I read people so well, I know their emotions before they even do. Those who are happy are whom I choose to spend my time with. There is one woman, she is there, yet she isn't. She seems to smile at all of the right times, she seems to laugh at jokes, she seems sad when something terrible happens; yet, she just isn't there. She doesn't have those feelings and I know it is all fake. Our group is small, she spends every day with us, she does what we do, follows the latest trends, she doesn't miss a beat.

From time to time, she is gone. Our group assumes there is a secret lover, just someone she doesn't want us to meet. The group doesn't pester, but they do tease about the secret lover. Then, she is gone again.

After a night away from the group, I come home and look in the mirror. Blood covering my face and clothes. I look in the mirror and I see her. The woman, the one who has no emotions. The woman who fakes it every day with her group. I see the woman I am looking back at me after yet another ruthless kill.

I would never have married you if I had known that you were a serial killer.

I began to notice little things that concerned me the first month we were married. You were narcissistic, always primping in the mirrors on the wall as you passed. I noticed that you never paid any attention to me because you could only focus on yourself.

I always wondered why you disappeared for periods of time just before the newspaper headlined new rape-murders. Your excuses were vague but you really didn’t care what I thought about your absences. I found explicit, sadistic porn magazines hidden in the garage but you said the previous house owner must have left them.

I hate to admit that I began to use your proclivities to my own advantage. If my boss lady made me stay late, all I had to do was mention it to you and her body would be found the next morning. If someone spread nasty gossip about me, you would take care of her. It’s not that this bothered you that much – it was just that it provided new targets for you. You always felt so powerful and strong when you accomplished a new murder. You never mentioned it, but I knew you were the killer.

I hate to admit it but I became enamored of your proficiency and decided to take a stab at it, if you get my drift! That night while you were sleeping, I plunged my favorite butcher knife into your devious heart. You can’t imagine how excited I became as I watched blood seep out of your body. After getting rid of your body, I decided to take over your job and I was very, very good at it! After all, I studied at the hands of a master!

I was at a rather impressionable age; that awkward, gawky stage between child and woman. A friendless creature despised and disparaged by those who owed me nothing as well as she who gave me life and little else. Every day I desperately prayed for that promised metamorphosis from ugly duckling, scorned and shunned, to beautiful swan, respected and adored. From cowering to towering. From fearful to feared.

Yes, most definitely that: Feared.

I was in the bathroom, trying to wash away mud, blood, snot and tears along with the invisible but ever present feelings of loneliness, anger, self-loathing...and a healthy dose of hatred aimed at those who made my life a veritable nightmare. After I wiped my face with industrial paper towel, I looked in the mirror and there she was.

“Don’t let them get to you,” she said.

I snorted. Easy for her to say. She didn’t have to deal with the abhorrent wildlings that were my classmates. Or my mother.

“Seriously,” she replied to my wordless response, “You are a diamond. They are not even coal. They are dust beneath your feet.”

“Who are you?”

“Alyssa. And you are Melissa.”

Eveyone knew the social reject. I sighed. “I haven’t seen you around, Alyssa. Are you a transfer?”

She smiled. “No. I’ve seen you. I’ve been watching you.”

“Okaaaay....that’s not weird. Why?”

“Between school and home, your life, in a word, sucks. After that fiasco in the school yard today, I thought you could use a friend.”

Truer words were never spoken.

We became inseparable. I rarely saw her during the day except in the rest room or when she made faces at me from the door of my classroom. But after school, she was always waiting for me ouside the school to walk home with me. To talk. To listen.

I never invited her inside my house. I wasn’t allowed to have friends over. It had never mattered because I had never had any. It still didn’t. I preferred that not even my best friend see my mother come after me. Or strung out on the couch. Or, worse, hear the screams from her room - lust- or pain-filled, depending on who was with her and how much they paid. Or didn’t.

But Alyssa didn’t let even me stop her. Many times, she would climb through my bedroom window. Usually, just when I needed her most.

