The sun hung low in the sky as I stood by the railing of the
balcony, staring out at the tranquil beach below. The ocean
stretched endlessly before me, waves crashing rhythmically against
the shore. I tried to let the scene wash over me, to drown out the
gnawing feeling inside that had been building for days.
This was supposed to be a break. A vacation from everything—the
killings, the planning, the tension. Becker and I had been here for
almost a week now, and though it felt like we were living in a
bubble of normalcy, I could feel the weight of it all pressing down
on me.
I'd managed to keep my urges at bay so far, finding solace in the
ordinary rhythm of life, in the days spent exploring the city, the
nights filled with laughter and conversation. I had even started to
think that maybe I could leave it all behind—find a life that wasn't
defined by my darkest instincts.
But that was before I saw her.
She wasn't the kind of woman I usually went for, but something
about her caught my eye the moment she stepped into the café.
She was alone, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulders,
and she had that kind of energy that made it impossible not to
notice her. Her presence felt almost like a challenge, as if she was
daring the world to look away.
I shouldn't have been watching her. But I couldn't help it. I
watched as she ordered her drink, glancing at the menu as if she
didn't quite belong there. She was different—young, but not in a
way that screamed innocence. She had a quiet confidence,
something that was oddly intriguing to me.
I felt my pulse quicken. The thrill was back. The same excitement I
had felt when I first laid eyes on Claire, when I picked Cooper,
when I watched them all with that detached fascination.
The urge was building, and no matter how much I tried to ignore
it, it felt stronger now than it had in months.
I turned away from the balcony, trying to force myself to focus on
Becker, who was sitting inside, reading a book. She smiled when
she saw me, her eyes full of affection and warmth. She had no
idea. She had no idea how much I was hiding; how close I was to
losing control again.
"I thought you were going to get some more sunscreen," she said,
gesturing to my bare arms. "Don't want you getting burnt."
I nodded, trying to shove the thoughts of the woman in the café
aside. "I'll be right back," I muttered, giving her a quick smile
before stepping inside.
I didn't go for sunscreen. Instead, I grabbed my jacket, heading
out the door and toward the street, my mind already consumed
with the idea of her.
I didn't want to do this. I didn't want to fall back into the cycle.
But I couldn't stop myself. She was out there, and I had to have
her.
The drive to the café felt like it took hours, though it was only
minutes. My heart raced, my hands tightened around the steering
wheel as I parked across the street. I watched her for a while,
wondering if she was aware of me. Her back was to me as she
sipped her drink, lost in thought. She seemed unbothered, unaware
of the danger she was walking straight into.
But the longer I watched, the more I realized something. I had
done this before. I had stalked the streets, watched strangers from
afar, and taken them when I was ready. But this... this was
different. Something about her made it feel too real, too
dangerous. She wasn't just another victim.
I was losing control.
I stepped out of the car and walked toward the café, my footsteps
heavy, each one sinking deeper into the path I had chosen.
Inside, the air was warm, and the scent of coffee lingered in the air.
I could see her from the corner of my eye, still sitting at the table,
her eyes on the book in front of her. She was oblivious. Too easy.
I stood at the counter, pretending to look at the menu, my mind
racing with the plan. How would I do this? When would I make
my move?
But something stopped me.
Becker's voice echoed in my mind. "I trust you. You're different".
Was I?
I turned back to look at her. And for the first time, doubt crept in.
I wasn't just watching another face in the crowd. I was watching
someone who didn't deserve what I was about to do.
I walked out of the café.
I didn't know where the hell I was going, but I knew I needed to
clear my head. The rush, the obsession—it was all clouding my
thoughts, making me question everything. But as I walked
aimlessly down the street, one thought persisted:
What the hell am I doing?
I walked aimlessly, trying to put some distance between myself and
the thoughts that were spiraling. The city around me seemed to be
moving in slow motion, the usual hum of life dulling to a faint
background noise as I wrestled with myself. My feet carried me
through streets I didn't recognize, winding down alleyways that I
had never been down before. I needed air. I needed space.
