Page 28 of Not This Time

He smirked. The disposal had gotten stuck.

It was an act of petty vengeance, but it felt good, and it was a reminder.

He was in control here.

When he finished, he glanced around the kitchen, his eyes settling on a small window overlooking the backyard.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and made his way towards the stairs, his mission still on his mind.

He was almost there.

He stepped onto the landing, his eyes peering into the darkness ahead.

The hunt was on.

He moved cautiously through the house, pausing every so often to listen for any sounds of approaching footsteps or voices. Each moment spent waiting tightened the coil of anticipation within him, and he reveled in it, allowing the tension to fuel him.

Finding a vantage point from which to observe his unsuspecting prey, he settled into the shadows, his body tense and coiled like a serpent ready to strike. He breathed in deeply, savoring the musty smell of the aging house, a scent that would soon mingle with the copper tang of blood.

His senses were on high alert, attuned to the slightest shift in his environment.

Of course, he'd timed it perfectly. This particularcullingwas timed for a late night arrival of a late night person.

He waited, checking his watch. A minute. Thirty seconds.

He counted it down.

And then, like clockwork... a sound.

The distant sound of a car door slamming sent a jolt of excitement through him, and he had to restrain himself from leaping out of his hiding place.

It was late... The night shift had ended at the warehouse...

A hard worker. Two jobs. But that didn't matter. The victim needed his mercy, however he decided to dole it out.

He wrinkled his nose, picturing that fake carpet.

"Amateur..." he whispered. "Steady," he admonished himself, his thoughts a feverish whirlwind. "You've waited this long. Don't ruin it now."

As the footsteps outside drew nearer, the killer's fingers twitched involuntarily, itching for the moment when they would finally close around the throat of his prey. The thrill of the hunt consumed him, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

The front door creaked open, and the killer held his breath, his entire being poised on the edge of a knife, ready to strike.

He waited at the top of the stairs, hidden just within an old, aged closet.

The air around him grew colder, the darkness of the enclosure pressing in on him like an unwanted embrace. He could feel the tension hanging heavy in the atmosphere – it was almost palpable. The predator's heart pounded in his chest, every beat echoing in his ears as he listened to his prey move through the house.

"Can you sense it?" he thought, a shiver of excitement running up his spine.Do you know you're being watched? Hunted?

He took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of dust and fear that filled the house. His eyes, well-adapted to the darkness, followed the shadow of his intended victim passing by the doorway. Their breathing, quick and shallow, betrayed their unease.

He waited, watching as they came up the final step.

And then he emerged from the dark.

"Catherine," he said quietly.

She froze, refusing to turn, refusing to confirm with her eyes what her ears feared.