One night, after a particularly bad altercation -- verbally and physically -- with my mother, she was in my room when I ran in crying. She held me as I wept and whispered, “Let go, my sweet girl. I’m not going anywhere ”

The next morning, my mother was found with a needle still in her arm.

The death certificate would say accidental overdose.

I called 911. Police, medics and a social worker arrived very soon thereafter.

“What’s your name, little lady?”

“Alyssa,” I replied.

That day back then, I didn't tremble. I didn't cry. The carved up body of a prostitute didn't scare me. It inspired me. "Whitechapel Murderer!" all the pages screamed in those days. I wonder what happened to the man. "Jack the Ripper". He was a pleasent fellow in my opinion, we often chattered to each other in the mornings, and my daily conversations with him took my mind off of the rats scurrying past the hem of my dress. And even after I saw him murdering her that one night, soft glow of a streetlamp making the blood glisten, I made small talk the next day. It was different though. Admiration formed a haze in my head when I saw him. No, not fear as any self respecting woman would be filled with. Because that night, I realised, I was not self respecting. As I lay in bed after the event... I smiled. And I slept contently. And I made a descision that I wanted to do the same. Butcher the women as if they were cows, their meat only for my pleasure.

I never said a word to the man about his hobby. I think he knew I saw him that night anyway, as he plunged the knife into her. He trusted me not to tell. And I haven't. I don't plan to either. I want the Whitechapel Murderer to be locked in history, known for many many years to come. And I would like the same for myself. I want my thirteen butcherings to be known someday, for generations to come. I want them to know about the puddles of blood on the ground, pooling around my victims. I want them to know about the terrified looks on thier faces as they died. I want them to know that there is someone out there that could take your life.

"The Counter across the counter. So sure to remain just out of arms reach. How many times now is it? I forget. Has it been my pleasure to teach. Your kind? Why no reminder is too many. And to spare no friend this innocuous speech?

Unless it is one’s wish to enjoy the beach on your own?

I ask you two. Saintly sinners. Having spent decades discerning my true desires. Only to cancel each other out on my shoulders. To remind me. Being witness to each. And everything. Including all I’ve managed to keep secret but?

"Crickets" or your "Clicker" is all I hear.

Are we clear? I beseech you to feel. As I. You indifferent ambiguous judge. Clicking continuously not uncommonly. You never told me how it makes you feel infuriating me so. Your Counter culture. I’ve held so many like you in my arms. My calming nature slowing the pace of the pulse. Until no clicks of note denoting anything to speak of remain. I’ll take the lives with little left. Or the ones living life to the fullest. If you’ll let me.

Reach out your hand. Join my outreach program."

His name was Michael and he was one of my best friends growing up, despite the fact that he always was a bit high strung with a short attention span. In fourth grade he created a flood in Mrs. Clark’s classroom by accident. He tapped on the fish tank a bit too hard and the glass broke. In an instant all ten gallons of water and goldfish dumped onto the floor. Someone was sent to fetch the janitor and we had to move our desks out of the way. He didn’t mean to do it, but Michael had a pair of sharp scissors in his hand as he moved his desk. As I walked past I felt a sting, then looked down to see blood, lots of blood. His scissors had pierced the back of my hand. So while the beleaguered teacher was having to rescue fish flopping on the floor and prevent more flood damage, I was sent to the school nurse for a butterfly closure and gauze.

My parents moved that summer and I changed schools, so I didn’t expect to keep in touch with Michael; it was rare for boys to do that anyway. But then I did see Micheal again. On a July afternoon my father had entrusted me with his Buick and sent me to get an oil change. As I pulled into the service bay I recognized the young man immediately, it was him. His eyes lit up as he asked me how things were going. I explained that I was going away for college in several weeks. In turn I asked him how things were going.

“Not so good,” he said, looking down, “I have to report to prison in a month, I was convicted and sentenced for…” his voice trailed off. ”You can read about it in the paper”.

“Wow, I don’t know what to say,” I said. I was shocked. Here I was bragging about college while he was going to prison.

He leaned into the car window as if to tell me a secret. His voice changed, as if he became someone else.

