The Last Chapter Killer
“FUCK!” I shouted as I gripped the sides of my head and paced around the room after watching the eleven o’clock news.
Someone had stolen my story. A copy. An imitation.
Coward. Someone wanted the police to believe this belonged with the others and wanted my name attached to it.
But it was mine. All mine. It was something I’d created special for my victims, and then someone came along and inserted themselves into MY story.
I sat in the recliner, my fingers tapping against the arm of the chair.
“Who are you?”
After that Kevin guy was set up to make it look like I’d done it, I wasn’t too bothered.
The posing was the only similarity. But this next guy?
The carving in his abdomen. My signature.
Stolen by someone who didn’t have a clue.
They crossed the line. Somewhere here in Key West, another person was watching the same news report, thinking they’d gotten away with it by pointing the police in my direction.
I was The Last Chapter Killer. Not them. ME.
It was a dangerous thing to mess with a killer’s story and signature. And now, this copycat should be worried about whether I’d find them first and take care of them before the police did.
A faint smile crossed my lips. The police weren’t the only ones asking questions now. And unlike them, I wasn’t interested in proving a theory. I was interested in finding out who had the audacity to write my name into a story that didn’t belong to them.
Now, I wasn’t just hunting young women to give them the perfect ending I believed they deserved.
I was hunting something far more dangerous.
Another serial killer. Someone who had stepped into my story without permission.
They thought they could borrow my legend.
They were about to learn the difference between writing a story and becoming part of one.