But it wasn't the fresh air that I was seeking—it was something
else, something deeper, more consuming. The need to feel that
thrill again, to lose myself in the dark. The desire to slip back into
the patterns I had created for myself, to once again be in control
of someone else's life. To create something, someone, new.
But I hesitated.
There was Becker.
She was out there, waiting for me, trusting me. I had been lying to
her, playing the role of someone normal, someone kind and loving.
But that wasn't the truth of who I was. Not anymore.
I stopped at the corner of a street, leaning against a lamppost,
taking a long, slow breath. The reality of the situation was
becoming clearer with every passing second. I couldn't go back.
Could I?
The woman in the café—her image flickered in my mind, clear and
sharp. Her brown eyes, the way her lips parted slightly as she lost
herself in the book. I had felt it, that old, familiar tug. The pull to
capture it all. To make her mine. To strip away her choices and her
life, to make her part of my art.
But something about her had made me hesitate. Was it because I
was starting to feel something more than just the desire to take
control? Was I finally understanding what it was like to want
something that wasn't built on violence, something real?
I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to clear my thoughts. I
was so close to slipping back into that world, to letting the
darkness take over once more.
What if Becker finds out? What if she knows? What if she's been lying all
along?
The thought of Becker's face, her gentle smile, made me wince.
She was innocent—too innocent. She had no idea what I had done,
what I was capable of. She had no idea that I could snap at any
moment, that the man she loved was a monster in disguise.
I pushed myself off the lamppost, my legs feeling unsteady
beneath me. I needed to make a choice. And fast.
The problem was, I had no idea what I wanted anymore. For the
first time in a long time, the lines between right and wrong,
between what I craved and what I feared, blurred beyond
recognition.
I found myself walking back, retracing my steps, my thoughts
racing faster than my feet could carry me. I didn't want to slip back
into the darkness. I didn't want to destroy Becker's image of me,
to let her see who I really was.
But I couldn't deny the hunger. I couldn't deny the part of me that
thrived on chaos, on the blood, the fear, the power.
I reached the café again.
She was still there.
Her figure was a beacon in the window, sitting in the same seat,
her attention still fixed on her book. This time, there was no thrill
in it. No excitement. Just a cold, detached feeling. I realized that
what I had once found irresistible now felt almost hollow.
I stood outside for a long moment, staring at her, debating
whether I should go inside and finish what I started.
But then something shifted inside me. It was like a switch
flipping—suddenly, I didn't feel the same pull. The hunger was
still there, but it wasn't overpowering. It wasn't consuming me the
way it used to.
Instead, it was replaced by something even more unsettling: doubt.
I took one last look at her, feeling as though the weight of all my
choices was pressing down on me. The world around me seemed
to pause, holding its breath. I turned on my heel and walked away.
I walked back to the hotel, my pace slow and deliberate, the
familiar feeling of control returning. But it was different this time.
I wasn't running from anything—I was just... walking away from it.
I had the ability to choose, to decide who I wanted to be.
I wasn't sure if I had made the right choice. But I was certain of
one thing: I couldn't go back. Not to that life. Not to the hunt.
When I entered the hotel room, Becker looked up at me from the
couch. She was reading, her eyes warm when they met mine. There
was a subtle tension in the air, as if she knew something had
shifted, but she didn't question it.
I sat next to her, trying to find the words to explain what I was
feeling. But nothing seemed to fit. Instead, I simply wrapped my
arm around her, pulling her close. I closed my eyes, burying my
face in her hair, and I let myself be—just for a moment.
No more lies. No more darkness. I was finally free.
But as I closed my eyes, a new thought crept into my mind: What if
this was just another lie? What if I could never really change?
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard the whisper of
the hunt—the pull that would never truly disappear.
I lay there with Becker, my body tangled with hers, but my mind
was miles away. I could feel her warmth, the steady rhythm of her
breathing, but it didn't drown out the growing realization clawing
at the back of my mind: I hadn't truly escaped the darkness. I
hadn't outgrown it, and no matter how hard I tried to pretend, it
was always lurking beneath the surface.
