It’s dark. I drive through the forgotten streets of the city, weaving my way among the vermin of the world. He is here. I can feel it. He is here and he is close. I will find him tonight. I stop the car when I reach the rundown piece of s*** they call a bar. Immediately, I see his car. A van, parked in the farthest shadows from the door. I smile. Perfect. I park beside him. I get out, my stomach twisting. My blood singing with excitement. The press of the damp, cool autumn air on my skin only heightens my excitement.

I walk up to the door, and smile slightly at the bouncer. He doesn’t card me. He simply smiles back and lets me in. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk past him, and I can’t help but smile again. I know I look good- better than most- not as good as some. If only he knew what lay beneath this pretty body.

I make my way to the bar, scanning the room. It’s full of drunks and prostitutes and drug addicts, the kind of people this place was invented for. And then I see him. He doesn’t stand out, not to anyone but me. He wears the same disgusting clothes as the rest of the bar’s patrons; his eyes hold the same forlorn broken look as the rest. Yet, he is different. In some way he stands out. Something that is bad for him, but very, very good for me.

I sit at the bar and absently order something I know I won’t drink, never taking my eyes from him. The bartender sets a filthy glass at my elbow that I don’t touch. He sits at a booth alone, this poor, dirty creature. I watch him gulp down his beer. He keeps his eyes on his drink except for a moment, when he looks up around the room. It’s then that I see his face fully and I understand what sets him apart from the rest. It’s his eyes. There is something different in them, something alive and hard, something missing from the rest of the trash that lives here.

He finishes his drink. He walks over to a whore. He slides a few bills into her hands and she stands. He wraps his arm round her waste and leads her to his van. I follow after a moment. From the door, I watch them climb into the back. Immediately, I see it start to rock. I take this opportunity to open my trunk. Inside, laying amiss the cloths and tools is my pack. I withdraw to the shadows to prepare and wait.

They finish quickly. She leaves. He emerges sometime later. Gracefully, I step from the shadows; he hears my heals clicking on the cracked pavement. He turns, and I can feel his eyes on my body, clad only in a thin dress. He smiles. I smile and step forward. In one hand I hold my pack; in the other is my surprise. I wrap my free hand around the back of his neck and lean forward so that my lips almost meet his. He stiffens as my needle sinks into his neck.

I grab him as he falls to lay him gently on the ground. I step out of the impractical heals and drag him to my car. It takes all my strength to pull him into the back seat. Once I have him in, I shut the door. I pull the thick rope from my back and tie his hands with practiced ease. I fill another syringe and inject him with his second shot. This one will keep him out until we arrive.

I pick up my shoes, and climb into the driver’s seat. I feel the smile on my face as I look back at him. I drive away, positive no one noticed us. I stick to the main roads as I drive; I’m less likely to be stopped if I do. I reach the edge of town within the hour, and continue to the country. I drive along the twisting roads until I find the nearly invisible side road. It’s all dirt and rough. I have done this many times.

After another hour of driving through dense forest, I arrive. I park the car in front of the decaying cabin, the perfect place for us to be alone. I sling my pack over my shoulder, unhurried and pull the wheelchair I keep on the porch to the car. With great care I load him onto it. I push him up the ramp, and into the building. Even in the dark, I know this place. I navigate past the holes in the floor without thought. I take him into the Room. I open my pack again, taking from it plastic and rope. I cover the steal table in the plastic. And secure the ropes to pipes that stand at each corner.

With a smile I kneel by him. Slowly, I undress him, as a mother does a child. There is a simple pulley system beside the table. I use it to lift him onto the plastic. I securely tie his wrists and ankles and tie him down by the neck. I go to my pack again. This time I take from it my toys. First I slide on a pair of gloves. Knives of every sort gleam in the dim light as I remove them to set them lightly on a smaller table. They are my most prized possessions; the only thing I think are worth the money I spend on them.

He is waking now. I smile and turn to him. I watch him slowly drag himself from the grip of the drugs. I laugh softly as he wakes fully and begins to struggle against the ropes. He looks at me when I laugh. I slowly walk forward. He begs; like all the others he begs. He asks who I am, what I want, why. He threatens my death. I only smile. I love hearing them scream and cry. I can feel my excitement building. I pick up one of the smaller knives, and place it calmly on his right side, above his liver. His struggles increase but I don’t let his movements make the first cut; that is mine.

I watch his eyes as I slice deep into his liver. He screams, and I only smile; this is my favorite part. I leave the knife sticking in him, and go back for another, longer blade. His curses ring in my ears as I return to him. This one I place over his stomach. I don’t wait for him to notice, I don’t have long. I stab his stomach and he screams again. I grab the third knife without looking and slice immediately across his intestines. I set the knife aside and reach inside his warm flesh. The feel of his hot blood on my hands excites me. My heart races as I slowly pull the gray, ridged, spongy intestines from his body. I enjoy the pain and horror in his face as he watches me toy with his insides. I can feel my excitement peaking, filling me with the only emotion I will ever feel.

He is fading fast. The life is leaving his eyes as I watch. In less than five minutes the once living, breathing man will be nothing more than meat. The excitement is fading now and emptiness is replacing it. I pick up a pair of scissors from the table. From my pack I pull out a tiny plastic bag and a scrap book. I open to a clean page and neatly print the date on it. I leave it sitting beside my pack. With the scissors I cut a lock of hair from his head. I let it fall into the plastic bag and seal it tight. This I tape onto the page, above the date, a small satisfied smile on my lips.

I grab my final blade. A saw. I use it to hack his body into sections. These I wrap in sections of the plastic to be buried in the surrounding forest. It takes time to dig the holes deep enough to prevent animals from reveling them. After three hours of digging and burring, the body is gone. I return to the cabin, hot and sweating, covered in blood and dirt. I strip, and use my dress and wipes to clean my body and then my knives. The dress I burn in the stone fireplace, the knives I pack.

I walk naked to my car and dress in simple clothes from my trunk. I replace my pack. I check one last time for blood. I climb into my car to drive back to town. My hunger has been satisfied for the moment. It will be days, perhaps ever weeks before it returns. As I drive, I think back on my last toy. He had asked who I was. I remember that among his pleas. I had said nothing then. He knows the answer now. I smile grimly at the rear view mirror. I am death.