I know he is going to kill tonight. I am certain of it. He is going out to earn that nickname the newspapers dubbed The Night Slasher. Slasher due to the way the killer slashes the victims across the face; expert, almost artistic cuts peeling the skin without damaging the muscles underneath. I guess adding 'Night' made it more fearsome; increasing clicks and sales. It does look good as a headline, I'd have to admit.
I follow him onto the train with a mix of anger and excitement welling up inside me. He is hidden and unknown. That'll change tonight. Soon, everyone will know who he is. Then I can be satisfied and move onto the next one. Too many people in these cities who don't belong. I watch him smile awkwardly.
Just a few weeks ago, I didn't think he was the right guy. But it is him. I've watched him do his homework. Using his 'day job' as a freelance reporter, he bribes, negotiates, or charms his way into the morgue. He spends time viewing the bodies, taking pics, and copying medical details. I guess he enjoys seeing the bodies and hearing how others view his work. Police would note this as reliving the crime, keeping it alive until the next kill, or taking trophies as memory pieces. He's purchased a pig a day for the past week. I've watched him practicing his slashing and cutting the pigs as they hang; he had pictures of former victims on each one. He took his time but cut quickly to match the pictures and medical records. Tonight, he will be using his knife on someone real, someone living.
He seems so different than when I first saw him. He was at the first documented crime scene just a few weeks ago, the victim was another generic invader of the city looking for her big break. These people, these invaders, they come into the cities, ignoring its danger, hopeful in their ignorance, syphoning off those who belong and earned their place. They practically beg the streets to take them. She was no different. She was a 'writer' come to town to share her vision and mind. Like so many before her, she fell into the cracks of the city and only her death caught a cursory murmur. The Night Slasher taking her face was hardly news since she had no face here. He stood at the front of the barrier eagerly craning his neck to see. He looked pathetic; orange hair hanging in his bright blue eyes, lips that were too large for his small freckled face parted in an unsettling grin. I thought for sure the cops would see him and immediately suspect him. He 'looked' off. I knew he was off. I was right.
Back then he seemed so awkward and unsure. Tonight, he seems confident – the chameleon revealed? I don't dwell on it much; the train bell rings next stop and he is getting off the train. His long raincoat, generic tan color with the collar up, hides most of his frame as he walks briskly but not in a rush. He wears a baseball cap with a scarf. Hiding his unsettling childish face. He takes stairs down and quickly ducks into the first alley. Not a good spot to grab someone, too much traffic. And too close to the street lights.
I walk by him, smelling the mix of his nervous sweat and aftershave, not an unpleasant combination of musky energy and nervous anticipation. I take care to not look in his direction or notice him, though I do see him. In my line of work, you learn to watch without looking. He is crouched almost unseen next to the large green trash cans. I guess he intends on grabbing the first victim that comes his way. Someone smaller than myself I guess, not that I'm imposing. But so far only thin women have been found as victims. I turn down the next corner and quickly move to the other side of the alley. I pretend to tie my shoe and poke my head around the corner.
The alley is empty. He's gone! I stand up and look about before heading into the alley. As I near the trashcans, I grip my hand around the handle of my protection in my pocket. Just in case he is still hidden. No, he is gone. I kick the plastic can to the unsatisfying sound of a dull thud. As my face wrinkles in anger and frustration that he is going to kill and I'm not going to stop him, I notice a shadow on the other side of the street. I breathe a deep sigh as my frustration is replaced with mild surprise.
It is a smart move for him to make. Darker alley, deeper lane before another intersecting alley or street. He seems focused on something. My eyes widen as I realize he has a target . . . and I am too far away to intervene. I look around and see no one on the streets, crisp clear night is the only witness the three of us have tonight.
As the train noisily passes overhead, I can see she is a stupid invader by her train schedule poking from her purse. She is oblivious as her head is down, looking at her phone. 'Take me, I'm a victim' her manner screams into the night. I start to sprint as fast and quietly as I am able, the wind in my face. I see the large lips in a frightening grimace as he grabs her by the mouth and waist into the alley. Her phone drops to the ground, momentarily flashing light across the alley and his ridiculous face; large lips twisted in a grimace of fear and excitement. Terrified, she tries to scream. It's cut short as he punches her hard in the gut and she crumples to the ground. I can see he is enjoying this as he looks down on her. He kneels in front of her as she gasps for air. His right hand grips a long silver knife with a curved blade. His arm reaches back as he prepares to cut with his practiced swipes.
I only just manage to slam into him, the force of our bodies colliding driving him off his knees. I try to make sure I grab his right wrist to control his weapon. As he turns to face me, his face turns from anger to shock and surprise. I smile as a part of me is satisfied on so many levels. I try to keep from laughing aloud but can't keep from smiling. I feel his warm blood begin to run down my other hand holding my own knife inside his chest. Staring up at us, the invader's expression goes from terrified to relieved as she sees what's happened. Then her face changes to something else as she sees my smile; a confused horror.
I bring him gently to his knees in front of her. Gripping his right hand tightly in mine, I slash his knife across her throat – quickly, cleanly. She won't make any noise now. She tries to hold her blood in with her tiny hands as the blood sprays over us both. I can feel the warmth of her blood on my face. I close my eyes and let the feeling wash over me.
"Who . . . who." His confused voice whispers weakly.
"I feel you should know my mother called me Sam," I say smiling. "Here you deserve to know what it's like. After all, it must be done right if you are to die as the Night Slasher. Hold the blade tight as you did with the pig," I gently instruct while loosening my grip. I guide his hand to make smooth precise cuts along the gurgling girl's face. His hand is weak but he is smiling as I guide the cuts. Her tiny hands have gone still in the pool beneath her.
He looks up at me and tries to speak "Than. . . thank . . ." he fades away as his body slumps against me.
I start to stage the bodies across from each other, making sure the girl's hand is wrapped around my knife firmly in his chest. I almost start whistling as the giddiness sets in. This has worked so much better than I could have planned. Oh, how sweet. He gets his dream to be the Night Slasher. The invader died 'heroically'. And everything will be wrapped up so neatly. I remove my bloody outer layer, wipe myself as clean as possible before heading to grab the change of clothes I stashed. I dump the bloody clothes into the barrel I set up earlier and light them. I make a mental note: homeless parasites are everywhere, they should be cleaned up too.
"Thank you for flying with us Ma'am, you're in seat 1A." I take my ticket with a polite smile and board my flight to Los Angeles. I never liked New York much. But the city of angels is so big and has so many invaders overpopulating the streets. It's been years since I was there. What did the press call me then? I don't remember, the Night Stalker stole my glory then. I wonder what unclever moniker they will create this time.