CHAPTER NINE
The killer sat on a bench and watched people play with their dogs.
The dogs were barking exuberantly, running, jumping and playing, pausing every so often to regard their owners with unadulterated affection and love.
The owners laughed and jumped and played with their dogs, running around like kids, faces flushed, lips spread in ear-splitting grins.
Other owners, too old or relaxed to run around, sat on benches like this one, basking in the sunshine, beaming at the others and watching the dogs play.
It was sickening. All this joy. All this vapid contentment. At any moment, this happiness could be stripped from them, yet they all acted like they were guaranteed a lifetime of everything they ever wanted.
And so many of them would achieve that. That was the real kicker.
Most of these people actually would get the lives they wanted, mostly anyway.
They’d float around in a perfect world, playing with their dogs, enjoying quality time with their friends and family, getting pats on the back at work, guffawing at their stupid tv shows, never having a real care in the world.
Even if they had a care, they’d just post some bullshit sob story on Instagram or Facebook, and a bunch of other vapid losers would flock to tell them how pretty they were, how strong they were, how they should just hang in there and everything would be all right.
Bullshit. Here was death sitting right in front of them, and they didn’t even see him.
As though to emphasize his point, Rebecca paused in front of him, literally right across the path from him, and stopped, watching the dogs.
She grinned, smiling like an idiot as she watched a pair of Labrador’s take turns chasing a rope bone tossed by a pathetically handsome young man.
Or maybe it was the man she was watching.
She was young and attractive herself, not a supermodel but pretty enough that the killer was sure the young man would find her enjoyable.
Well, he’d have to act fast. Rebecca wasn’t going to live to see another morning.
She would return to this park later that evening when it was far less crowded.
She would run until the little watch she wore told her she had burned five hundred calories.
The killer would stop her and ensure she never had to worry about calories again.
If the young man wanted to know how attractive she was underneath her yoga pants and sports bra, he had maybe ten hours to do so.
The killer got to his feet and left. He passed within two feet of Rebecca. She never even glanced his way.
That was his fate. To be unseen. Unheard. Uncared for.
So be it. He would still have his way. He would find his own joy quenching theirs.