The Predator

No one knew me here, and that’s the way I liked it. I could easily mold into a crowd  and no one would acknowledge me. It wasn’t as though I caused attention to myself, but even if I tried, people never had the time to pay any attention. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time. A curse because it brought me to be the man I was today and a blessing because I’d now knew how to utilise this feature to my advantage. It was the only way I fished out my prey without being detected.

Easy was an understatement. It was almost unrealistic the amount of times I’d managed to get away with the things I’d committed, to the point I’d become sceptical of the authorities. Maybe they did know what I was up to and was waiting to capture me during my activities? Ha. I overestimate the authorities. If they had known what I was up to, they was sure to have arrested me years ago, but they hadn’t because they knew nothing of me and never would because I was never a suspect.

I had the face that many would see and double take a few times, before never looking again. My face reflected the work I’d done over the years. However, my eyes always captivated those who truly looked at my profile. When I was young it was the only compliment I’d received. I knew from young my eyes held power beyond the average blue eyes that most held. They revealed love that was never there, sympathy to a heart that was hardened and affection – all emotions that never resided within me. That’s what had made them plead. When all hope was lost, they’d look into my eyes and hope I’d release them. But that was what I enjoyed most, the fact that people never knew that it was what kept me killing, kept me collecting prey. The look in their eyes when they realised that there was no hope and that their life was now my own.

Thanks Mother.

The memories now vivid in my mind, bring a smile to my lips. How I love what I do. There was no amount of money that could be offered to me, that would deliver the same satisfaction as the one I got whilst I’d watch my victims die in my hands. My body vibrated of excitement. Just the thought of seeing my next victim limp in my hands almost made me hard in delight. And it was only about to get better when I had felt someone from afar watching me. I was rarely watched, so when a few eyes managed to linger on my face longer than need be, I knew. To the left of me, by the furthest exit of the train station, stood a female in a trench coat, with her bag in her hand and her eyes glued to my face. A man like me shouldn’t smile – my aunt once said. How I hated my aunt, I was glad those were one of her last words.

I concentrated on the woman in the trench coat, now ready to let her know that I had acknowledged her glare. As predicted she had noticed, averting her eyes swiftly away from me, clearly fighting the urge to turn around to stare once again. Usually nobody stared, however sometimes the business costume and briefcase didn’t do the trick and that’s when I had unwanted stares.

I fully turned towards her and began walking. Picking up my stride, until I’d gotten behind her. Feeling my presence, she spun around, fumbling on her feet not aware of how close I was towards her. The fast action caused her to fall to the ground, so with my premeditated hand, I reached for her waist, gripping her lightly, but firm enough for her to know that I was now in control. She visibly winced, which only made me inwardly smile and shudder in excitement.

She throws a smile, an attempt to veil the raw panic that had probably began to creep along her spine. I didn’t move my arms from her waist, asserting the power I had over her. She tried to wiggle free, but that didn’t do anything but strengthen my hold on her.

“Thank you.” I smiled, causing the colour to drain from her cheeks. I pull her close to me whilst I notice tears forming in her eyes. I began taking her towards the exit of the station, and without any struggle she willing followed. I enjoyed victims that didn’t fight, the more willing the more fun I had with them. Some may say the more they fight the more enticing the victim become, but that rule never applied to me. I liked when my victims knew their fate, because that meant that they knew all attempts of escaping were futile, which meant they compiled to everyone of my demands, praying I’d release them. Which never happened. Even as we walked towards the exit of the station, she’d had moments of courage and attempt to fight against me, but a firm tug against her hip, settled any thoughts of calling for help.

It was snowing, so it wasn’t dark – but that did little to my motives. Whilst walking past a homeless man, I dropped the briefcase. Knowing there was no use of the façade anymore. I had come out to play and when I came out to play, I needed a playground. The irony when I spotted a nearby park, filled with children and mothers surrounded the area. I took her to the far end of the park and pressed her up against a tree, facing away from the crowd. Once she had realised that she was completely powerless, the pleading began. She explained that no one would ever know what happened, stated she didn’t even know my name. Keith. I lied, but she cries, saying she didn’t hear the name. Keith. I repeat once more, only causing more tears to cascade down her cheeks. Looking into my eyes, I see the hope every victim sees when they meet my stare. The moment everyone thought they had a chance of escaping.

Please. Don’t. Please. You’re not a bad person. All these meaningless words, I smiled silencing her words, as her small perfect mouth shut in utter despair. And there was the look that had my body trembling again in excitement, the look of realisation. The moment you know whatever you do, the ending will only end one way.

With screams, sex and a death.

© All Rights Reserved by Sarah E. Balogun

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