Author’s Note: I feel like this excerpt is somehow connected with Body Count- possibly a previous scene? The idea that inspired both this piece and Body Count was meant to become a book, but I’ve struggled to bring all the parts together so far. Let me know what you think of this piece and the book idea in the comments. Enjoy!
He’d been on the run for more than six years with a bounty of $3 million on his head. Accused of thirty six murders and seven counts of credit card fraud, every law enforcement agency in the country knew his name and his face. It’s a wonder he wasn’t behind bars strapped to the electrical chair yet, especially with how many close encounters he’d come across with anyone from the common park ranger to the downright hell-on-wheels U.S. Marshall. But then again, dodging bullets was a talent that came somewhat naturally, and he had managed to perfect the art over the years.
His leg bounced rhythmically as he heard the distinct sound of wailing sirens as they grew closer to his location. He checked his cracked watch in the dim lighting. They’d responded and dispatched a task force all the way to the outskirts of Georgia within 13 minutes. Far too slow for his tastes. The sirens became louder with each passing second, but still he waited. Running early made for a lousy experience, and he was itching for an adrenaline rush. And so he sat motionless on the second floor in the dead center of the room with his gun tucked in his waistband as he tested the sharpness of his knife with his thumb. At this point, he could hear the spinning of tires throwing gravel as they flew down the road toward him, and he bared a toothy, mischievous grin.
Pushing himself to his feet, he thought only once before deciding to take a leisurely stroll down the hallways of the warehouse to occupy his time until the feds arrived. Upon entering the hallway blackened by age and misuse, the stench of rotting flesh filled his nostrils and his eyes watered. He cast a passing glance at the remnants his victim from last month, recalling the kill as if it were yesterday. The gorgeous, petite brunette, with her makeup smeared down her face and her hands shackled in front of her as she stumbled away from him, crying and pleading for him to just let her go. He remembered his triumph in knowing he was in complete control, her life hanging in the balance. He remembered his pride as he held her delicate existence in his hands, laughing as he handed back to her corpse in pieces. She had been a fighter. He loved fighters.
He straightened his spine as he strode down the isle before taking an abrupt left and skipping two at a time down squeaky, wobbly stairs, whistling a version of Mary Had A Little Lamb that he had picked up from one of his victims in December. Reaching the bottom of the steps, the floor creaked underneath his weight, and he had a fleeting thought that maybe it would buckle and suck him into the foundation if only he weighed more. A sly grin crept across his lips. If only there were more weight….
(P.S. This image was pulled from Google Images. All rights go to the owner.)