“I know this was a long time ago, but how is your hand? That must have hurt a LOT. But I did rather enjoy it.”

He laughed to himself then disappeared under the car to change the oil.

The notes of each lyric strung into me like a sword. I had been listening to music for about 30 minutes and it was starting provoke me. I had the same routine each day: Go to school, come home, do more work and be horrifcally bored. Left with nothing to do, I decided to go for a simple walk. I had watched Twilight earlier so Edward's beautiful face was still wandering around in my brain. The thought of vampires was also mixed into the breeze somewhere.

As I locked my front door, I noticed the sun had started to settle. Not too dark, not too light. Perfect. I had been walking for a while, enjoying the sweet wind, when I got a lurching feeling. I turned a corner and checked behind me to see him still following. Turned another hoping to God he would stop but he didn't. I stopped and faced his direction yelling, "Leave me alone asshole!"

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable but you dropped this and I just wanted to return it but you were walking so fast.... I didn't know if I should run or something." He answered reaching his hand out with my keys.

"I am so sorry. Thank you so much for this." I uttered completely embarrased.

As I reached for my keys, I noticed a small, red spatter on his hand. Maybe he's a painter. I grabbed my keys and thanked him once again. We were standing infront of a little cafe, which was pretty empty so we took a seat outside. The little T.V on the wall was muttering on and on about some killer on the loose.

My heart rate sped up.

"It's getting late, I should get home. Nice to meet you and thank you again for the keys."

"We just sat down darling, why don't we talk a little?" He stated with a smirk.

Sonething seemed so off and the little red spatter on his hand seemed to feel like it wasn't just paint. He noticed me staring at it and mumbled,

"I see you've noticed the little red mark. What do you think it is?"

"Paint?" I answered ready to start running.

"Spot on love. It is paint. In fact, it is a very rare paint and I believe you have some with you or in you as I should say."

The little spatter in his dark eyes turned to something dark and twisted and suddenly they were red.

I should have just stayed home.

You never really think about when or how you’ll die. Sure, you might joke about it, but you never really sit down and think about it. I currently am doing just that, not that I planned on it, but things change. Tonight, is my unlucky night to have ran into a serial killer of all people. I’m usually so careful about my surrounding but I was just so tired from work that I just wanted to get home. Even now as I watched him walk through my apartment, I was so exhausted, I just wanted to sleep.

“This is a pretty small place you have here.” The masked killer commented.

“Well, I’m sorry its not to your liking, in my next life I’ll be sure to upgrade my lifestyle for you.” Okay probably wasn’t smart saying that to him.

He belted out a laugh which made me uneasy.

“No need, I like this apartment. It has character.” He trailed his glove covered fingers through my belongings. My eyes growing heavy, so I decided to make myself more comfortable on my couch. My movement alerting him.

“Am I boring you?” A hint of amusement in his voice.

“No but my death is inevitable and I’m fuckin tired so while you’re on your little tour I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when its time or don’t. I really don’t care at this point.” Okay I must really be tired or crazy talking to a serial killer like this.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He sat on the edge of the coffee table, learning close to me.

“Yeah, sure.” I let out a laugh.

“I’m serious, what’s on your mind?” He sat his knife that I hadn’t seen until now next to him.

Letting out a sigh and running my fingers over my face I sat up, my knees touching his as I looked at him. Still wearing the mask.

“My job sucks and my boss is a massive creep who gropes me every second he gets. I’ve complained about it to several people and talked to HR but since his Daddy owns the company, they’re not going to do a thing about it.

“Why don’t you quit?” Fair question.

“Because he threatened to blacklist me to any other company, and I love what I do its just working here… I’m trapped. He won’t let me leave.”

“You could get a different type of job.” I looked at him as he said that.

“So, I let him win, I went to school for this. Now I just get a regular nine to five.” I was angry now

“Well, what do you want to do then?” Why was he asking me that?

“What does it matter, aren’t you going to kill me anyways?” Why was he taking forever to just kill me?

“Hypothetically what would you want?” He asked again.

