It’s been just over two weeks since law enforcement issued the warning. They have yet to release further information regarding the homicides. I check the newspaper religiously. Few articles have been published since then. Some report the police have a suspect in custody. Others deny this, claiming it is only a matter of time until the killer strikes again. Fear sells.

One journalist reported saliva was found around the wounds on the victims’ throats. With no confirmation from the police, that piece was quickly shot down as rumor.

Bartlett hasn’t forgotten but it has relaxed as sleepy towns often do. Without another murder people are gradually staying out later. They allow their children to play outside and their pets to roam free. Without the constant reminder from the press it is easy for them to forget. The media has the God-like ability to control people. They can create terror, elicit panic, or ensue calm based solely on what they print. And the public listens. They take each article as Gospel, as if God himself came down from the heavens and took a part-time job at the New York Times. But even the press has moved on. There are bigger stories, scarier stories. Gang violence persists in Detroit. A father throws himself in front of a train in Boston. The DAO is down by two percent. And no one is quite sure what the President will do next.

Of course, police ensure us they are still in pursuit of the killer. Yet if they were really being honest, they would admit they too have little to go on. They have no witnesses. The DNA collected off the victims will reveal no matches. The crime scenes have yet to be discovered because all the bodies had been moved to a secondary location.

As for me, I feel myself becoming weaker with each passing day. I know it is only a matter of time until the Other makes an appearance and I am forced to hunt again. Hunger lurks in the depth of my stomach. With each grumble, the Other threatens to emerge, waking from its hibernation early. I remain calm only because the police have no suspects, or at least no real suspect. They are reaching like they always do when there is no one obvious to blame. They target local petty criminals, the sex offenders, the weird guy that every neighborhood seems to have living out of his mother’s basement.

“What are your plans for today?” Darlene asks, cutting through my thoughts like a knife.

I finish chewing the bacon I’d shoved into my mouth in a desperate attempt to satisfy my hunger. I wish it were raw. Slimy. Bloody. I think of the man in the yellow jacket. Hear the snap his neck had made when it broke. See the silver gleam of the razor blade as it slashes, then the rush of blood as it emptied from the wound. “Don’t know. Might go for a drive,” I say.

“Where about?” Gus asks in between a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

I shrug. “Haven’t decided yet.” Every Saturday Darlene prepares breakfast. Gus opens the store late and closes early. It is also my day off. I stare at my plate. The bacon is gone. I still have a small pile of scrambled eggs to force down my throat.

“Billie’s a free spirit,” Darlene exclaims.

Gus grunts.

I take a forkful of eggs and stuff them in my mouth. I swallow them like a pill, suppressing a grimace as they slide down my esophagus.

“So, Mr. Free Spirit, what do you do on these drives of yours?” Gus asks.

“Depends. Sometimes I go somewhere to hike. Other times I find a place to sit down with a beer.”

“Well that sounds wonderful,” Darlene gushes. “Maybe one of these days you will meet a nice girl on one of your trips. You sure are handsome enough.”

“Yeah, get yourself a girl tonight, Billie.” Gus winks at me.

I feel the heat of a blush spread across my cheeks. Sometimes Gus and Darlene really were like my parents. It seemed they wanted nothing more than for me to meet somebody and settle down. Maybe have a few rascals, who someday may even refer to them as grandma and grandpa. But how am I supposed to raise a family while making minimum wage and living in a storage closet is another question. More importantly, having a family is something the Other would never permit.

I push back from the table, gathering my plate and coffee mug. “Thank you for breakfast, Darlene. I’m going to shower then head out. Probably be back late.”

“Oh, Billie.” Darlene stands. “Please be careful tonight. They still haven’t caught that…that…”

“Lunatic,” Gus interjects.

Darlene nods.

“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I can take care of myself.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 6