I stayed still, not wanting to disturb the fragile moment of peace
between us. Every second I spent with her, I felt something
change inside me. Maybe it was the quiet affection she offered
without asking anything in return, or maybe it was the way she
trusted me—trusted me, of all people. I didn't deserve her trust. I
had been lying to her from the start, keeping parts of myself
hidden. But still, she kept coming back, kept choosing me.
That was the problem, wasn't it? It wasn't that I was a bad person.
It was that I didn't know how to be good, not for someone else. I
had been so wrapped up in my own needs, in the thrill of control
and the satisfaction of creating something beautiful out of
someone's suffering, that I had lost sight of what it meant to be
loved or to love in return. The idea of giving that up, of leaving the
darkness behind, was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Becker shifted slightly, her hand slipping into mine, and I realized I
hadn't been breathing properly. She always knew how to ground
me, how to make me feel like I wasn't as lost as I thought I was.
And for a moment, I thought maybe I could really change. Maybe
I could leave it all behind.
But then my phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the fragile
silence between us.
I reached for it, the sudden noise feeling like a slap against my
skin. When I saw the anonymous message, my heart skipped a
beat. The screen glowed with only a few words:
"You can't outrun the darkness. It will always find you."
I froze. The words seemed to echo in my head, growing louder
with every passing second. The dread that had settled in my
stomach when I first received the message slowly spread
throughout my body. My fingers gripped the phone tighter, as if
trying to will the words away.
Becker stirred, lifting her head to look at me. "What's wrong?" she
asked, her voice thick with concern.
I quickly shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, forcing a
smile. "Nothing. Just—just a prank message."
She studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if trying to
see through my mask. But she didn't press the issue, just nodded
and snuggled closer to me.
Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. That I
was being watched, that someone knew. They knew what I had
done. They knew what I was still capable of.
The rest of the night was a blur of sleepless tossing and turning.
Every creak of the hotel floorboard, every faint noise outside, sent
my mind spiraling. My thoughts were consumed with the message,
with the possibility that my past wasn't as buried as I thought.
The next day, I tried to push it aside. Becker and I had breakfast at
a small café nearby. She was cheerful, talking about plans for the
day, the small things she was looking forward to. But I couldn't
focus. I couldn't listen.
The message haunted me, gnawing at the edges of my mind. Who
sent it?
It was after breakfast when I decided to take a walk alone. I told
Becker I needed some air, that I had a few things to clear my head.
She didn't question me, of course. She never did. But as I walked
through the streets, everything around me felt suffocating. It was
like the walls were closing in, like I couldn't breathe without
something—or someone—reminding me of what I was.
I had been careful. I had been smart. But someone knew. And I
had no idea who.
As I turned a corner, I saw her. Claire. Or rather, the place where
she had been before. The spot I had carefully mapped out weeks
ago. It was just a memory now, but the rush of adrenaline hit me
all over again.
Don't. Stop.
But I couldn't.
I walked further, lost in the haze of my own thoughts, until I
found myself standing in front of a small art gallery. The same one
where I had sold my first painting. The one that had bought me
that rich man's attention. The one that had been a stepping stone
into my dark, twisted world.
I stared at the building for a long time. The faintest echo of what I
had done there, what I had become, made my skin crawl. It felt
like it was pulling me back in, tugging at my soul.
Then, out of nowhere, my phone buzzed again.
I pulled it out, my heart racing as I saw the same unknown number
flash across the screen. This time, the message was different:
"This isn't over. You can't hide. I'm always watching."
I stumbled backward, my breath catching in my throat.
Who is this? I typed, my fingers shaking.
The response came instantly:
"Don't you remember me?"
I froze. The world around me blurred. I couldn't breathe. There
was something in those words—something I should have
recognized.
I looked up at the gallery one last time, my mind reeling. The truth
hit me like a brick.
I had been found.