“I’m good at my job, real good and I just want to be given a chance to show that. I want my boss to leave me the fuck alone and to stop thinking its okay for him to touch me or anyone for that matter. I want to not have to be dead tired and get only three hours of sleep because I have to stay late to work on other employees’ projects because it’s a fuckin boys club that I work for.” I felt some relief finally getting that all off my chest.

“Anything else?” He asked again this time his voice sounding sad for some reason.

“I don’t want to die.” I single tear fell from my eyes.

“Sleep, I’ll wake you up when its time.” I didn’t argue with him. I laid down on the couch as he covered me up with a throw blanket, I had on it.

I woke up to my alarm on my phone going off, groaning I made my way to the bathroom jumping in the shower. I was halfway done when I realized what had happened the night before. The serial killer, I was still alive…. why? None of this made sense, I should be dead…. right? Wait, am I dead? After getting dressed I made myself a massive cup of coffee. My nerves were everywhere. She I go in or call out? I jumped at the sound of my phone ringing.

“He…hello?” Get it together.

“Hi, I’m looking for a Ms. Greene?” The woman’s voice was soft and welcoming.

“Uh hi, yes this is she… I’m her.” Oh God what is wrong with me.”

“Hello Ms. Greene, I’m calling on behalf of my employer Mr. Robert Grant. He’s well aware that you’re employed with Fielding Enterprise but is willing to offer you twice your current pay plus a sign on bonus with full benefits and weekends off.” My mouth fell open

“Why would he do that without meeting me?” Fair question to ask.

“Mr. Grant has actually been looking into your work for a bit of time now and is very impressed with the projects you’ve been handling at Fielding Enterprise. He knows talent when he sees it and he sees great potential in you. That is if you had the right environment to grow in. Are you interested in his offer?” She asked and I was being confused and excited. I’ve heard of Grant Holdings; they were at the top of anyone’s list to work for, but I never even applied because I figured they were out of my league.

“Yes… yes I’m interested.” I shout without hesitation.

“Great, we’ll be expecting you in an hour to sign paperwork.” We said our goodbyes and I hurried to grab a lyft. On my way I received a phone call from my soon to be old boss Andrew Fielding’s secretary.

“Where are you, Andrew has been in an accident, and you need to file some projects on your desk. Don’t make me write you up.” I never liked her, she was shrill and just as vulgar as Andrew was.

“I quit.” Those were the only words I said to her before I hung up and blocked her number.

I sat patiently and nervously in Mr. Grants office waiting for him. Maybe this was all a joke, was Andrew behind this? Great did I just quit and have no job at all now?

“Terrible news about Andrew, your old boss. I just heard.” Mr. Grant come in finally sitting in his chair.

“I just heard as well, not sure what kind of accident though?” I must admit I was kind of curious.

“Well looks like all his inappropriate and unwanted touching finally caught up with him.” I looked at him confused.

“Excuse my frankness but someone cut his dick off. That’s what he gets for not taking no for an answer. Deserved it if you asked me.” I was shocked at his honesty, but I was glad that it happened to Andrew at the same time.

“Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.” I smiled.

“Couldn’t agree more. So, my offer, do you accept it?” Mr. Grant asked back to business.

“Just one question, why me?” I asked.

“Everyone needs a break now and then, this is yours.” He hands me the paperwork which I signed and got copies of. I would start first thing Monday morning giving me a whole week to rest before I started. I couldn’t wait. I thanked him and he walked me to the elevators.

“One more thing Ms. Greene.” He said putting something in my hand.

Opening my hand I noticed a shiny new penny, confused I looked up at him.

“Penny for your thoughts.” He winked and the realization hit me as the elevator doors closed. He was my serial killer

I came across you on a dating app

You intrigued my greatest pleasures

You felt warmer than the coffee

And smelt better than the bakery

I invited you in when you walked me home

In Love I Fell

Hard and swift, passionate and disabling

I was torn from reality

A slave became my title

My master became yours

You left me on my knees crying

Never once looked back after the door closed.

I know youve done this before

A murderer of passion

A serial killer of self awareness and individuality