WHO: Dexter and Terry WHAT: a serial killer gets seen WHEN: Monday night WHERE: an abandoned warehouse in Santa Monica RATING: R- it's a serial killer doing what he does best- this is not going to be pretty STATUS: In progress
Like any good hunter, Dexter's plan was flawless. He'd stalked his prey for days, learning his every movement. This would be his first victim in LA and he wanted it to be memorable, perfect. Almost in honor of his dead brother he'd gone after another killer, a lowlife scumbag who killed prostitutes to make himself feel like a man. He was the perfect candidate to become victim number 57 for the man the press back home had called the Bay Harbor Butcher.
After preparing his workspace he went after the prey, neatly injecting the drugs into his neck as he left the bar, drunk to all hell. So far, almost insultingly easy. Even obtaining the sedatives had been a piece of cake for the charming serial killer. He bundled the unconscious man into the trunk of his rented car and drove to the abandoned warehouse he'd chosen to do his work.
He carefully stripped the victim, taking the clothes to burn later, and strapped him down using cellophane before dressing himself in plastic overalls. There would be a lot of blood and he wanted to remain clean. As he waited for the man to wake up, he made sure the heads of the victims, painstakingly dug up, were on display for him to see.
"Where.... where am I?" The shaky voice came from the table as Dexter peered, completely detached from the man's fear.
"Do you know why you're here?" He asked, ignoring the other question.
"N..no, where am I, who are you?"
He could hear the rising panic in his voice and briefly wondered what it would be like to feel that.
"You're here, Mr Williams, because of these women," He picked up the freshest head and held it before Mr Williams' eyes. Eyes that widened with even more fear.
"No, no, please, you don't understand, I couldn't help myself, please."
And there it was, the pleading, the begging for understanding, for mercy. Dexter smiled peacefully. "Oh, I understand very well Mr Williams. You see, I can't help myself either."
He picked up a scalpel and pressed it against the other man's cheek, collecting a drop of blood in a bloodslide. A new city, a new collection. And this would make a fine first entry.
Then he picked up a hacksaw. He stood above Mr Williams' head and breathed deeply, savoring the moment. On the table Mr Williams began to wet himself with fear. Dexter looked down on him and smiled, as he brought the hacksaw down across the man's throat. The spray of blood from the artery was poetry. He watched, still with that calm smile as the man shuddered and died.
And then it was back to work. He pulled out another, bigger saw and began to dismember the body, wrapping the parts in bin liners and weighing them down with rocks before carrying them out, one by one, to his car, dumping them in the trunk. When the car was loaded he drove out to the cliffs, parking up and throwing the body parts out to sea, watching with a satisfied grin as they hit the water with a splash before sinking. He'd have to get a boat eventually, to help dump the parts further out, but for now this would do. He looked out to the sea, still feeling that serenity that only killing could give him.