Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection by Adam Nicholls

Author:Adam Nicholls [Nicholls, Adam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Papyrus Publishing
Published: 2019-05-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

The killer stood among the crowd, reveling in the glory of his kill. There were so many people around, and it was all because of him—all because of the work he’d done on Carrie Whittle. The police would have no clue either, as he’d been so careful at the scene.

Although there was that one thing…

Leaving the pizza hat at the crime scene was hardly his crowning moment, but everybody made mistakes. This was one that could cost him dearly, he knew, but at least he could learn from it and move on. Sure, the police now had his fingerprints, and probably hair from the hat, but at least they weren’t in the system. As far as he knew, that was.

The people around him shuffled, making way for newcomers on the scene. From where he stood, beginning to perspire among the ever-shifting collection of spectators, the killer saw a familiar face approach the tape. There was no telling quite how he knew him, but the killer had one of those feelings—a knowing that’d been buried in his past. Maybe they’d crossed paths once or twice in their younger years, or maybe he’d just seen the guy on the news before, but he definitely recognized him somehow. And if the man recognized him too?

The killer shrunk back between the civilians.

After showing his detective badge to the officer, the man went into the house, ushering a tall, well-built black man through the doorway. This face was new to him. He couldn’t have been a cop—the way he followed the leader made him appear far too detached for that—so maybe he was a hired hand. Or worse: an apprentice.

Whoever they were wasn’t important. What was important was the work he’d just done. After stabbing the husband and discovering he was still alive, he’d moved on to the wife, who’d stumbled into the hallway and had all of three seconds to understand what she was seeing. The man she’d married was bleeding out all over their hideous rug, and she wouldn’t be far behind. From there, he’d chased her into the dining room and grabbed her hair, yanking her onto the floor. The killer had mounted her, taking his knife to her face and making some adjustments. Even if she’d lived through that, she probably wouldn’t have wanted to; he’d taken away her beauty, which was the only thing to redeem her foul attitude. The killer had enjoyed every second of taking that away from her, laughing at her howls and screams as he sliced those perfect cheeks right off her horrified face.

“Move it, people.”

The strong, authoritative voice of a police officer broke his trance. The people around him—the sheep—shuffled and pushed, stepping back only when two officers and a wooden barricade forced them to. The killer moved with them, enjoying the excitement of the murder scene, grinning at the flashing red and blue that lit up everyone’s faces. It was the blue of something pleasant, like the ocean, but the red was deep like blood, and it took him back to the moment he’d completed his surgery.

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