrath.

I pull out the bottle of acid from the backpack over my shoulder, and tip his head back further on the little stand that cradles his neck, before forcing his jaw to lower and his mouth to open. I attach the angled nozzle to the bottle, and push past his teeth and down his throat, before squeezing. “There you go, buddy, deep-throating like an expensive whore. Bet you never thought this would be your end,huh?”

I squeeze the bottle until the contents shoot inside and down his throat, burning its way through his tissue. When that part is done, I use my scalpel to puncture a hole in his chest cavity, and produce another bottle, repeating the process. When I’m convinced that the damage to his internal organs is complete, I pull back and stare down at him. “Sorry, fucker, but they’re going to want a closed casket for you once I’m done with my work.” I bring out a mixture of acid that has a thickerconsistency and pour it across his face, abdomen, pelvic area, and thighs, essentially tarnishing any possible evidence. “Guess you were a grower, huh? Well, let’s hope your wife doesn’t miss that part of you too much. Maybe I’ll send her a dildo, just in case. Wouldn’t want her to get too lonely.”

When I’m done with the mess, the intoxicating scent of chemicals is making its way through the room, and my facemask itches on my jaw, I pull the sheet back up and close the drawer. The next person to open this is going to pass out from the smell and the goo. Damn, I should have set up a camera, so I could watch their horrified expression. Maybe I can still tap into the camera system here; that way, I can get at least a little enjoyment out of all this effort. “See you in hell, bud.” I tap the closed drawer once in a farewell and make my exit, using the same stealth as I made my entrance. No one will ever know I was here, just the way I like it.

When I reach my car, parked three blocks away in a dark alley with no camera angles, I strip out of my external clothing and throw it into a metal dumpster. I light a cigarette and, after a few tokes, throw it inside. I’ll be long gone before the contents start burning. It’s time to enjoy my night and go hunting for my pretty prey. I hope she’s ready to play with me, ’cause I know I have a lot of energy to burn off.

Chapter 8

Santa

Ipull into the parking lot down the street from the strip club. The soft classic rock song I was listening to ends, and the radio personality returns with a solemn voice that I don’t believe for a second. I sit back, my whole body attuned to the words they utter.

“The public is urged to come forward with any information regarding the last whereabouts of a man found in his burning vehicle off of route twenty-five-B, in the early morning hours of yesterday. The victim has now been identified as Fredric Dryden of Boston Proper, a fifty-two-year-old used auto partssalesman. The victim is believed to have known his attacker, and allowed that person to drive him to the location where his body and vehicle were found and set aflame. As of yet, there are no leads in the case; Boston PD requests anyone with any information to contact them directly. At this time, there is no mention of a reward for information.”

Reward?Are they fucking kidding me? I did them a public service by ending that piece of shit’s life. If anyone deserves a reward, it’s me for having to put up with his ass in the strip club, and risking contracting some deadly disease in that vehicle. As for leads, good luck. This is not amateur hour; I’m a seasoned killer, and I know how to hide my tracks. No one will come forward with any information, and no one will mourn that piece of shit’s death. I would’ve had to screw up royally for them to catch me, and that’s not in my nature. I’m at my prime, an apex predator, and I don’t leave things to chance. Those that get sloppy and complacent, get caught.

I slide out of the car, and stalk slowly through the shadows provided by the nearby buildings. I didn’t think it wise to park my car in the club lot two nights in a row, in case someone recognized it. I’ve decided not to attempt to approach the club from the front, but instead, to slip in through the side door I witnessed the women leaving through the night before. I’m hoping that the little security they have is focused on the inside of the club area, and the front door, and they ignore where the staff come and go from.

After waiting patiently for a few moments, behind a stack of old pallets near the side entrance, I slip inside, and I’m immediately accosted by the loud sounds of holiday music blaring through the speakers.Ugh, not this shit again.My eyes trail over the landscape before me, as the ripe smell of sweat and alcohol accosts my nose. The neon lights flare all around the club, highlighting naked dancing women, but never doingmuch to brighten all the dark, seedy corners. I slip behind a deep burgundy velvet curtain that leads you toward the VIP area, and the sounds of grunting catch my ears. I keep myself hidden as I search for the source of the noise, as irrational anger rises inside of me, at the thought that it could be Chrissy with some low life.

A hint of bright blonde hair meets my gaze, as it travels over exposed tanned flesh to the woman on her knees, in a barely there Mrs. Claus costume, and I release the pent-up breath I was holding. Her silly hat bobs precariously back and forth with the momentum of her head, as she deepthroats the guy she’s sucking off, as he leans against a column with his head tipped back and his legs widely spread. After another minute or two of watching, he cums down her throat with a guttural noise, and she rises to her feet, wiping at her red lips with a devious smirk.

“That’s fifty.” She holds out her hand in expectation, as the guy does up his pants and pulls out his wallet. I release a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Chrissy, and I don’t need to go on a killing spree, and irritation fills me. I shouldn’t care; she’s nothing to me, but a way to soothe my bloodlust. She’s a prize I want to win, torture, and then dispatch. I don’t have attachments with women, never have, and I’m not about to start now. I also can’t stand the thought of anyone else’s skin touching hers, and her down on her knees for some random asshole.Fuck, what the hell is the matter with me?

I creep along through the shadows, searching for my target, and ignoring all the debauchery around me. When I get closer to the bar, I don’t spot her, and a hint of unease rises within me that I immediately force down. My eyes search all the sections of the club, and I finally glimpse her hair, highlighted by the streams of bright lights, and that tiny uniform, over by the main stage. She’s holding a tray filled with various drinks, and serving a group of rowdy men, who are cheering on the two strippers dressed as reindeer on stage. I observe one of the men sliding hismeaty paw up the back of her bare leg, as she leans forward to hand one of his friends a beer. She instantly straightens, swats away his hand, and gives him a death glare, but the useless fucker just laughs at her ire. A flare of rage simmers in my veins, and I know that before the night is over, that asshole will be missing that hand. No one touches what is mine, and right now, until I’m painted in Chrissy’s pretty blood, she belongs to me.

---